Unsurprisingly Complicated

by Claudia Burgoa

  “I’d always knew you’d be pretty,” she mentions. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Daugherty.”

  “No, call me Mina,” she corrects me. “Thank you for picking us up, Son.”

  Mason mumbles something under his breath. I ignore him.

  “I’m glad you’re visiting.” I try to start a conversation with the clumsiest voice I own.

  “Well, I haven’t seen Mason in such a long time.” She pulls out her phone and slides her finger over the screen.

  “Yes, a long time.” She holds the phone up, showing me her calendar. “It was before Thanksgiving of last year. That’s, of course, his normal behavior.”

  The woman is keeping track, scary.

  “I had work, Mom.” He clears his throat. “A few months ago, when I arrived home… Well, I came across this bat-shit crazy girl, and I haven’t been able to shake her off my side.”

  I slap him on the arm. “Almost six months, Mason Bradley,” I add, straightening my posture and tilting my chin. A huge deal for me, when in the beginning of our relationship we had too many lows and highs.

  “Six months?” her astonished tone matches the big eyes. “You never stay that long in one place. Well, I’m sure a couple of weeks will bring me up to speed on what is happening with you, Son.” Then she gives me a sweet smile. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

  Crap. Two weeks.

  Relieved that everything is great with Mason and the fact that his mother is in town, staying with me, I leave the bed.

  I shower, dress, and brace myself for the first morning with Mason’s mother and stepfather in my house. Yesterday, when we got back from the airport, they excused themselves and went to bed. Today is another story. I have no idea if she’s an early bird or a nocturnal owl. If I should approach her with caution before she takes her first sip of coffee.

  I’m worrying about nothing. She is in bed, and by the time she wakes up I’ll be long gone. I’ll make a pot of coffee, write a note about my schedule, and head to work.

  No such luck. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelops me as I set foot inside the kitchen. The nook table is set with four place mats, silverware, glasses, and mugs. A pitcher of orange juice that makes my mouth salivate sits in the center beside a platter of … rice?

  Mina’s smile greets me. She holds a large spoon and is standing in front of the stove. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she wears a buttercup color tracksuit with a pair of black running shoes. Behind her, pots and pans are steaming, and the aroma isn’t the typical blueberry stack of pancakes, or sausage and eggs.

  “Did I wake you up, AJ?” Her head tilts at the microwave.

  Five forty-five.

  “No, I wake up early most days.” Yes, at six so I can head out of the house before seven and arrive at work before seven thirty. Details. The jitters of having her here might’ve influenced the change of schedule.

  “Umm, do you need help with… the food?” Well, that wasn’t smooth, but sounded better than blurting out if she was planning on feeding the neighborhood.

  “I hope you don’t mind me barging in here to make breakfast, I wanted to do something in exchange for your hospitality.”

  My knees unlock. Her sweetness soothes my tense and sweaty body. After all, I might not have to take a second shower. Captivated by what she calls breakfast, my legs unglue themselves from the floor. Soup, green spinach salad with sesame seed, and some yellow log-roll egg?

  “What is that?”

  “Tamagoyaki—fried rolled eggs.”

  There are different bottles of condiments on my countertop. Marin sauce, soy sauce, sesame dressing. Miso paste? Did she travel with them?

  “Do you cook?”

  “Sure, nothing fancy, but I do. Between our housekeeper and my parents, they taught me to cook.” I don’t add the part that it’s hard to find good food at restaurants that won’t send my glucose levels out of whack. Nor inform her that her delicious food might not be safe for me. Not many people take that objectively.

  “During the week, I’ll teach you how to make some of Ichiro’s favorites.”

  “Ichiro?” The big meal lost its brightness and my new interest goes to that name. Mr. Daugherty’s name is Demetri. Not Ichiro.

  “That’s his name… Mason Ichiro Hiroshi Bradley.” She gives me an innocent smile. “A family tradition. His father demanded to add an English name. I’m Mina Amaya Hachi. My family and I at home call him, Ichiro. The first son.”

  Before I can ask for baby pictures and embarrassing anecdotes, the doorbell rings. Strange. When I open the door, I find Ichiro. Clean shaven, a new t-shirt, and smelling woodsy. “Hi. I thought you wouldn’t come until later.” I press my lips to his. “And why ring the bell? That’s what keys are made for—opening doors.”

  “You leaving early?” He scans me from head to toe, ignoring the key comment. “I like that schoolgirl skirt. We can have a few scenarios rolling with that and the beret.”

  Mason adjusts it.

  “Yes, naughty teacher.” His gaze drops to my legs and I fluster as he licks his lips. “Garter?”

  “None of your business,” I whisper. “Your mother is in the kitchen, Ichiro.” I march back to the safe harbor of his mom.

  “What else did you tell her, Mother?” He narrows his eyes at the back of her head.

  Mina is serving the soup in bowls. I make myself useful and take them to the table.

  “Nothing, Ichiro. You interrupted my time with your mom.”

  “I thought had you work early today, Son.” His mom finally turns around. “That’s why you left the house about an hour ago.”

  I close my eyes and bite my lip. He swore she wouldn’t notice that he stayed all night. Oh shit, we made a hell of a lot of noise.

  “An emergency, Mom. All was taken care of.” He envelops me in a hug and rubs my back. “I freed my schedule for you and Damian.”

  “Dimitri,” I mumble.

  “I don’t care,” he whispers.

  “I have a few places I want to go, including the market.” She signals for us to sit at the table. “Your house doesn’t have some of the ingredients I need, and I want to teach Ainsley how to prepare your favorite food,” Mina says it with a soft smile, and my mind wants to take that as an approval. An approval I might lose when she realizes I can’t eat all these foods. The alternative is to head next door and make myself something. A bowl of oatmeal? My parents don’t leave anything perishable while they travel, but their pantry is always full.

  “Also, a visit to Milli would be nice, Ichiro.”

  “Milli?” His chin drops to his chest, and I’m waiting to find out who this Milli is and why he doesn’t look excited about it. “Does that include the entire family, Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  Being a bystander inside my own home doesn’t excite me, but I can’t say much about it.

  “Let me make a few arrangements, Mom.”

  “Not tomorrow, I want to cook with Ainsley. Plan around it.”

  Do I want to cook with her? It shouldn’t be much different from cooking with Grandma, my aunts, or Coco. Unless she starts hating me for some reason. Yes, that terrifies me.

  “Well, you two figure out your days. I have to go.” I spring out of my chair, grab a few strawberries from the refrigerator, and head to the closet for my coat and messenger bag.

  “Coward,” Mason says leaning against the door with a lopsided grin.

  “Do you need me to take some time off, Mase?” Maybe I could take Friday and Monday. We can spend a four day weekend with his mother and Dimitri.

  “Nah, we should leave in a couple of days for Vancouver.” He holds my coat, and I slip it on. “By the time she finishes visiting family, she’ll have to go back home. We’ll be out of your hair for the next week and a half.”

  Out of my hair? I wanted to visit longer with her, find about his secrets. The embarrassing moments of his life.

  “Sorry about wha
t she said.” My brows merge together and my lips twist to the left because I don’t understand. “This being my house.”

  Ours. I want to talk about that subject, but not today. As everything I don’t want to discuss, I shrug it away.

  “Call me on your way to the music school, Nine.”

  “I love you,” I tell him. I step on my tiptoes and feather him with tiny kisses along his jaw.

  “Did you eat?” I shake my head. “Nine?”

  “I’m heading next door. My parents have their pantry full of healthy food,” I whisper. “I couldn’t tell her, sorry. It’s just too much.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” His voice makes my entire body shiver. “It’s important that she knows that you can’t feast on her delicacies the same way I do.”

  “Don’t worry, we can do that later.” I kiss him on the lips, but he doesn’t return it. “Plus, I know how to care for myself, you should know that by now.”

  My hug isn’t returned, and I raise my chin slightly to find his gaze. Something happened between his arrival and this moment that changed him—his attitude. I rest my hand on top of his chest feeling the rhythm of his heart. I send a hopeful wish to it. Please don’t break my heart.

  “I love you.” I breathe the words before I turn around.

  The skirt she wears isn’t short enough to let me see if she’s wearing a garter, but in my mind she is. I’m already imagining the things I’ll do when we’re alone. The thought leaves my mind as she repeats that she loves me. Then Mom’s insinuation that this is my house comes crashing back. I freeze and can’t think of anything else but to find the first exit.

  Nine closes the door behind her, shoulders slightly slumped. I’m a fucking asshole, but this has to stop soon. Perhaps now. Life has been great since Nine became a permanent fixture. We wake up next to each other, fuck several times a day, and hang out with each other. There are days I can’t imagine my life any other way. I enjoy my morning run next to a woman almost a foot shorter than me, who keeps up with my pace and hates if I slow down. We discuss her music, the games I develop, the news. There’s not a dull moment around her. But that’s as far as I go on this trip. Time to land and let her continue with her own life.

  “I don’t mean to offend, Ichiro.” Mom comes out of the kitchen. “But a teacher leaving this early sounds like a poor excuse. I didn’t mean to impose and…”

  “She has diabetes, Mom,” I say and she watches me. “That’s too much food for her, food she might not be able to handle. But she’s happy to have you in her house.”

  Mom frowns, turns around and enters the kitchen. I follow behind. Not sure if I offended her or anything that my girl did might have hurt her feelings. The last thing that Ainse would want is to hurt Mom in any way. She told me so last night.

  “Will she come to visit Milli with us?”

  My stare is blank because even when Ainse offered to ask for a few days off, I declined. I don’t want her to come with us or talk to Mom about me. This isn’t happening. I have to take my mother away from here and salvage my relationship with Ainse. The relationship we have had so far. No pressure, no expectations. Only today and the fun of sharing each other.

  Mom points to the table and gives me that ‘sit, now’ glare. I am back to being a five-year-old, following his mother’s gestures and wondering how to make her happy. I start eating my soup, hoping for Dionysus or whatever the fuck his name is to come downstairs and entertain his wife.

  “Are you two planning on having a family?” I spit out the soup. Children? Another woman taking off with a relationship that has reached the finish line. This is where I’m comfortable, and I’m not planning on going any further. Not today, tomorrow, or any time after. Getting married isn’t in my plans. Not in my five-year-plan or part of my retirement goals.

  “It’s a logical step, Son.” She wipes up the mess I made. “You have a beautiful, smart girl who loves you, a house, and finally some stability. No more traveling. The wedding shouldn’t be a problem. Her parents are wealthy, and you can start a family right away.”

  The idea of having a permanent woman, a house, and a wedding hits home. The entire weight of what Mom and even Ainse expect from me crushes my chest. Is this what Nine expects? Day in and day out for the rest of our lives in the same house. One woman. No independence or free will. A contract binding us for the rest of our lives without the chance of parole. Well, parole would mean a divorce in a year or two.

  Shit, condoms. We stopped using them. What if the fucking IUD fails and we end up with a child? There’s no turning back after something that major. A kid will attach me to her forever. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving the kid in the middle of a turmoil between us. I stare at my mom, who in only a few minutes showed me what the future will bring if I stay any longer inside this house and continue being part of a couple.

  Way to ruin my present, Mom.

  I have to think of a way to finish what I started before it is too late. Because I’ll be the one living alone for the rest of my life while she finds another man to take my place.

  “Pack your things, Mom.” I rise from my seat. “We’re leaving in a couple of hours. I have some work to do.”

  “But I want to stay longer. Ainsley…”

  “Ainsley and I aren’t what you think, Mom,” I keep my voice flat. “We’re having fun and that’s the end of it. You had the chance to play mother-daughter with Meghan, my ex, and you hated her.”

  “She wasn’t good for you,” she reminds me.

  Yes, I forgot how much Mom hated Meghan; how happy she had been the moment I told her we were over.

  “It doesn’t matter. Be ready in two hours.”

  Mase: Leaving for Vancouver today.

  J-9: When will you be back?

  Mase: Not sure, two weeks.

  J-9: Is Mina upset with me?

  I roll my eyes and start sending emails around the company giving orders and delegating a few tasks while I’m on the road.

  J-9: Please, apologize to her. Sometimes it’s hard for me to be normal around Moms. I have some deficiency in that regard.

  J-9: Maybe we can visit her in Toronto and I can make a good impression.

  I’ve never seen Ainse trying so hard to make a big impression, but since we left the house to pick up Mom and her husband, she asked me questions to learn how to please her. I answered only a few, but still, Ainse pulled the right tools and made that big impact. A sign that she’s trying to achieve more than what I want with her. With one text, I could calm her and give her hopes, but those hopes might read a big future. We are, in fact, about to finish the present, and if I do it right, I won’t lose her for long. Maybe we’ll have to go our separate ways for a few months, but later, we’ll go back to our friendship.

  J-9: If you ever need, I’m great with grandmas and aunts. You can ask for references.

  Jody responds to my email immediately, Kowalski wishes me luck with Mom. We email back and forth about an alarm he has to upgrade next week. In the end, I settle most of my affairs and head to the bedroom. Toby follows behind and jumps on top of the bed, cuddling himself in the middle. He stares at me, his eyes demanding an explanation of why I’m pulling some clothes from the drawers and shoving them inside my duffle bag.

  For the past months, I’ve taken some closet space and my cars stay here. The garage has tools that I bought to make some repairs around the house or tweak my cars. Anyone who wasn’t privy to our life would assume, like my mother did, that I live here. Free rent. Well, I might not pay the mortgage, but I’ve been paying the utility bills. Each time we head to the grocery store, I pay, and no wonder I’m itching. This isn’t me.

  Fucking Ainsley is trying to domesticate me like her darn cat. Not anymore. I’m not a damn animal that can be kept in captivity because I have a place to sleep, a body to snuggle with at nights and a roof over my head.

  J-9: It’s about time to start my class, text me when you can.

  Mase: I’m leaving, Nine. Take care
.

  Two weeks, Mason disappeared for two weeks. Not one text answered. My phone calls directed to voicemail, and today, when he resurfaces, he rings the bell. He has a key. Why isn’t he opening the door? I stare at the security monitor in the kitchen, at the man who waits to be let in like a stranger.

  Mina and her husband planned to stay for two weeks, and instead, I came home to find them gone. A thank you note from his mom. No cooking lessons, no embarrassing pictures, or… I scratch my head one more time and head to open the door for him. Any other time I’d imagine myself eager by his arrival, squealing on my way to the door, fixing my frizzy hair, and smiling wide. I’m jaded, and not hearing from your boyfriend for two weeks is never a good sign. The sign most likely reads ‘game over.’

  “Hi.” I restrain my arms from moving. They fight me because they want to hug Mason. I want to wrap myself around him, tell him how much I missed him, but I can’t because the guy in front of me has a flat face and a stern look to him. My brain is ordering me to shut the door and hide under the bed for a few days. I fear what’s coming is not going to be pretty.

  Lightheadedness hits me, the lack of oxygen. I force myself to breathe.

  “May I come in?” he finally speaks.

  I move aside and spot a duffle bag. My entire body relaxes knowing I was overreacting to something stupid. The explanation for his disappearance must be work related.

  He climbs the stairs without uttering a word to me. Not even a hello, or to inquire how I am. I follow behind, skipping steps to reach the top almost at the same time as he does.

  “What’s going on, Mase?” I point at the open, empty bag he carries, and he looks around my room then steps in front of the closet.

  “This. Us.” He takes two more duffle bags down from the top shelf of the walk-in closet. “It’s going too fast. We should slow down.” Mason doesn’t meet my gaze. He opens one of his two drawers and pulls out his underwear and shoves them into his bag. “I think you and I have different expectations.”

  I’m not understanding that sentence and wait for him to expand. He never does. Instead, he continues shoving his clothes in the bag, taking his presence away from my house.