Bonus Episode 3

Anne

The sun is shining. No clouds in the sky. The parks are green and full of people.

It’s the most horrible day.

I close the blinds to let my room be as dark as possible. I can’t stand looking outside. Even the birds singing seems unfair. But, to be honest, I don’t usually like the sound of birds singing on any day.

The tears are rolling down my face without shame, and I let them. I need to cry them all out before I leave. The moment I step outside, I need to put on a brave face for Richie. He is the one who lost his mum. I just lost… can I call her my mother-in-law if we are just dating for a year? Well, she would definitely have made the greatest mother-in-law anyone could ever dream about. And I have no doubt she was the best mum too. I mean, I love my mum. She is great too. But I don’t think she is an inch as maternal as Margaret ever was.

Margaret was built to be a mum. She taught me how to bake cookies. It was her Friday special. She used to fix us some tea, and we would sit at the kitchen table, eating cookie and chatting away. I’d tell her about those bitchy girls who flirted with Richie right in my face. She’d laugh it off (“He is just very attractive,” she would insist as a proud mum), and always tell me to be confident. Now she won’t say that ever again.

It was one of those Fridays when I told her about my dream to become a model. She didn’t laugh. She took it seriously, and she was so supportive. She set me up with this small agency, and I started doing their workshops for posing and catwalk. I still can’t do any of the real jobs because my parents refuse to sign off for me. But it’s just 10 more months. Then I’ll be free to do all the jobs I want.

Richie would sometimes watch whole movies while waiting for me to finish my tea with his mum. He knew those chats weren’t only meaningful for me. They meant the world to his mum too. She always wanted to have a daughter. Correction: she always wanted to have many kids. But the saddest irony of God’s plans was giving ovarian cancer to the woman who had maternal instinct running through her veins.

The knock on my door pulls me back to reality, and I quickly wipe my sobbing face.

“Anne?” My little sister calls softly. “Mum is asking if you are ready?”

Who can ever be ready for those moments? And, more importantly, why does she want to know?

“Not yet.” My voice trembles, but I try to control it. “Why?”

“Because we are all ready, just waiting for you.”

I rise to my feet so quickly I get lightheaded. Why the hell are they going to her funeral? It’s not even in the church, so they don’t need to pretend they cared about her and be good Samaritans for the priest. They barely knew Margaret. And the few times they met Richie’s parents, it wasn’t pleasant.

Sometimes I feel like Romeo and Juliet. Except our families aren’t mortal enemies. They aren’t enemies at all. It’s just that one family believes the other needs God, and the other wants none of it.

“We are waiting downstairs. Don’t be long,” she says from behind the door. Her tone sounds so much like Mum’s, it makes my skin prickle. She is only 13 and is already turning herself into a mini version of Mum. She is learning how to iron clothes because she wants to. She goes to church every single day because she wants to. She asks to be the one to say grace before dinner because she wants to. She is the perfect daughter. Well, she is the perfect daughter to my mum.

I pick up my shoes. Take a deep breath. Retouch my face powder. Make sure there is no trace of crying left.

I need to be strong for Richie. And now I also need to shield his dad from my family.