Daddy issues || h.s

2.5

Adelaide watched her mother making breakfast, it was early, and dawn had not yet drawn her rosy fingers across their cheeks. She watched the stiff muscles in her mothers back move as she cracked eggs into the frying pan, and she felt the smell of bacon tickle her nose as it sizzled in the pan.

On this particular morning, Abigail didn't make her usual healthy smoothie, in stead she had decided to make a full breakfast with eggs and toast and bacon. It reminded Adelaide of when she was a child, when every morning would start with a proper breakfast, when she laughed with her mother in stead of fighting with her, when it was just the two of them living in this house. It reminded her of a time before her mother started bringing home boys whose age was the half of hers. And for just a minute, they were back in that time.

"You're awfully cheery today," Adelaide said as her mother whistled along to the radio. "Well, I'm in a good mood." Abigail answered and put a plate in front of her daughter. The two women sat down, eating in silence for a minute, while the sun rose over the treetops outside the window, and bathed them in a golden light.

"Do you remember?" Abigail said, "When you were younger, and you would always complain over how the bacon wasn't fried enough."

"Yes, and then you would say that it was fried just enough, but then you would take a bite and agree with me." Adelaide laughed, and the two women smiled as a veil of nostalgia drew across their faces.      

"Do you ever miss it?" the mother asked her daughter. "Being just the two of us?" The question was not one Adelaide had ever expected to hear from her mother, and she suspected it was not randomly asked. Something heavy lay behind it, she could feel it in the way her mother spoke, as if the very way her lips wrapped around the words resembled a loaded gun.

"Yes," she answered, and was overwhelmed by the feeling that her words were untrue. Did she really miss being alone with her mother? Did she really wish to go back to the time when she felt bad for not staying home to keep her mother company every night? Did she really remember what It was like, being jus the two of them?

"But you like Harry, right?" Abigail asked and Adelaide felt the butterflies in her heart bat their wings at the sound of his name.

"Yes," Her voce shook as she answered the question. Talking about him was so unfamiliar, it felt as if her voice couldn't carry the words, like her heart was afraid to utter the words in fear of tearing open and spilling gold and butterflies out her eyes and mouth. "And you must like him too, he wouldn't have lasted this long if you didn't. He must be going for the record, what is it again? Five months? He does have a pretty long way to go if he's going to beat the blonde one." The words fell from her mouth like water from a waterfall, and she couldn't stop them from coming out. She bit her lip, waiting for her mother's response, knowing she had taken it too far.

The air seemed to be sucked out of the room as she waited for the response, she braced herself for the ice-cold words she knew would wash over her and the dead eyes that would bore into hers, sucking out the fire that burned in them. But it didn't come, in stead, her mother let out a heartily laugh and said: "Yes I do, I really like him, maybe even more than I liked the blonde one, and he sure is going for the record, if I can help it."

Adelaide almost wished her mother had thrown her ice-cold words over her in stead, it would have hurt less than the scorching hot water she threw over her now, leaving burns of guilt all over he body.

"But I'm glad you like him too," Abigail said. "It makes this whole thing a lot easier." The older of the women put down her knife and fork, before saying the words that the younger one feared would paint the artwork of her life in icy-blue colours, but in stead handed her a bucket of yellow paint, so that she could use her own brush to finish the paining.

"I was handed The House of Glass-case, and as you know, their headquarters are located in Bristol. This is a huge opportunity for me, but will sadly require that I spend some nights away." As she spoke, Abigail's voice transformed from that of a mother talking to her daughter, to that of a businesswoman talking to a client. "This will lead to you being alone in this house more than I would like, but seeing as Harry will be here, and that you two get somewhat along with each other, I don't think it will pose much of a problem." As the stiff words left her mothers mouth, Adelaide felt the burns the previous words had left on her skin, heal, and her pink, new skin shone in the early morning sun.

"I think," Adelaide started to say, but the words got stuck in her throat as Harry walked into the kitchen. He was wearing a yellow t-shirt, and his curly hair was messy, but his eyes shone with the light of a thousand suns.

"Good morning ladies," he said, and placed a quick kiss on Abigail's forehead.

"Good morning Harry." Abigail said, and he sat down beside her. "I was just telling Adelaide about The House of Glass-case, and the future arrangements."

"Ah, yes. Don't worry Abby, I think we will be just fine." He looked at Abigail as he let the words fall from his mouth, but under the table, his fingers were intertwined with those of a girl who painted his sky yellow, and outshone the sun in his eyes.

Later that week, when Abigail packed her over night bag, she may have brought her toothbrush, but she left them their freedom, and a whole bucket of yellow paint.