He had just finished fixing the sink when his phone buzzed in his jeans pocket. He sat up, wiped his hands on a rag and checked the message. He smiled, glanced up from the floor, and caught his sixty-eight year old mother staring at him. She quickly looked away, moving between the stoves and suddenly humming softly to herself.
That was awkward. He had come this weekend to spend time with her and to set things straight. Yet it felt like the big clash—the one he had been avoiding. Still, it had to be done.
She tasted the stew, nodded to herself before turning to him with a bright smile. “Are you done? Dinner is almost ready.”
“Sure, mum,” he said, returning her smile.
She didn't smile like this often, not since his stepfather died three years ago. Ever since, he spent most of his weekends with her until he met Christina. Then things shifted.
He had brought Christina over the previous weekend and it ended badly. She left in tears because his mother didn't try to meet her halfway.
“We need to talk, mum,” he said, closing the toolbox and setting it aside. She waved a hand toward the dining table.
“Let's eat first.”
“No, mum. Now. We must talk now.” If he didn't deal with this, nothing would change. She turned off the stove and faced him, her hands folded across her chest, her lips pressed thin. “If you're going to talk about that girl, I won't listen.”
“Just stop, mum. She's my girlfriend. I know you don't like being alone in the evenings but I can't always be here every weekend.”
She stepped closer, gently rubbing his arms as if he were still a boy. “You and I have always had our weekends together. Why stop now? Because of her?”
He pulled his arms free. “No. Because I have a life and won't always be here with you every weekend. Do you understand?”
She flinched and his heart sank. Then her expression changed, her stubborn scowl softening as tears pooled in her eyes. “So that's it? You meet her and I'm forgotten?” She whispered.
He held her gaze for a long moment. “I have my life to live, mum.”
The words landed hard but the silence hit harder. The stew simmered quietly on the stove, the smell of spices filling the air, as mother and son stood on opposite sides unsure of how to cross the line.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "the big clash".
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Image credit: TShirtEmpire