Ch. 8 – [Memory, Freshman Year, November] – The Usual Letdowns

Chapter Eight – [Memory, Freshman Year, November] – The Usual Letdowns

Lyn dragged his feet in an absurd attempt to make his trip take longer; if he were to employ the logic behind Zeno's paradox, all motion was an illusion, which meant that he might not arrive home tonight or ever. But, of course, no matter what philosophers from Ancient Greece had to say about the way humans perceived their reality, the limitations of the physical world he lived in were fine and dandy.

And now, he was standing before the old Victorian he wished he'd never have to return to again, staring at the rain-darkened bricks of its façade and the decaying ivy growing on both sides of the door, their yellowed leaves drooping toward the ground. The misty drizzle that hadn't stopped for a moment since his plane landed, was getting in his eyes. He debated with himself if he should move, climb the front stoop, now slick with rainwater, and go through the front door.

"Mom, I'm home," he murmured to himself, as if a rehearsal was necessary for the prodigal son's return.

He wrapped his jacket tighter around himself. Since he couldn't afford working while studying because he didn't want to risk ruining his grades, he'd have to think of a different way to get money for a coat that didn't look like it belonged to the previous century. He knew for a fact that his mom would never allow him to wear clothes that came from a retail rack, but they were all so old. No one at school had guessed his situation until now. He acted and laughed and studied like a normal student; well, a normal student with ambitions, but still someone who didn't have to worry about not having enough money to buy a coat.

The only way to get through this ordeal was to move his ass and get it over with. He stomped his feet energetically against the wet stairs, hurrying inside.

The warmth welcomed him, making him forget his earlier hesitation for a moment. The door creaked as he closed it, and he took his time looking around. The doors to the dining room were wide open, as if the house was ready to welcome a slew of guests, although he knew for a fact it would only be him and his mom tonight.

The smell of food reminded him how hungry he was. His mom was no cook, but she could put together a perfect menu, no matter the occasion, while putting down – and to shame – anyone in the catering business worth their salt.

He leaned forward, checking for signs of life. The table was already set with his mom's pride and glory: a set of silverware and porcelain plates worthy of a home where the roof wasn't leaking, and the flower beds in front didn't need a full overhaul.

It didn't matter. He was home, and it didn't feel as bad as he thought it would. While sniffing carefully, he walked toward the table. The glazed turkey looked like it belonged on a cooking show, and the truffle mashed potatoes seemed too good to be true.

The sharp tang reaching his nostrils reminded him that it wouldn't be a perfect dinner without his mom's favorite indulgence. A bottle sat uncorked, letting the wine breathe, waiting for its number one fan.

"Oh, darling, you're here."

Lyn turned to receive his mom's hug, never too tight, but not distant enough to make him have second thoughts about the depth of her affection.

"How was your flight? The weather has been like this since Monday, can you believe it?"

She shook her perfect bob as she spoke, a bit too rapidly, while her eyes darted in all directions. Lyn wondered when he'd stop being too young to have a real talk with his mom about what she planned to do about the future. Her future. As far as he was aware, the number of her admirers had dwindled considerably in the last four years. It wasn't as if his mom was no longer attractive; but she had always been a hit with the more weathered gentlemen, and unfortunately for her they had the bad habit of dropping dead after a certain age.

During his childhood, Lyn had taken his circumstances as they were, never questioning why his family was different. He had never known his father, and his mom hadn't mentioned him once. It was only the two of them and this big house with most of its rooms closed off, because the heating bill was a nuisance and therefore had to be eliminated from the list of immediate worries.

Because of his mom's superior skill of attracting men with fat wallets, he had grown up surrounded by wild contrasts. Small luxuries, gourmet dinners, designer shirts and many other such things existed in the same number as the days when they had to settle for eating two-day-old bread and pretend hot tea would make an adequate breakfast, lunch, and dinner. During the years when he hadn't known any better, Lyn assumed that was how everyone lived. It was quite the shock for him to discover that most people didn't live on the edge like his mom did.

She balanced the glass wine in one hand as she gestured for him to take a seat. "How's school? Have you made many friends?"

"A few," he admitted and offered no other information. Another thing he had learned from an early age was to keep his worlds separate. His friends always knew very little about him, and most of them weren't interested in finding out more once he refused to invite them over more than three times. His college friends would be no different, he decided while he observed the faint water stains on the walls near the ceiling.

***

"Open it, darling," his mom encouraged him.

Lyn obeyed her with a feeling of dread. The long narrow box looked expensive, and he recognized the name of the brand right away. However, it was definitely too small to hide a coat or even a warm sweater inside.

It was a belt. He struggled to paint a smile on his face, but throughout dinner he had felt edgy, out of synch with his mom. His thoughts kept drifting to Brad and how different his Thanksgiving dinner had to be. They had promised to call each other, but it was too early. Lyn wanted to be in his room and texting his friend instead of indulging his mom in the same charade as always.

"It's nice," he said.

"Just nice?" She searched his face, looking over her glass and narrowing her eyes. "It's Hermès, dear."

"I know. It says so on the box," he replied icily.

His mom scoffed. "Someone's in a mood. You have no idea what I had to do to come up with money for your gift. And this is your thanks." The wine sloshed in her glass as she gestured to express her frustration with him.

"Mom," Lyn said, filled with quiet desperation, "I need a coat. A winter coat. Not a belt."

"Oh, well, we don't always get what we want, and it's not the end of the world."

"Dammit, mom," he raised his voice. "I said 'need', not 'want'! Can't you tell the difference?"

"Don't you raise your voice to me, young man," she immediately rebuked him, her words sharp as knives. "Not under my roof."

"Your roof? Did you get any of the five holes repaired I counted last summer?"

"Lyn, what is wrong with you?" She got up, too agitated to have this conversation sitting. "Is college putting weird ideas in your head?"

"Wow, mom, just wow. I wasn't even in college yet last summer." He usually let her win, no matter how unfair it was, but he felt fed up with her. Being away from home for months made the striking difference between the normal world and here too hard to bear. "And what exactly did you sacrifice to get me this belt?" He grabbed the beautiful leather strap and threw it on the table, knocking over a glass in the process.

The red stains spread on the lace quietly.

His mom gasped in outrage. "Look what you've done! Are you doing drugs?"

"No, mom. I don't have time for that. I have to study until my eyes bleed to keep my scholarship because that's the only way out of here!"

"Oh, and here," she emphasized the word, "is so bad, is it? I raised you by myself. Alone. I had to give up on my dreams for you!"

"Then you should've gotten an abortion instead!"

The slap made his ears ring. It wasn't the pain that shocked him, or the sting flaring on his cheek. It was the act itself; she never hit him.

He threw his napkin down on the table and hurried toward the stairs.

"Yes, go to your room, and don't you dare come down," his mom threatened him as if he were still a boy and not an adult now. "You always ruin everything!"

He could hurl the words at her, the same words, but he was already hurting from the fight. Tears of rage welled up in his eyes, but he wiped them away hurriedly.

***

"Yeah, my mom really went all out," Lyn said as he rolled onto his stomach and moved the phone from one ear to the other. "I'm stuffed from eating too much pumpkin soufflé."

"You and Alexander both, I swear," Brad moaned at the other end. "You just can't live normal lives, right? Listen to him, soufflé." He said the word in a silly French accent. "Although, I gotta say. For all the money you and His Majesty have, you two dress like shit."

"Hey, that hurts my feelings."

"Boo-hoo, cry more," Brad teased him. "Not to mention, you two study like maniacs, although you both could chill and have some real fun."

Lyn knew he would have to apologize to his mom and accept the gift. He had no idea why he was letting Brad believe he was this rich boy who thought gourmet dinners were the norm. It had something to do with Brad's unconcealed admiration for Alexander. Lyn didn't want to lose the competition; even if he would never be anything more than a friend to Brad, at least he was going to be the best and coolest friend.

"Well, my mom thinks so, too. I just like old clothes," Lyn said. "She bought me a Hermès belt, and you can't believe what fit she threw when I told her I didn't need a new belt."

"Dude, you're scary. Who wouldn't want a thing like that?" Brad's envy mixed with admiration made his heart swell.

Too bad that meant he wouldn't be able to sell the belt and get a coat and even more things he needed with the money. Still, hearing Brad talking to him like he was someone who deserved to be appreciated for being capable and even inclined to ignore luxuries many couldn't afford, felt too damn good.

***

"Thank you for the gift, mom," he said and kissed her cheek lightly. "I apologize for acting up. School is pretty hard."

"Don't worry, darling," she said, giving him a strained smile in return. She caressed his cheek, the same one she had slapped before. "Take care. Ah, I have something else for you."

He felt like an asshole as she handed him a beautiful charcoal grey wool coat she must have kept hidden until now. "Thanks, mom," he said, looking down.

He would ignore the slightly frayed cuffs and the one button that didn't quite match. He gave his mom a hug, a tight one, even though she protested, saying something about silk shirts and wrinkles.

"I won't let you down," he promised.

His mom rolled her eyes. "Young people today, so dramatic. Get going now. Ah, it's as good a time as any to tell you. I will be busy over your winter break. Do you think one of your friends can take you in? Over Christmas and New Year's both?"

"Sure," he said, struggling to hide his relief. Winter holidays, for reasons only she knew, were hard on his mom. Which usually meant he needed to walk on eggshells and deal with her litany of complaints, from being too cold to having no one to talk to.

TBC