lemon and mint | Charles Leclerc

~ quarantanove ~

Abu Dhabi, December 2019

"Hey, thank you for meeting me," the Italian said to the Dutchman approaching her. His spine straight, his grey eyes mirroring his emotions – indifference, apathy.

"So, what do you want?" He asked her in Dutch. He always hated it when she spoke in English to him. She was Dutch after all, so she should speak her native language. He was surprised when his daughter switched to Dutch as well since she always refused to do so as a sign of rebellion.

"Sit down, please," Pia said to the Dutchman. She was fully aware that the conversation she was about to have with him wouldn't be a question of two or three minutes. She was kinda surprised when he really sat down without asking any questions.

"So?" he asked again. It was so him. He was always impatient, harsh.

"Do you think I would be a good mom?" she asked away. The Dutchman was taken aback by that question.

He sighed, a heavy exhale of annoyance. "I don't know, Pia. Why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," she replied. "I don't want to be such a shitty parent as you were." She was honest, brutally honest, but she knew this relationship was far beyond saving. She was fully aware that he wasn't always a shitty parent, but unfortunately for him, she remembered more of the shitty part. "I don't want my kid to feel like I did. Like in a house that threatened to crack beneath the feet. Carefully creeping around because if I made a sound, rage would burn it all down."

The Dutchman remained silent, he smiled lightly, but it was one of those sad smiles. He wettened his lips and opened his mouth, before closing it again.

Finally, he cleared his throat, breaking the quiet tension. "I was such a shitty parent and yet you're here."

"Yeah, because I'm afraid I'm too much like you," she admitted. It pained her that she still cared. It bothered her.

Unfazed, he challenged, "And what if you are?"

He meant it because he saw a great deal of him in her. He saw his boldness and determination in her, the willingness to fight for things, outgoingness, eye for the details, and the way she negotiated. But he also saw the bad things from him in her – the ability to lie perfectly, manipulate people, the willingness to suffer, the rage.

"If I can't be a good mother, I don't want to be a mother at all," she declared, laying bare her fears and convictions.

"A bit tough punishment, don't you think?" Anthonie responded calmly, observing her closely. His hands rested on the table, fingers tapping lightly, a subtle display of his own internal unrest.

"It's not about punishment," she replied. "I just don't want to pass on the pain I experienced growing up."

He ran a hand through his greying hair, a sign of both age and weariness. "Look, you've seen my flaws. Just try to do better."

"Just try to do better?" she repeated, the bitterness evident in her tone. She couldn't fathom the simplicity with which he suggested change as if it were as easy as flipping a switch. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"I'm afraid to have a child because of you. because I'm afraid that I'll fail just like you did. Because I'm afraid I'll become what I hated and all you tell me is to try to do better?" The Italian let the anger control her for a bit.

"I want to be a good mother, but I'm terrified. Terrified that the same darkness that consumed our home will follow me into motherhood," she added quietly after a while.

"Look, I'm not your therapist. It doesn't matter what I think. It's about what you believe," Anthonie leaned back, his gaze searching hers. "You know, there was always darkness. Even before you were born. Two broken, burdened people in marriage. We were ill-equipped to be parents. What I want to say is that if there's no darkness now, I doubt there will be one later on. If you believe he's gonna be a good father half of the equation is solved. He's a good kid. He won't let your family be consumed by darkness." Anthonie never really spoke about Charles. He never commented about her choosing him and if he thought that he was a good partner to Pia.