6 no Mum, I have not yet sowed my seed
6
no Mum, I have not yet sowed my seed
Finn
I’m in City Roast when my mum’s face pops up on my phone.
‘How are you, chick?’ Her voice comes through my headphones slightly out of time with the video. Despite decades of moving around the world, the Irish lilt to her accent is almost as strong as it was on the day she left.
It’s nine thirty in the evening in Singapore, so the top half of her auburn head is illuminated by the big lamp in the corner of her office. For the most part, we look nothing alike, save for the crow’s feet at the corners of our eyes and freckles that show when I’ve been out in the sun. Much to her dismay, I’m sure, I take after my father almost entirely. On the rare occasion I go to Thessaloniki to visit his side of the family, I’m reminded that I come from a long line of off-puttingly similar-looking Greek men. Same unruly curls, same not-quite-six-foot build, same dark stubble that takes about four seconds to grow back after shaving.
‘I’m good. Been in meetings with my client all morning and only just got the chance to sit down with a coffee and do some work on my laptop. How’s work for you?’
She looks tired and I want to tell her to go to bed, but we’ve missed our last few scheduled calls, so I’m determined to chat for a little while today.
‘Hectic as ever. If I had a quiet day I’d be concerned.’ It felt like my whole childhood my mum was desperately trying to catch up on the work she’d missed while she was on maternity leave with me, all while moving around because of her career as a diplomat. This wasn’t made any easier when my dad left, and she became a single mum with a needy child who couldn’t sleep without being held.
‘You love it though,’ I add. After she met my stepdad in Dakar, we were a trio for a while, until the twins came along. By the time they started school, my parents agreed not to move again with three kids in tow, so Mum quit her job to start something new. She’s been teaching at the twins’ international school in Singapore for years now, which means she’s been around for pretty much every dance recital, every robotics competition, every Model UN debate.
‘Have you spoken to your father recently?’
‘No, he’s, uh,’ I clear my throat, ‘been busy. I think he’s coming to London soon though, so I should see him then, at least.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ she says primly, with a smile that hardly hits her cheeks, let alone her eyes. She tries, but she’s never been good at hiding her dislike for that man. Which is unfortunate, because I am genetically fifty per cent him.
‘Did I tell you I’ve started looking around for other jobs? Just to see what’s out there once this contract’s over.’ I settle my phone against my open laptop so I don’t have to hold it.
‘You could come back here,’ she suggests.
As much as I like being around my family, Singapore’s never felt like home. I always feel like the fifth wheel that makes everything a little off-balance.
‘There’s one in San Francisco I’m interested in.’
Her eyes widen. ‘San Francisco?’
‘It’s where the opportunities are if I want another marketing role in tech.’ It’s also where my dad has lived since he started his business over two decades ago, which we’re both fully aware of. ‘But I’m not sure yet if I’m gonna apply. I have a little while to decide.’
She sips from her mug and I don’t need to ask to know it’s green tea. ‘And how’s London?’
‘I’ve decided to do this thing,’ I scratch my jaw as I search for the words, ‘where I make sure I’ve “completed” my time here, if that makes sense? I want to feel like I’ve fully experienced the city. I didn’t really get to feel that way with Paris since I ended up leaving so much sooner than I expected.’
‘I should’ve done something like that when I was moving around at your age for work.’
‘I’ve made a list and everything,’ I add with a grin, knowing how much she also loves a checklist.
She smiles and this one reaches her eyes. ‘It sounds fun. Maybe it’ll be a good way to make you stay put for a little while longer.’ She tilts her head and adds, ‘I was always surprised you stayed in Australia for as long as you did.’
I was an eight-hour flight away from the four of them at the time, but I had every intention of visiting them more than I actually did, in the end. I realised pretty quickly that I didn’t want to disrupt them when they were always so busy.
‘Me too. But speaking of Australia,’ I hold up my drink to the camera so she can see, ‘I’ve finally found a place that does decent coffee. It reminds me of the stuff I used to get in that little independent shop near my apartment in Sydney. Remember when you came to visit that one time? I’ve practically been living here since I found it.’
‘Can you flip the camera around? I want to see.’ I oblige, slowly panning the phone around the coffee shop, where plants trail from shelves and mismatched chairs cluster around wooden tables. She points at something she can see on her screen, and I have no idea what she’s looking at until she says, ‘She’s very pretty.’
‘She is,’ I reply, grateful I’m wearing headphones. I turn the camera back to my face and away from Ava, who’s muttering to herself as she cleans a table nearby.
It’s not like this is the first time I’ve noticed how pretty she is – the flush at the apples of her cheeks, dark hair tied back in a ponytail, soft bangs framing cautious blue eyes. Long legs, frustrating curves. Dangerous, for someone like me. As if she can feel my gaze, she glances my way, and I quickly avert my eyes.
Mum raises her eyebrows pointedly. ‘It’s been months since Léa. It’s such a shame it didn’t work out between you, but maybe it’s time to try again?’
My mum doesn’t know the truth about why I left Paris so suddenly. I haven’t told her anything more than what she needs to know. Partly because even after everything, I don’t want her to think badly of Léa. But partly because I don’t want her to realise that I’m still getting left behind, just like when I was a kid.
‘I’m just enjoying my time here. I’m not looking for anything like that.’
‘Don’t you miss the touch of a woman?’
‘Mum,’ I say through a groan. I’ve casually dated here and there, but I am absolutely not telling my mother about the ins and outs of that.
‘Do you use the apps? Tinder?’
‘I prefer to meet people in person. But as I said,’ I overenunciate my next words, ‘ I’m not looking .’
‘I don’t want you to miss out on falling in love again, that’s all. And I want grandchildren before I’m senile.’ My brother and sister are twelve years younger than me, and I don’t have the heart to tell her she’ll probably have better luck waiting for them to have kids than me. ‘Just promise you’ll give me that, at least.’
Parents place a weird expectation on their kids to ‘give’ them grandchildren, regardless of whether these kids actually want their own or not. The jury’s still out for me. I’m sure I’d be fun, just like my dad was. I’m sure I’d charm all the parents at the PTA, just like he did. But I’m also worried the permanence would stress me out, and I’d get itchy feet and need to move across the world, like he did, with or without my child.
‘I promise I will let you know about any major changes in my life,’ I reply non-committally, refusing to bow to the pressure of being in your late twenties in a world that tells us we should be locked in already by this age. Mum’s not satisfied with my response, but that’s the best I’m going to give her.
I’m saved from further interrogation by the arrival of one of the twins.
Our conversation moves to what they’ve been up to, and thankfully the topic of grandchildren and falling in love isn’t broached again.