Look through my eyes

Chapter 10

I look at the menu for the sixth time, still unable to read a single damn word of it. My annoyance is as palpable as the stupid tension between mother and son. Luckily, my annoyance goes unnoticed by the incredibly attractive lady next to me. Her eyes are only on her son.

Ian takes the menu from me as a waiter arrives next to us. I try not to be so startled by his outburst.

"That will be two steaks, one medium rare and one three quarters." The waiter nods and walks over to his mother.

The lady asks for something I couldn't pronounce before smiling at the waiter.

"And another bottle of these," says Ian after his mother finishes, pointing to the bottle of wine in front of his mother.

Without the protection of the menu under my hands, I find the opening of the damn dress more uncomfortable than it should be.

How did he let me bring such an open dress to meet his mother? Why did he bring me to meet his mother in the first place? Damn it.

"I don't think we've been introduced," the lady says a little reproachfully to her son. "I'm Isabeth Hill, Ian's mother."

"Stepmother." he grunts next to me. I startle to hear his tone, somewhat glad I'm not the only one who gets it from time to time.

"Sophia Young, nice to meet you. Ian and I are in some classes together." The surprise on Ian's stepmom's face is noticeable.

But all I can think about is how they look so much alike if she's apparently not his biological mother.

"I'm surprised Ian knows more people besides his usual friends. Ian used to bring his friends home a lot when he was little, but he seems to have distanced himself from us," he says, speaking of her, as with his father.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find the words to explain to my friends how my mother's sister is now my father's wife."

The bomb, without a problem, could have blown up half the town.

The eyes of Ian's once-aunt are still on him, her smile still resting on her lips, as if it's not the first time she's heard her nephew complain.

I sit still, as still as my trembling hands will allow. How Ian can sit so still without exploding is beyond me.

"'Why did you want to see me? Because if you tell me you just wanted to say hello, I'll get out of here." His voice is quieter but no less lethal.

The woman sighs, clutching her glass, but without taking anything.

"You're right, as much as I love seeing you, I called you for something else. I wanted to tell you that I made a small donation in your name."

"For what foundation?" the Ian's voice seems clipped, as if he already knows which foundation she chose.

I try to breathe quietly, preparing myself for the next bombshell, which, I am sure, will explode, but now from the lips of the woman in front of me.

"For the psychiatric ward, clearly."

Boom.

Ian's fist shakes the table, but unlike his mother's feigned surprise, I make every effort not to smile. Waiting, anxious for him to land the first blow, unable to hope to prune the second.

"I didn't mention anything about your mother; people won't know anything; they'll think it was just some random organization, one that doesn't get many donations anyway. They'll see you for what you are—a guy who cares about people's mental health."

Ian's eyes shoot out sparks—black sparks that threaten to burn everything.

The noise of my cell phone gets Ian to look at me, his eyes clear, as if he remembers my presence.