Mother
“We’re alone again and it’s dinner time. What do we cook tonight?”
Both walked into the kitchen, Victor trying to shake off the unpleasant sensation his mother had left him with, and the kid trotting by his side.
“I want cheese.”
“You always want cheese.”
“Mum says it’s good.”
“Mum…” he bit his tongue not to make the mistake of saying something bad about their mother in front of his sister. “OK.”
His mother’s sudden and completely indifferent attitude was totally incomprehensible for him. Only until a few months ago he had always found her excessively sweet and curious. When Victor thought about his mother, the first image that came to his mind, the most powerful, was her head appearing, cheerfully, at his door when she came from work and asking him about his day. His everlastingly patient mother, who used to give him advice, usually too indiscrete, about the girl he was going out with. The woman who, more than once, he and his sister had emotionally blackmailed so she went out with her friends to have some fun, even for a few hours, for them to be able to enjoy throwing themselves at the sofa, watching some films and eating popcorn until feeling ill. But now…
Victor felt the intense look of his sister on his back while he took out every kind of cheese he could find in the fridge and started to fear any of her too elaborated questions judging by the silence of the kid. He chose the easy way and looked for some bread too.
“You told mum you’re going out tonight. Are you seeing Ana?”
“Yes, I am. Do you want me to tell her something?” although the kid had not shown any interest for the girl he was going out with, for some reason, he always tried for some kind of friendship to arise between the women in his life.
“No. I don’t like it,” not in the form of a question, but the girl, indeed, let the issue drop.
“You don’t like Ana?”
“No. It’s a too common name.”
“Well, it’s the one she’s got.”
“I’d rather you go out with someone with a prettier name.”
Victor could not help but laugh. Maybe his sister thought he had chosen the girl because of her name. Maybe her looks. Why not? How else, he thought, would kids choose the things they like. Some reflection about that idea emerged on the depths of his mind, but he opted for dismissing it.
“Prettier? Like what?”
“Blue.”