straight back to it ⇉ central cee.

mother know's best.

It'd been a long time since Oakley had last spoken to his family. Even his brothers hadn't contacted him in at least six months but his mother, they hadn't spoken to one another in years. It all came down to his reckless behaviours and the fact he'd gone awol really; she hadn't felt safe around him since he was a small boy and it had always been such a sad ordeal. The poor woman had spent countless nights across the past twenty-four years sleepless and in tears, wondering if she or her sons would actually survive the night. Even through the fog of drugs and whatever nonsense, he was up to Oakley felt remorseful, a heavy feeling in his chest whenever he saw the gentle shake to his mother's frame or how wide her eyes were with fear. They both stood confused as to how that didn't ever pull him out of it. She remained confused as to how her own son had held such low regard for her that he put her in danger and even held a substance above her - though sorely wrong with the assumption - she wondered this even to the current day. The mum was unbeknownst to his recovery, his rehab visit, or any of the services he'd been thrown through so as far as she was aware, her son was still a cat on the street fighting for his life. When the man who she'd last seen as merely a boy turned up on her doorstep with a grin ear to ear and a bunch of her favourite flowers, she'd barely recognised him, though still, almost shell shocked to see such a character again. Through it all, he'd even remembered her favourite flowers, tulips of course, and it made her eyes swell with tears. She wasn't sure what ultimately made the floodgates spill open but tears were tumbling down her face before she could even get a word out and the feeling of warm, muscled arms wrapping around her shoulders just pumped more of the saltiness out. Figuring out when they'd last seen each other was a near miss, but trying to recall when the pair had last hugged? A lost cause if I'd ever heard one. Despite the timing of such a thing being such a mystery to them the mother remembered the moment so vividly, something she'd been clutching onto for years as she waited for her baby boy to come back to her. Though their years together hadn't been nice at all, and she hadn't been the best mother she'd willingly admit, she adored those fleeting moments where it was pure love. Mother's day of 2006 being one of those fond memories, when Oakley had made a painting at school and gifted it to her alongside the tulips his older brother had brought home from the market around the corner. The painting had been framed and never moved from its spot, not once. Of course, she'd moved house since then, into a bigger apartment but nothing too fancy naturally. The painting kept its place on her dresser though, besides her vanity mirror and a picture of the boys when they were much smaller.

Once her tears had dried up for the most part she'd lead her son through to the living room where the tv was playing reruns of Eastenders from the 90s, sitting opposite each other with Oakley on the armchair and his mother on the sofa. It was all a little bit overwhelming being here, seeing all the old pictures and the furniture he'd grown up with had thrown him down memory lane. Of his childhood home though, on the estate at least twenty minutes from here, the living room was almost a replica though. The sofa had changed after being destroyed by years of wear, children and Oakley's antics but the new one was so similar. The man found himself absentmindedly just rubbing his hands over the material whereas normally he'd sit and fiddle with his fingers in his lap - it proved a handy thing though, as he wanted to hide these funny little habits from his mother so she'd think he was completely sane. He looked around curiously, noticing the abundance of framed pictures of him and his brothers that still covered every surface the mum could fit a few frames on and the candles still scattered around all in winter's scents. The man hadn't felt so at home in years, the smell of the cinnamon from the candles just making the experience all the more inviting. His mind was caught elsewhere picking apart each piece of the room and comparing it to the one he'd grown up watching tv and colouring in whilst physically his conversation with this other droned on for hours. Oakley had been swerving the actual point of his visit the entire catch-up, because truly he didn't want to face it either. But he figured it could add some much-needed humanity to his new personality she was meeting. He couldn't tell her about the abuse he'd endured, the true fallout with Michaela all the growing gap between him and his siblings, that'd kill her, but this couldn't be kept secret.

"Mum...I got a girl pregnant"

It didn't come out right truthfully. The sentence sounded regretful and full of guilt, like he hadn't meant to and that this girl was just a victim of his ways. Which was all true if he really wanted to be his own biggest critic, but he did want this now he realised. He wanted Michaela, he wanted this baby, he didn't regret that night they shared together but he did regret doing it on Marvin's sofa in fact. He just wanted a little input from the one woman who would do him justice: his mother. Despite having not seen each other in years he knew she'd give him advice, not even his therapist could ever offer, and that's exactly why he was here. He just hoped she hadn't got the wrong end of the stick already.

"And do you want to be a father? Does she want to be a mother?"

The words she spoke were attacking and malicious, but she uttered them so softly he couldn't find a fault in her questions. It was fair to ask, and he'd answer fairly too: they did want to be parents despite their past and their traumas. Oakley had mentioned the miscarriage in a fleeting moment, and his mother's face had immediately dropped, rushing to tell him he should've come to see her back then. He'd brushed it off naturally and let sleeping dogs lie because why open a wound that had already had the stitches thrown twice?

He'd exited the house with a newly found wisdom, a lot of knowledge he wished he didn't have and a smile on his face ready to face his truth. Michaela was in his home, waiting for his return and what she hoped to be good news from Oakley. She'd been instructed to simply relax while he was gone, have a bath or cook something, whatever she wanted because he had not a clue how long he was going to be gone. Still, though, the woman hadn't moved from her spot on the sofa where he'd left her. She was still exhausted from the lack of sleep and the need to empty her guts constantly and had fallen asleep as soon as the front door locked on the man's way out. Naturally, Oakley had been pushing her all week to see a doctor about that because he was sure that wasn't normal, or at least he'd never seen it in Shanel but she had pretended to forget about it because they weren't even sure they wanted the baby. There wasn't a point in finding a solution if it was going to just go away essentially. Kayla had awoken again when the man had arrived home carrying a Tesco bag as he'd clearly been to the shop on his way back and slammed the door with his foot. At first, he hadn't even thought to check where she was, as he'd told her to have a bath and just automatically assumed she'd be there but it felt too cold for a bath to have been run. When he found her though, he absolutely could not bring himself to disturb her even if she was just awake and faking it to try to get an extra five minutes in, she was just adorable. Instead, he simply went to make dinner, which was simply some steak and whatever else he decided later on.