2
I was pretty worn out by the time I got back to my apartment that night. It was a small place, filled mostly with the same furniture I had walked in to find three years ago. I still had the bunk bed my old roommate and I had shared, though these days the top bunk was mostly a repository for laundry I hadn't gotten around to folding yet. The walls were decorated with my own paintings, works I'd done over the course of a few years, from my earliest abstract pieces that had mostly been experiments in colour balance, to the tigers and panthers I'd painted when I was going through my "wild animals" phase, to depictions of mechanical contraptions covered in brass and gears. These last pieces were part of the Steampunk phase I'd been in for the last few years.
I had even sold a few at some Steampunk conventions,
though my favourite pieces I kept for my personal collection at home.
I changed out of my professional work clothes and into black and white polka dot pyjama pants and a large top. Also known to my ex-bitchface as "clothes a boy can't pull off."
I'd stayed with her far longer than I should have before I woke up and realized how toxic she'd been for me. Some of the things she'd said still stuck with me.
When I logged onto my computer to check my email, I found a Google Hangouts message waiting from my Mum. I sighed and checked the message to find out, surprise surprise, she wanted to chat. Ever since my mother had discovered video chat a few years ago, it was her preferred way of keeping in touch with me. Especially when she was babysitting my niece and nephew.
I was still making my coffee when Mum called. As usual, the video took a few moments to connect, though I could hear the sounds of Mum moving things around on her desk. When the video feed finally connected, I saw Mum had company. My little niece Mica was sitting on her lap.
"Hi, Ianto," Mum said.
"Hiiii!" Mica said, waving enthusiastically.
"Hey, guys." I waved, missing the days when video calls were a thing seen only on the Jetsons and Star Trek. Then I wouldn't have felt so self-conscious about my appearance.
"Mica and David are spending the night with me," Mum said. "And they were so eager to talk to their Uncle Ianto!"
"Aww, that's so sweet," I said. I forced a fake smile. I knew how this video call had really come about. Mum had no doubt asked the kids if they'd be excited to chat with me, and of course she had gotten them all worked up about it. She couldn't just call me because she wanted to. No, she had to show off my sister's kids. It was the modern grandmother's way of hinting that it was past due time for me to give her some grandchildren as well.
"How are you, Mica?" I asked. As much as I could resent my Mum for using the kids as a way of guilt tripping me, I did miss my niece and nephew. My family lived in another area that was an entire state away from where I now lived and worked. I usually didn't get the chance to see them except for on the holidays. Video chat helped us close that gap. If not for work, I might have more I guess but ... well. I love my job.
"I have a girlfriend," Mica said.
"Oh?" My eyebrows went up. I was as liberal as they come, but I also knew from experience that little girls get infatuated mostly with other girls.
"Oh," my Mum waved a hand dismissively, "her and this little girl in her kindergarten play at being girlfriends. Annabelle gave Mica some flowers, and Mica gave Annabelle a…what was it?"
"A Shopkin," Mica said with pride. "I gave her my favourite one."
"Shopkins, that's it," Mum said. "You know those little things she loves so much."
"I remember," I said. "But wait, what happened to that boy you were telling me about a few weeks ago? Jeremy?"
"I don't like him anymore," Mica said. "I only liked him because I thought girls had to like boys, so I picked him because he has a bicycle."
Mica soon got bored with the video chat and climbed down off Mum's lap.
Mum and I talked for a little while about work, and how Mica and David were doing, and that sort of thing. Though it didn't take long before she finally got around to what I was sure was the real reason she'd called.
"So," she said, "Easter is coming up."
"Yup," I said, holding back a scream of frustration. "Just like it does every year."
"We're having the picnic at the same place as always. You know the one."
"Yeah, Mum," I said. I sighed. "We've been going to Henderson Park since I was Mica's age, I know."
Sometimes I wished Mum would just come right out and say what was on her mind, instead of dancing around the subject like this.
"Well, your Aunt Teresa wants a head count. I told her I was definitely coming, and I know Dana is coming with the kids. And Peter, obviously. And Edward's even flying in this year."
Here it came. I could almost taste it.
"That's great, Mum. I'm sure everyone will be happy to see Edward." My brother lived out in Tokyo now, working for a big computer software firm. He went back to see the family even less often than I did.
"And the thing is, Edward sent me an email the other day. He said he's bringing a girl."
Bingo. There it was.
"That's great," I said. "Is it something serious?"
I clenched my teeth, but forced a smile onto my face. Mum bringing up my brother's new girlfriend could only mean one thing.
"I think so. Well, I'm not sure. He didn't really say. But how long has it been since he brought someone to Easter? Anyway," she waved a hand, "that makes eight from our clan, counting you. Unless you're bringing someone, too?"
I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, trying to hold in my frustration. I hadn't really dated in three years, since I broke up with my ex. My Mum kept asking me when I was going to find someone new. I kept telling her it wasn't that simple, but she wouldn't listen.
"I haven't met anyone, Mum."
"Have you tried looking online?" she asked. "You should go on . My friend Regina met a guy on there last year, and they're so happy together."
"I'm not really interested in doing any more online dating." I'd done the e-dating thing before. I usually ended up finding someone who lived 700 miles away, which was a recipe for heartbreak. I'd actually tried a long distance thing for almost two years, just after college. It had ended when he wanted me to move to Georgia to be with him, and I wasn't willing to leave my life and my career behind to do it. And of course, he'd been shocked at the very suggestion that he might be the one to move up here for me.
"Well, I'm just saying—"
"I really need to get going, Mum," I said. "I've got a lot of work to do tonight. The Steampunk World's Fair is coming up in a few months."
"Oh, it's good that you're still doing your art. You were always so talented."
"Doing my art" was what Mum had started calling my painting when I'd told her to stop calling it a "hobby."
Even though I sold several paintings each year, it didn't count for her unless I could make my living off it.
"Good night, Mum," I said. I didn't have the patience to get into another debate about my art with her so soon after getting into another debate about my love life. "Good night, dear. Oh, and don't forget about the banner!"
"I won't, Mum. I promise."
I ended the call before she could fit in another word. I made dinner, then settled into the corner of my apartment that I called my "art studio." It was really just a desk, a bookshelf filled with art supplies, an easel, and an old, rickety stool. But it was where I worked my magic.
I still had to get started on the banner for this year's Easter picnic. It was my contribution to the gathering every year. Sometimes I wished I'd never volunteered to do it that first time when I was eight years old; once the family had seen how artistic I was, it had become my burden at every Easter since. And not just Easter, but Christmas and the Fourth of July, too. Each year's banner had a different theme and style, though I was about tapped out on ideas. There were only so many years in a row I could paint eggs, bunnies, and a Jesus before it got stale, so for years now I'd been trying out different ideas to keep things fresh. Also … a banner was easy to stow in your luggage for that long flight back to 'cluck' city. I would be looked at by my family with that head shaking sorrow like I had a terminal disease as they clucked softly to one another how sad it all was … I mean seriously. It's called being single folks!
I decided to put off work on the banner for now and start a new painting instead. I started with pencils, sketching out the framework for the scene I pictured in my head. Then I used my black paints to add in some shading, giving the designs depth and shape. Slowly, the image of a little clockwork doll formed on the canvas. She had stringy red hair like a rag doll, and her chest was ripped open, but instead of stuffing, she was filled with bent and broken gears, cogs, and springs. She sat slumped in a corner, lost and forgotten, a child's toy waiting to be loved again.
I went to bed with the painting still incomplete, which made my little clockwork doll look all the more sad and lonely. She'd have to wait for another day before I could bring her to life.
