Where We Stand

5 | Where We Stand

Chapter 5

Rain pours down in long rivulets as I set foot in Mil & Meals. I glance at my top and make a face. The fabric is sprayed with streaks of dirt and a brown stain smudges the girl's lips. My jeans aren't any better but at least they are dark enough to conceal the stains. After an hour of endless cleaning, I wished I had Carlos' grey overall. When he noticed my withering looks, he offered to give me his overall and of course, began undressing in front of me. My cheeks burn at the memory. He wouldn't have stopped if I didn't threaten to splash him with muddy water.

Focus, Naomi. Focus.

I button up my jacket and pat my wild curls, coaxing them into a neat pile. Dread bleeds into my heart at the thought of Mom's text. Things never end well whenever my mother omits the word "love" when she signs off her name at the end of a text. Mrs. Davis must have told her about the rat incident and I can already guess her current mood. My face twists into another grimace. I walk to the farthest window on the left and find her sitting in her usual table.

"You're late," she says, her gaze fixed on her tablet.

"I had to take out huge bags of garbage from the class we were cleaning and—"

"Sit." She takes a sip of her coffee and frowns at something on the screen.

I sit down slowly, trying my best not to make any noise. My mother hates the screech of a chair as it slides against the floor. "Is Dad coming?"

"No, he isn't."

Dread digs deeper into my heart. I know my mother isn't going to explain my father's absence. Without him around, I'm going to take the full force of her wrath. I open my mouth, a long apology at my lips but a waitress stops at our table and interrupts me. Her face looks familiar. She lowers a wooden platter full of grilled avocado crostini. My mother thanks her before she leaves.

"I don't want to listen to any explanation from you," she says, picking up a slice of cherry tomato from the crostini.

"But Mom, I swear I didn't do anything!" I blurt out. "It was this guy and his friends' fault but nobody would have found out if Charlotte—"

"Stop." Her gaze lifts up from the food and then finally, she looks at me.

Her face is set in a tight scowl, her eyes dragging over my imperfections: my unruly blue hair. The scar on my right eyebrow. A smudge of dirt on my cheek that had stubbornly refused to fade when I wiped my face before coming. The camera hanging from my neck.

"Here," Mom says, breaking her stare. She takes out a packet of anti-bacterial wet tissues from her handbag and throws it my way. "Clean up. I don't want you touching our food with those dirty hands."

I look at my hands. They are clean. I don't say a word as I pull out a tissue and wipe my fingers. When I was done with our first community service, I'd removed every speck of dirt under my nails. I'd dipped my hands in water and scrubbed them clean until my palms turned red.

"How many to go?" my mother asks.

It takes me a moment to understand what she means. I list down the activities Carlos and I must do in the next three weeks. Two for community. Two for neighborhood. Two for school. I tell her we've finished renovating a class in the abandoned block B-13 and our next community service—cleaning toilets after school—is due on Friday. Mom's expression remains unreadable throughout and a part of me wonders if this whole rat incident is a punishment for disappointing her.

"I swear to you Mom, I didn't participate in the prank," I say, my voice full of conviction. "I swear it."

My mother takes a bite from her whole-wheat bread, munches in thought and swallows. "I believe you."

That feeling of dread doesn't leave me. I haven't touched my food, my appetite having vanished the moment I stepped into this restaurant. Mil & Meals is Mom's favorite partly because she's a fan of healthy Italian dishes and partly because the posh décor suits her status. But while my mother finds the crushed velvet chairs comfortable, the atmosphere soothing and the food delectable, I find this place stifling. Every meeting at this table has been filled with tension.

"I do believe you, Naomi," she repeats.

Something tells me Mom isn't done talking. It's way too easy. I still my fumbling fingers on my lap and watch her. While I wear my freckles free, my mother has hers hidden under layers of foundation and concealer. So much of her face is reflected in mine. The hazel brown eyes. The elegant sweep of our cheeks. The cleft on the chin.

"But," she starts and my shoulders slump in sudden defeat, "this wouldn't have happened if you didn't have your camera."

She eyes my camera with such distaste that I feel the urge to hide it from her sight. I lift the strap from my neck and unzip my camera bag but she stretches her hand and splays out her palm.

"Give it to me," she says.

"No!" I hold onto my camera tightly and shake my head.

"Don't be so childish." My mother clicks her tongue. "I've told you over and over again, this camera will bring you nothing but trouble. Haven't you learnt anything from my mistakes? Your father told me you haven't been working at his clinic for the past one week. Don't you see? Your obsession with photography is distracting you!"

"Mom, please—"

"Just look at you!" Her gaze sweeps over my messy hair, the stain on my cheek, my colorful clothes. "You look...filthy."

Her last word echoes in my mind before shattering into a thousand shards of pain. My vision waters with tears. I can't breathe. I can't speak. I look at her and see that her mouth hangs open, her eyes wide with shock as if she can't believe she just insulted her own daughter. Then her features harden and she snatches the camera from my grasp.

I push my chair back so fast that it makes a loud screeching sound and stand up.

Mom gives me a defiant look. "Sit down, Naomi."

I don't say anything. Instead, I turn around and walk away, my tears restrained, my head held high. The waitress bumps into my shoulder as she heads to our table. I ignore the look of empathy gleaming in her green eyes and rush to the door, leaving the restaurant without a second glance.

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Belated Happy 2017! As always thanks for putting up with my slow updates. I really appreciate your patience. One of my 2017 resolutions is to finish Where We Stand and give you, my lovely readers, fast updates. Please support my goal by taking the time to vote and/or comment :)