Chapter 27
Twenty-seven
-GRAYSON-
I don’t usually suffer insomnia, and with Milo nestled in my arms there should be no reason for me to wake in the middle of the night.
The matrix has shifted for the better. The three times we’ve had sex today, including that gravity-free experience, is testament to that.
But something is silently calling me from the living room, and as I pull back the sheets, I’m certain I know what it is.
“Mum,” I call quietly from my bedroom doorway.
“Yes, it’s me.” Her voice is as cheerful as I remember. The candle she is holding lights itself, and I see her loving expression gazing back. “Follow me.”
I’m oddly calm about this. It’s the reset I’m yearning for.
Yet I’m not sure if past pain will surface. For now, this feels ethereal, and let’s face it, ethereal has become my comfort zone. There’s a good chance Mum must know this as she discovered her inner witchery long before I did.
We’re not in my apartment anymore. I smell lawn just before I step on it. It’s cool and refreshing under my toes.
This feels like a dream.
I look down to check if I’m naked. I was nude a moment ago, snuggled next to Milo. But I’m dressed. Smart shirt and chinos. Polite attire to meet with my mother.
My eyes have adjusted to the dark. There are trees around us, and an oversized park bench up ahead.
“Mum, talk to me.”
“Soon.”
Music begins. It’s a favourite old pop tune I once loved, played on classical instruments. Four musicians in classy suits are serenading me. A sentimental touch to Mum’s apology.
“Sit,” she says.
There’s a bottle of vino on the bench, and two wine glasses. Flame torches are casting light on this space, and I can now see what my mum is wearing. Her hair is whiter than I remember, and it’s fuller at the top.
This isn’t Mum’s style. Nor is a white laced long-sleeved top and earthy toned tie-dyed skirt. And she’s sporting so much bronze jewellery it’s a wonder it’s not weighing her down.
“Mum, you’re wearing makeup.”
“I’m wearing a great deal more than that.” She blows out her candle. “Do you like my look?”
“It’s witch glam.” It must be a thing with magic folk. Penelope is a fashionista, and Maude had that witchy fashion catalogue full of inspired outfits. “Is this how I’ll look in the future? All dressed up and ready to conjure?”
“Well, you did like that vest your cottage witch friend made for you. It’s only a matter of time before you pierce your ear and consider a bohemian style. You’d look great in leather, Son.”
Her wild idea appeals to me. I could do warlock chic mixed with Dominant Master attitude. But Milo would never be my submissive.
There’s elegance in her movement as she eases into her seat, far removed from those moments of doubt I recall. And now that I think about it, she lost her mojo when I was seventeen. But now, she’s found herself, while I’m still taking baby steps in my own mystical journey.
“I love you,” I say.
Mum smiles, then stands and takes me in her arms. I jump away, shocked at how cold she is.
“Oops. Sorry about that, Son.”
I snap my fingers and she’s suddenly in two massive woollen jumpers.
“Really, Grayson?”
I snap again, and she’s in a thick patchwork jacket. But of course, her face is still cold when I hug her. I pull away, snap once more, and my temperature lowers. Her cheek is not too cold when I place mine against it.
My sister and I were robbed of saying all we had to say to Mum. A burst appendix, an emergency operation, and a new anaesthetist who should have paid more attention in class. Just like that, Mum was gone.
Now I have the chance to make up for lost time. All the anger I’ve felt toward her is not coming to the surface. It’s not even brimming below.
I sense her ease.
But now I shudder. It’s time for my tears.
In the dead of night, our cries cut through the silence. Years of hate, abandonment, disappointment, and heartache are expelled through my sobs.
“I’m sorry,” Tania says.
And with this one short phrase, I feel that hate, abandonment, disappointment, and heartache return. I let go of my mother, trying to deal with emotions whisked like ingredients in a blender.
“I was seventeen, Mum. You could have told me. You could have helped me move out. You could have still been there for me, just from a distance.”
“But what if I sneezed while we were talking on the phone? I was still trying to control my powers. Hell, we were on the footpath and someone nearly trod on you when you were a Scarlet Badis.”
“A Scarlet Badis?”
“I developed an interest in fish species, thanks to you. You’d turn into so many different ones, I found delight in researching what you were. Yet you were never a piranha, or a shark. At least then you could’ve fought back. Nope, you were often just a little biddy fish, easy to step on.”
I’m lost for words.
“Don’t look at me like that. Researching your fishy exteriors kept me sane.”
I still don’t know what to say.
“You were cute as a Bumblebee Goby. But I wasn’t fond of you in your Neon Tetra stage. Greyish silver doesn’t suit you.”
“Mum, it’s not like I was wearing those colours.”
“True. They were your skin, but you really made me see how ugly that shade is.”
“It wasn’t easy being abandoned.”
“What choice did I have?” She gestures to the wine, and when I agree to have some, she pours. “Please, sit.”
“I thought I was ready for this conversation, but maybe...”
“Has my fishy banter made you uneasy?”
“No. It just knocked me off my perch. No pun intended.” I sit and sip. The wine isn’t harsh on my palette and goes down as easily as water. “Nice choice, Mum.”
“It’s from my girlfriend’s vineyard.” She’s gauging my reaction. “With me, you, and your sister, it seems the gay gene really penetrated our family.”
“I should have known from your fashion sense while I was growing up.”
“No, Grayson. You were probably too busy appreciating my fashion sense to gauge the significance of my aesthetic.”
It’s true. I often admired her clothes and as I think back, it was my inner homo finding meaning through her wardrobe. As I recall several of her fabulous outfits, I’m aware those classical musicians aren’t here anymore.
“Listen, Son, I was a shit mum. There’s a lot of coulda, woulda, shoulda. But you know how much panic there is when you sneeze and crap happens around you. Or to you.”
“Yes, but...” My anger has subsided.
“We have now, Son. I can teach you about magic with sobriety.” She smirks at the irony of drinking wine while saying this. “Because once you truly begin your adventures in wizardry, you will never look back. Anything is possible. You have only scratched the surface.”
A gentle gust of wind makes the torches flicker, and I briefly sense the passing of something, as if nature is whispering, let the past go.
“The elements are speaking,” Mum says. “You felt it too. Listen to the natural world. It understands why you’re here and what you’re meant to do.”
“I’m meant to love Milo.”
“You don’t need nature to tell you that.”
“I’m meant to learn from Maude.”
Mum nods.
“I’m meant to be friends with Penelope.”
“You can learn from her too.”
My hand is on my heart yet I don’t remember placing it there. A subliminal action, obviously. And there’s the new version of me, a self-assured unconventional sorcerer waiting to emerge from within.
It’s time to hit the charity shops and create a new style.
“I know what you’re thinking, Grayson. And whatever you do, promise me you won’t turn emo. Dark colours with red hair.” She stares into my eyes. “That’s a no, no.”
“Nah. That’s not me. I’m thinking cowboy frills.” I chuckle. “Or maybe I’ll go all space age. Orange helmets. Strange hairdos. Use a fake ray gun instead of a wand. Point it at whomever needs a spell cast, then pull the trigger.”
“Fine. As long as you’re not emo. I never liked you as a Black Moor Goldfish. That’s when I knew you were depressed. You never showed your emotions as a teen, but when your fins were dark, I knew you were down. A mother knows.”
A smile digs into my cheeks. For all her faults, she knows me best.
“When do I meet your girlfriend?” I ask.
Another gust of wind breezes past.
“Soon,” she replies. “Sooner than both of us think, according to nature.”
I yawn.
“I’m keeping you up,” she tells me. “And the love of your life is stirring. He senses you’re not in bed.”
“There’s so much we need to talk about.” My eyes sting when I yawn again. “But I see your point.” I rub them. “But I really need to talk.”
“This is our spot, Grayson. Whenever you need me, this is where I’ll be for our private mother and son talks. We’ll catch up soon. Take care, Son.”
“But Mum...”
Everything goes out of focus until I find myself snuggled next to Milo again.