“Does it matter, in this house that’s a shining beacon of normalcy, what I mean? Anyway, may I drink my tea in peace without talking to anyone, yourself very much included?” I asked, managing to smile as if I were offering a gracious invitation.

“You would have told me that a year ago and I’d have slapped you in the face!” she snapped, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, try me, but from today, doing that is legally considered assault! Don’t worry, I won’t press charges; I haven’t gone completely American with the whole suing family members thing. Yet,” I said, sweetly smirking.

“Yeah. Well. You’re gonna be late, so hurry up!”

At this moment, I checked my iPhone and looked at the time. And, hell, she was right, it was nearly seven-thirty. Damn, all that time was wasted on rubbish chat. Well, I barely drank two sips of my tea… and it was disgusting, I didn’t put honey inside. Well, fuck it, she pisses me off, now. Happy birthday, yeah…

“You know what? How about I leave this place, and how about you fuck off? Thanks, I’m in a good mood now!”

“It’s your periods, you probably have your periods,” she concluded.

“Mum, unlike you, I never have sex when I have my periods.”

“Yeah, that’s my greatest regret. I raised a monster!”

Perhaps calling it a truce was a bit optimistic; today was far from peaceful. The moment she started singing Happy Birthdaybefore I’d even had a chance to sip my drink, I knew. She’d do that sometimes, it felt as if she was purposefully antagonising me. Maybe my reaction was a tad excessive, but here’s the thing: Claire and I had shared something beautiful, something deep. Even now, if Claire were to reach out, I would leave everything behind and rush back into her arms.

The problem was me; I’d been too naive, too scared to confront my mother and tell her the stark truth about my sexuality, a reality she had no power over. Fast forward to the present, Claire and I continue to share a school, playing out a façade of friendship that tortures me. Every day, I watch her from the sidelines, pretending everything is alright, while she lives her life unfettered. All the while, I grapple with a mother desperate for absolution and an ex-girlfriend thriving in her newly found single-hood.

When she waxes lyrical about the concept of normalcy, all I want to do is tell her to take a hike. She always plays the martyr, reminding me of the burden she carried when Dad left us alone. Thankfully, she didn’t pull that card today. However, she had once insinuated that my homosexuality was due to my father’s absence, which was complete and utter nonsense. To avoid escalating the situation, I decided to remove myself from the scene. She tried to stop me, but I’d had my fill. I couldn’t take any more.

Elizabeth Pudeator

The Mysterious Death and Life of a Millennial

The Mysterious Death and Life of a Millennial