17 Made Mistakes

⋆7༄ Enigma.

Hey! It's been a week. That's the longest break I had in my updating schedule. Not going to lie, it felt so long. I'm used to posting chapters every 3-4 days so this was really strange to me even though many authors take 2 or even 3 weeks to update. I'm really grateful for your patience as I need time to myself too, and I've felt quite tired this week. I really hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

PS. How are you today? ♡

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On the next day I descend the stairs with my stomach hurting from the feeling of hunger. The latest events caused me to neglect my normal routine of eating and now, I was simply famished.

As I emerge downstairs, clothed in my soft, lavender dressing gown, my mother immediately turns her head in my direction, but then, as I assumed, she just looks away, still mad at me.

What instantly catches my attention is a bouquet of flowers neatly wrapped in a nice paper, standing in a vase, making me decide to break the silence and ask about it. "Who are the tulips from?" I mutter, opening the fridge, taking some eggs out.

"Oh." My mother blanches, causing me to shoot her a weird, suspicious look. "They're for my co-worker. It's her birthday today," she babbles, quickly grasping the bouquet into her hands, taking it out of the vase, completely oblivious to the water dripping down from the stems.

"Are you celebrating?" I add, intently observing the way she rushes to get her bag off the hook.

"Yeah," she murmurs, running out of breath because that's how quickly she gathers up her stuff, now ready to leave.

Something seems off. The sudden rush, the way she avoids any eye-contact, the paleness on her face when I asked about the flowers. It just makes me want to dissect her abnormal behaviour. "If you're celebrating, why aren't you all glammed up?" I ask, gauging her blanching face. One more question and she'll turn transparent.

"Well," she starts, extending the word, pondering. "It's just a casual meet up, you know," she murmurs evasively.

"Are you cheating on dad?" I question, unable to help myself.

"Davina!" she scolds me, vexation dances like flames in her burning with incredulity eyes. "Are you completely out of your mind!?"

"Well, you're the one acting strange, not me," I retort in an accusatory tone, preparing the frying pan for my scrambled eggs.

"You, young lady, have to watch the way you speak to me. I'm still not over your little playboy show," she grumbles, her voice cold and assertive.

"Don't worry. I found a job," I boast, reveling in the way her mouth sets into a hard line. The fact that I haven't mentioned it to her before and can rub it into her face now only increases my level of self-satisfaction.

"Good," she says in that kind of tone as if I was an unexperienced parlourmaid that just learnt how to do her duties properly. And on that note, she leaves the house, a bouquet of yolk-yellow tulips grasped tightly in her hand.

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Summer is an utterly magical thing. It's a period of time so blissful and surpassing that it almost occurs unreal. It has the ability to annihilate any kind of anger and turn that wrath into love. For most it means no responsibilities — an idyllic time with an endless of choices of what to do. It's practically as if those few weeks were created by an accident — a taste of sweet afterlife, here on Earth.

But summer has a way of ending too fast, just like every beautiful moment in our existence... it slips by. So we shall make the best out of it, not let a single second elapse and become adrift. Yet, here I was, idle in a café, the exact same one that Will used to take me to, with a book in my hands and another cup of coffee slowly losing its heat.