Mother Knows Best
Your eyes…
“…pass me the pepper, will you…?”
The most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen…
“…God, Elizabeth, mmm, this duck just melts in my mouth…”
They’re…emerald at first glance…like a fresh leaf at its most verdant…with a hint of muted olive…
“…Chantelle, you look like the boat trip yesterday was a bit too much fun. Need some aspirin…?”
…a touch of golden, shimmering like a dew with the first rays of morning sun…
“…Kim and I were inseparable in college…”
…a perfect blend…
“…Florence…?”
…moss green often mistaken for hazelnut brown…
“Florence?!” The sound of my own name startled me, snatching me back to the present from the perfect moment at the beach where I discovered my eyes could have been described as anything more than just green.
Each of his words made my breath catch in my chest; each of his whispers made me want more than it was; each of his murmurs made me selfishly want him all to myself; from the moment I was ready to lose my body and mind into him, from the moment… I nearly did.
“Yes?” I turned to my mother, sitting across the dinner table.
“Is there something wrong with your food?”
“Oh.” I glanced down at my plate—a browned skin duck à l’orange rested untouched.
“No, no!” I shook my head and quickly grabbed the cutlery, a faint smile touching my lips.
“Sorry.” The knife slid through the tender meat—a juicy piece with crispy skin—and I dipped it into the velvety orange sauce.
As I slowly lifted the fork to my mouth, I took the first bite.
“It’s lovely,” I hummed, looking at my mother, my eyes helplessly trying to avoid the opposite corner of the table where Miles sat.
“Is everything okay?” Jo whispered beside me. “You seem a little like…a woman in distress.”
Well, I was . But that conversation would require a lot more privacy if I were actually going to tell my sister everything. I should have. But now wasn’t the time.
“Yeah,” I lied. “I’m fine.”
“Okay, but…you know that you can talk to me if there is something.”
I looked at my sister, then…Then I smiled, fighting the urge to start crying. “Um…I know,” I breathed.
“Oh, by the way,” she whispered, nodding at Miles. “I have a new theory.”
“You do?” I cocked an eyebrow.
“So,” she began, “Chantelle was pretty drunk yesterday, it’s unlikely she sneaked into his bedroom this morning, considering she still looks pretty rough, poor thing.
But I realised I was forgetting another woman.
” Oh, God! “Obviously I’m not talking about you,” she added with a knowing smirk, probably still thinking I hated him. Who was she talking about?
“So?” I drawled, looking at her expectantly.
“Well, who do you think?”
Who else was there? “You don’t mean,” my face almost flinched at the thought, “our mother?”
“What? Ew!” She winced at once. “No!”
“Then who?” My eyes quickly roamed over the room, then stopped. “No, you can’t be serious,” I laughed.
“Why not? Just think about it. He also once said Dorothy was lovely, when…that other time you three dined in the kitchen.”
“It’s because she is lovely, but it wasn’t like that .” Suddenly, I found myself defending him, though it wasn’t really in my best interest. At least it was in Dorothy’s.
“Well, I think it’s a possibility,” she blurted out.
Oh, Josephine, if only you knew.
Then, somewhere along the line, Blake mentioned that I was going to accompany him to The Fat Duck restaurant tonight. Great! While my sister beamed at the thought of us together, Miles, on the other hand, hadn’t shown any reaction—at least, not when I stole a glance or two his way.
I wasn’t particularly happy about it either. But it meant no one would suspect me of being Miles’ secret lover so, for once, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
And as for my mother, bless her scheming heart, she nearly choked on her drink when she heard. She, of course, wasn’t going to let that happen. Oh, and trust me, it wasn’t at all what I’d ever imagined.
“Oh, God!” For a moment her hand shot up to her forehead, her eyes rolling wildly. I blinked, confused. Was this part of the act? But a flicker of actual fear passed over her face.
“Mum?” My chair scraped the floor as I quickly sprung to my feet and lunged towards her.
“Elizabeth?” my father gasped, his face turning an alarming shade of white. “Are you…is she unwell?”
“Take my arm,” I instructed, guiding her gently towards the sofa.
“Do you want me to call an ambulance?” Blake offered; a phone clutched tightly in his hands.
“Pass me the water, someone,” I muttered. “Now!” When I glanced back, everyone wore a terrified frown. Josephine stood with eyes full of tears, Mark at her side. As soon as my gaze locked with Miles’ he was already coming to me with a bottle. “Thanks!” I breathed.
“Here, drink some,” I pressed a cold glass into her hand. “How are you feeling? Tell me what’s going on,” I asked, taking her pulse.
“I just…felt…so weak…” she stammered, slightly disoriented.
With each shallow breath she seemed to wince, as if every inhale stabbed her with pain.
The slight dryness of her skin against my fingertips caught my attention.
It might be a sign of dehydration, possibly exacerbated by the heat.
“Um,” I watched the discomfort crease her forehead, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Was she hiding something? Was there something she was yet to tell us?
An illness she was keeping secret? Fear surged through me. Whatever it was I had to find out.
“Miles?” Despite the tension between us, my eyes reached his. I tried to remain calm. “Could we…could you take us to the hospital? It will…it’ll be faster if you drive.”
“Oh! That’s absolutely unnecessary, just let me call my doctor!” my mother blurted in protest, watching Miles disappear with a shot.
“I’ll grab the keys.”
***
Miles helped me get mum settled in the backseat. “Florence?” He called my name with a hesitant pause, waiting for my eyes to meet his. As soon as I did, he said, “I won’t break the law, but we’ll go pretty fast.”
“Yeah…” I breathed, a thrilling unease spreading through me.
At the hospital, mum insisted on seeing Dr. Monroe. That name…was it from the news? Or had I heard it before? I fumbled for a pen, thoughts distracted as I started filling out the form. A nurse, thankfully, arrived with a clipboard and a smile, guiding my mother away.
“Seriously? How much information do they need?” I muttered with exasperation, knowing how important those medical papers actually were.
“Florence?” Miles whispered.
“I know,” I sighed. “She’s probably fine. If it were any other patient I’d just send them home and tell them to rest, but this…this is my mum.” I finally looked at him, feeling my eyes well up. “God!” I forced a laugh to avoid bursting into tears. “Sorry!”
“Don’t be.” He lightly squeezed my hand, a simple gesture that sent warmth spreading through me.
“It’s just—” I inhaled deeply, tucking stray strands of hair behind my ears. “—I realised I don’t really know anything about her…or her health. Even her blood type! And what if it’s something serious?”
Picking up the form, he placed it on the next seat. His other hand found mine, his thumbs gently caressing my knuckles, so softly and comforting that my fingers instinctively laced tighter with his. “Let’s just wait and see, okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered, barely moving my lips around the word.
“I’ll call Mark. Or Jo. And let them know we are still waiting.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you want me to grab you a drink? Coffee maybe?”
“Um…I’d like some water, please.”
Every tick of the clock above the reception desk echoed in my skull as I nervously picked at the loose thread of the chair, snapping between my fingers.
“Florence?”
“Dad?” I breathed, startled, then leapt to my feet and ran to hug him.
“Where is your mother?”
“She went to see Dr. Monroe like fifteen minutes ago.”
“She didn’t want you to go with her?”
“She wanted to go alone.” Because that’s how she was.
Miles came back shortly after, bringing me a bottle of water and some chocolate. “Oh, thanks.” I smiled at him.
“I got two different bars, just in case.” He hovered, watching me anxiously.
“That’s very nice of you.” I twisted the lid and took a long sip, refreshing my throat, my eyes finally meeting his.
“Dominic,” Miles began, but I interrupted.
“Dad? Dr. Monroe…the name rings a bell, but I can’t place it. Was it on…?”
“It’s Melanie,” he said, “your mother’s school friend.”
“Melanie?” I stared at him, then, “Oh,” I drawled with realisation.
The same Melanie, the one with a PhD in fabrication and a master’s in storytelling.
She’d sign me off from classes whenever my parents took a last-minute family vacation to the Azores, and later I would have to explain a somewhat obvious tan to my teachers.
Or that time we went to Paris—quite the trip it was, where I bravely tasted some pretty daring gourmet foods.
Melanie, the very Melanie, who would gladly do my mother a favour and fake any sort of infectious disease—fever, chickenpox, or even rabies, you name it.
The very Melanie who was now with my mother, most likely making up some rare truth distortion disorder she obviously didn’t have because this wasn’t even a real thing. Ugh! I was such an idiot.
It was unbelievable!
“Oh my God!” I froze with my jaw wide open, realising we’d been played. “Oh…my…God!”
Miles, who was talking to my father, was now staring at me, confused. “Are you quite alright?”
“Oh,” I laughed, “she is good! She is so fucking good!” I couldn’t believe it…Wow, my mother did deserve some serious BAFTA awards.