Page 11 of Love Me Like It's Real
“Aah, well, you didn’t specify.”
I groan and taste the coffee. It’s so good. So rich. And for some peculiar reason only Mom can make it so. Which is why I spend every morning and evening with her for a cup or two of that sweet, sweet heaven.
“Why do you want to waste your time ruining some poor people’s evenings instead of…I don’t know? Pick up a job or something and at least make something of your night?” Mom asks after she puts her cup down.
She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. Her color for the week is a soft pink but I’m sure by the next time I see her it’ll be something new and exciting. Can’t expect any less from an art teacher who can’t conform to expectations. I took all my best qualities from her.
“Because it’s my duty to the people of this town to make them see the light.”
Mom sighs. “You haven’t managed to make them see the light in three years. What makes you think this time will be different?”
I smirk. “Because fourth time's the charm.”
“Hm…” Mom narrows her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m sure that’s not how the phrase goes.”
“It is now. And I’ll prove it to you. I bet you this time next year we won’t be talking about Season of Love and such bullshit. There will be no chubby winged baby in sight. No hearts will decorate the streets of this town and everyone will be happy as fuck.”
Mom slaps her forehead and lets out a long exhale. “I shouldn’t have done so many mushrooms when I was young.”
“Hey!”
“What? It’s true.”
“I thought you stopped doing drugs when you got pregnant.”
Mom adjusts her glasses and nods. “I did. But it seems that didn’t stop them from altering your genes and making you…like that.”
“I am perfectly fine,” I tell her.
Mom bites her lip and sips her coffee with raised eyebrows which make me believe she doesn’t really agree with me so I make sure to remember that next time she needs my big strong arms to help her with her garden.
Not that I love her any less. I couldn’t hate her if I tried. She raised me all by herself and she never complained, never backed down even when things were hard, and she was always there for me when I needed her. She’s been a mother and a father since my sperm donor decided to bounce as soon as he found out Mom was pregnant. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“How was work today?” I ask her because I’m sick of talking about how fucked up in the head I am for not believing a winged little shit can shoot someone with an arrow and help them find their forever after.
“Work is fine. I may have discovered this town’s next Picasso.”
“You say that every year.”
“But this time I mean it. Elsa might only be nine but you should see her with a brush. She can make masterpieces.” Her smile reaches her eyes like it often does when she talks about her passion.
And boy does she love finding anyone with the barest hint of talent and helping them nourish it into a full-blown love for the arts.
“Did she become a genius overnight? How come you didn’t know she was great until now?” I refill my coffee, fully aware I need to get going in two minutes if I’m going to sneak in at The Striped Maple, but I can’t resist another cup.
“Oh she and her family just moved to Maplewood before Christmas.”
“Great,” I huff. “Just what this town needs. More married couples.”
“Oh shush you. Don’t be so bitter. I raised you better.”
I glare at my mother with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think you did.”
Mom gasps and throws a muffin at me. It catches me on the forehead and she might as well have hit me with a brick.
“Ouch! What the fuck is in that thing?”
Mom eyes the muffin. It doesn’t even crumble when I squeeze it.
