Her mother stared at her in shock. Her mouth hung open, her bag that she had wanted to place on the kitchen counter hung in mid air, her lashes batted repeatedly over her eyes that seemed like it would pop out any moment.
Emotions flitted quickly over her eyes. There was worry, pain, regret and another emotion that got Joan curious. Fear, why would her mother be afraid?
“Mum?” she called and Mrs. Michaels snapped back to reality, her expression becoming masked. She shut her mouth with a big sigh and the bag finally dropped on the counter.
“Joan…” Mrs. Michaels called, turning away from her. She placed her hands on the counter and bowed her head. Joan leaned against the kitchen door watching her mother curiously, were the memories that painful? What exactly happened between her parents?
“Is he dead?”
“No.” was Mrs. Michaels curt reply. Silence reigned over the kitchen.
Mrs. Michaels turned back to her, a forced smile on her face.
“I can’t tell you about your father, Joan. I can’t.”
Joan quickly leaned off the kitchen door and stepped fully into the kitchen.
“No. I’m old enough to know what happened to my father.” She said to Mrs. Michaels, a frown on her face, “We’ve lived this way for a long time and you've never spoken to me about him, not even a slip. No family member, no relatives, no friends, nothing. Tell me something, anything; is he dead? Did he cheat on you and you divorced him? Did he leave you? What exactly happened?”
Mrs l. Michael’s had already begun shaking her head before she finished talking. She picked up her bag, moving towards her.
“Its complicated. It’s best you don’t know.” She spoke, a final look on her face as she passed by her out of the kitchen.
“But…” she followed, desperate.
“Joan, my answer is final.”
“He’s my father!”
“And I'm your mother!”
Mrs. Michael’s turned to face her, stopping mid way on her journey up the stairs.
“You can’t keep him away from me! I deserve to know everything! Every single thing! You can’t just keep me in the dark!”
“I can and I will until the time is right! Goodnight, Joan.”
Mrs. Michaels made to continue on her way.
“You’re not going anywhere!” she shouted furiously.
Mrs. Michaels turned back to her, incredulous.
“Is that the way you now talk to me? Is that the way you now talk to me? Your mother!?”
Her anger deflated immediately.
“I’m sorry.” She muttered tiredly, looking down at her feet. When Mrs. Michael’s didn’t respond, she looked up to see that she was gone.
Joan dropped unto the nearest cushion; that short argument had tire her out. She hadn’t meant to be rude; she had just gotten angry and words spewed out of her mouth without her thinking of them. She would apologize when her mother was calm and she would have to put all thoughts of her father out of her mind. It wouldn’t be easy, she mused, her mother’s refusal to tell her had only gotten her more curious and she wondered exactly what had happened in the past. She dropped her head back unto the headrest, her thoughts diverting to thoughts of King. She couldn’t help the smile that appeared on her face but it changed to a worried frown. What if his brother was home? She rubbed a hand frustratingly across her face down her face. King would not listen to her. She had money, enough money to get him out of that house into a flat or bungalow or wherever he wanted to live bit he never agreed.
They had planned it together when she was 13 and he 14, a year into their friendship. He had confided in her that his parents were dead and that he lived with his brother. When she asked him, he had said that he didn’t know his parents, he had no memories of them but he knew he had lived with them for some time before they died. How they died? He didn’t know.
Then he had told her he didn’t like his brother, his brother was always mean and angry and would shove his head from time to time. It started from that then it increased to knocks and slaps then occasional punches. When it got to punches, she suggested him leaving the house and he agreed. Her mother was rich so she could save up money from her allowances so when he was 18, he would leave. They didn’t know it would get worse over the years, from punches to occasional beatings. Now the beatings came anytime and with whatever; whips, belts, ropes, hands, legs e.t.c. When he turned eighteen, she had saved up a lot already but then he refused to leave, saying he didn’t want to leave her alone. All her pleadings fell on deaf ears.
Staying at her house was out of the option since her mother didn’t approve of him staying.
Just one thing about King, he made her so worried about him. She stood up and hurried up the stairs, glancing at her mother’s door as she passed it.
Getting to her room, she grabbed her phone and dialled King’s number. She just realized she had not called him at all that day; Koty and her father’s fault.
“Hey best.” She greeted when he finally picked on the third ring. She placed the call on loud speaker and set it in her bed.
“Hey.”
Her eyebrows went up at the sound of his voice.
“Are you okay?” she asked, looking down at the phone as if it were him. Before he could reply, she quickly added,
“Wait a minute, let me change to video call.”
A loud NO was her response.
“No need.” He added, “I’m fine.”
“Uh…” she chuckled confusedly, “Okay…”
“I’m fine, Joan. You don’t need to check up on me everyday.”
“Yes I do.”
“You’re my bestfriend, not my mother.”
“That isn’t what I meant.” She said with a dry laugh, “I do it because I care about you and I won’t feel complete and okay if I don’t hear your voice in a day.”
He didn’t speak for some time and so did she.
“I’m sorry.” He said finally, letting out a long sigh, “I just… don’t worry so much about me. I can take care of myself.”
“I know, you’re a big boy. It’s because I care about you that I worry about you.”
“I care about you too, you know.”
“I know.”
A pause.
“I'll see you later.” He said and the call ended.
She lay back on the bed and shut her eyes.