Norman didn’t want to get out of bed. He knew that he had responsibilities and plans to take care of, but his body wouldn’t will itself to move. He stared at the bottle of perfume on his nightstand, the one with his mom’s handwriting on it. He had washed his bedding with the fragrance oils, and the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla filled him with unexpected melancholy. It smelled just like his mother, and whenever he closed his eyes, he could almost picture her warm embrace. She was a stern woman, but she was still his mamma. He really missed his mamma.
Norman had distracted himself well enough until now, but the reminder of his mother made all the longing come at once. It felt like a death, in a way. He hadn’t mourned the death of Earth, but it was there. The loss of simple comforts seems so insignificant at first, but they pile up. He couldn’t text his pappa to tell him about his achievements, he couldn’t listen to his favorite music, and he couldn’t revisit places that brought him comfort. He couldn’t go home.
Not to the minimalistic apartment in the middle of town. He wanted to go home to his childhood bedroom, amongst the posters about space, his spelling awards and trophies, and the old workbooks from middle school. He wanted to sit there and listen to his mamma vacuuming downstairs and his pappa arguing with someone on the phone. Then he wanted to eat the macaroni pudding and bacon they always ate on Wednesdays, even though he hated it.
The door to his bedroom creaked open, followed by the gentle padding of tiny feet. “Papa? Why are ya still sleeping? We already ate breakfast.” Paien asked with concern in his voice. He had dressed himself this morning, evidenced by the buttons of his shirt being one off and his socks being mismatched. His ponytail was also a lopsided mess. Norman always helped him with his buttons and his hair, but he didn’t help him today. Something was obviously wrong.
“Ah. Sorry. I suppose I’m just a bit sad.” Norman wanted to sugarcoat it. He wanted to tell his son that he was fine, but that would be a lie. He had always told him that people are allowed to be sad, even boys, even grown men, even him. To deny himself the right to be sad would go against all of his teachings, wouldn’t it? “I’m not sick or anything, don’t worry.”
Paien crawled into bed and rested his father’s head against his own as he gently stroked his hair. It was what Norman always did to him whenever he was sad, and what Lady did to Norman when he was younger. “It’s okay to be sad, Papa. Everyone is sad sometimes.” Papa looked the same as always, but he didn’t need to cry to be sad. When he asked why he didn’t make any expressions, he told him that he was like a bird; they always looked the same, but they had big feelings on the inside. That made sense. Paien was also like a bird in some ways. Maybe everyone was. “Why are ya sad?”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Norman felt a bit silly being comforted by his own son, but he had to admit that it felt nice. “I miss my mamma.” He admitted after a moment of silence. Maybe it was a stupid thing to be sad about when almost everyone else in the household got abandoned by their mothers, but the knowledge that others had it worse didn’t do anything to dull his own pain. “She is really far away, and I can’t see her again. These sheets smell like her, so I started missing her.”
Paien didn’t understand the concept of a mother. He knew what they were, but he didn’t know what it was like to have one. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like, but he never really had any longing for a motherly figure in his life. He had a Papa and an Aunty, and that was enough for him. “Papa has a Mama? What is she like?” He didn’t know why, but he had never thought about his Papa having any family other than himself and the others in the house. Now that he thought about it, all adults were kids once, weren’t they?
“Where I’m from, we call our mothers Mamma. She’s like me, but stricter.” He closed his eyes as he imagined his mother in front of him. The razor-sharp bob, those angled glasses, and the bright red lipstick she wore every day. The clicking of her heels as she walked down the hall, the smell of her shampoo when they hugged, and the way her voice sounded when she read him bedtime stories. “She always drank coffee on the couch whenever I came home from school. I would tell her about my day, and then she would help me with my homework. After that, we ate dinner together. When my father was away on business trips, it was just me and my Mamma at the table. I really miss her cooking.”
“Your Mamma sounds like my Papa,” Paien responded with a smile. Norman was just about to ask what he meant when he continued. “When I come home from playin’ with Jasper, my Papa is always sittin’ at the kitchen table with his numbers. I tell him all about what we did outside, and then he tells me to do my writing. After that, we eat dinner n’ Papa helps us take a bath. Then, when he puts me to bed, he tells me stories I’ve never heard before until I fall asleep. It’s just my Papa and me then. I think I’d really miss that if he went away.”
Norman hugged his son tighter. He knew that he was a father on an intellectual level, but the thought of his children having fond memories of him like he did of his mother was… special. He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, yet he was home to them. He really hoped that he would see his Mamma again someday, he would do anything to be able to tell her how much he loved her. Until then, though, he wouldn’t wallow in sadness. Being sad was okay, because then you feel better. Norman had had his fill of sadness for today, so it was time to feel better.
“Good thing your Papa isn’t going anywhere, then. How about we ask Wiseman if he has any recipes from my homeland? I’m really craving Kalops.”
