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106
Petrichor
one malicious gale, carries another being through the door. It’s her. I
hug Mick, who greets me with a familiar, friendly smile. I kiss my
mother, after the children ran to her excitedly. Several pairs of eyes
were watching, waiting for a friendly encounter between us both.
But I feel myself freeze, as her eyes lock with mine – Maybe it was
the tempest brewing outside that had seeped through the door as
they entered. I am reluctant to, but I lean in and give her a hug. She
grips onto me, and that’s when I thought I’d never breathe again.
Her hair is freshly washed and curled. An overpowering aroma
encompasses her neck, one that I could not bear to stand much
longer. And that’s when I notice her ears. They were studded with
my mother’s pearls from when she was a young girl; the ones that I
was promised to have in my own ears. All I could think of, was all of
the horrible revolting names I could call her. But then I realized,
that I never would do it. Never could do it.
As we pull apart, I recollect my thoughts, gripping them tightly as
they are pulled into the tornado that is stirring within.
‘
Hello, Isabelle
,’ I say kindly. She replies the only way she knows how:
rudely. ‘
Wow! You’ve filled out a lot since the last time I saw you.
’ I smile as
politely as I could in that moment, try to forget it and move on.
I welcome everybody, and insist that they take a seat in the dining
room. As they are taking off their coats and finding their spots, I
take the chance to escape to the kitchen. I rest my hands on the
bench, and my head drops to my chest, realizing that this moment
would be the calm before the storm. Before I would have to face her
again. I would sit as far away as possible, and place my attention on
the flickering candles or the children or the polished cutlery. It had
been over a few minutes, a few too many minutes to leave Dave and
her together, even with others in the room. I grab the bottle of wine
I had prepared earlier, pour a glass, gulp it down and treasure its
comforting taste.
I return with the wine, to find six of the seven wooden chairs
occupied. The seventh, I discover, is a spot facing my mother. It is
also the vacancy right next to Isabelle, who seems to be relishing the
surprised expression on my face. ‘
Is everything okay?
’ She had asked a
question that she had already known the answer to. She knew that I
was annoyed, and that I was standing on a cliff ready to throwmyself
over the edge into the violent, crashing waves. But, like I had done
many times before, I clench my jaw, purse my lips and nod.
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