Writing has been agonisingly slow of late, since all my creative energies have been redirected into perler bead creations. I've covered half my bedroom wall with them. Anyway. Here's a chapter.

Chapter 25

Mom let out a long, low breath, her eyes locked on Brodie, and reached for the coffee pot to fill a mug for Lesley. I'm not sure what – or if – she was thinking. She'd never given coffee to a minor before, but it was probably a good idea, if only to keep her quiet for a few minutes while Mom got her thoughts together and managed to start her explanation.

I watched Mom carefully, ready to stop her the moment she even glanced in the direction of the liquor cabinet. Now was not the time to be intoxicated.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brodie sitting rather more stiffly than before, his hands clasped together tightly and resting on the table, his face struggling to stay blank. By my guess, Mom had about sixty seconds to start talking or Brodie would fly off the handle.

Slowly, Mom took a seat and I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding.

"I'm sorry," Mom breathed, still holding Brodie's gaze. "I'm a horrible mother.

Ordinarily, I probably would have agreed with her, just becase I was sick to death of her nagging and disapproval. But seeing the way she was struggling with this confrontation and in light of the memories that had flitted through my head upstairs as we'd shared a moment, I was inclined to say the opposite. She wasn't a horrible mother, she was just a strongly opinionated woman who cared too much about what others think of her.

Brodie opened his mouth to speak, and for a brief moment I thought he was going to agree, and sprout off some choice words on the matter, but at the last moment his expression shifted and he simply said, "Tha' remains to be seen."

My heart did a happy little flip in my chest. He was giving her a chance to explain!

"I was selfish in giving you up," Mom said, no longer meeting Brodie's gaze. She stared, instead, at her fidgeting hands on the table. "No that's not right," she mumbled. "I didn't just give you up, I forced you away."

I noticed Lesley shifting in her seat, looking like she was going to brazenly interrupt again, so I quickly dug through my bag for one of the busy activities I kept in there for Mat and Edi. It was a long shot, but I had to try, the last thing I wanted was for Lesley to undo all the hard work I'd done in getting Mom to come downstairs and talk to us. And like it or not, Mom was Lesley's grandmother, so if things went well today and Brodie and Mom agreed to allow each other in, shed have to learn to respect her. She should show respect to her elders anyway, but I was inclined to chalk her current behaviour up to jet lag.

After a moment of rummaging, my hand landed on what I'd been looking for and I pulled out to place in front of her. She looked from the item to me and back, her brow furrowing a little.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Silly putty," I responded, before adding what I'd told the boys the first couple of times I pulled it out. "Every time you feel like interrupting, give it a squeeze." She looked unconvinced, so I leaned closer to say, "This is an important conversation for your dad, you need to stay out of it for now. Listen in, by all means, but save any questions or statements for later. Let them have their peace for now."

With a roll of her eyes, she slouched back
in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest The putty remained on the table in its little container. For probably the first time, I realised that this is what I must have looked like, sulking at the kitchen table when Mom tried to get me to talk about my day. Of course, my hair was curlier, and messier, but we had a lot of similar features, including the vivid blue, glaring eyes.

I left the putty where it was in the hopes that she would see my logic and use it if she felt an opinion coming on, and turned my attention back to Mom and the men.

They were all staring at me.

"Uh, shall we continue?" I suggested. Anything to get the focus off me. "Mom, you were saying how you forced Brodie away?"

"Right," she agreed, suddenly taking interest in the laminated table top "I wasn't always like this," she stated, gesturing to herself.

I didn't follow, and apparently neither did Brodie, because he asked, "Nervous?"

"No," she said, shaking her head forcefully, then meeting his eyes. "I'm sure Stephanie has filled you in on what I'm like as a mother."

Now it was Brodie's turn to shake his head, and I found myself mimicking the action. The time since we'd realised Brodie was my half brother had been a whirlwind of activity. One thing after another. I hadn't really had an opportunity to broadcast my views on my mother, except last night, but I hadn't even thought to do so. Probably, it was best if I ept my opinions to myself and let Brodie make his own judgements anyway.

"Oh," Mom breathed, sounding surprised. Like she expected me to bad mouth her at every corner. "Well, she can tell you now. Stephanie, tell him what I'm like."

Ever had that goldfish moment? The one where your mouth is opening and closing but no words are coming out as you stare rather perplexedly around? I had to phrase this just right to avoid poisoning Brodie and Lesley's minds with my own mother issues, and also so that I didn't invoke a fresh wave of her wrath. One wayward word and I could be on a three month cake ban. It's not such a big deal now that I have Ella that I can ask to bake things, I know how to whip up a basic, comes-from-a-box, just-add-water cake mix, but back in the day, such an occurrence would have been utterly devastating.

Finally, my husband came to my rescue, reminding us all of his presence at the same time.

"Helen has strict views on how people, especially her own children, should act. She is very conscious of prying eyes and seeks to spare her family from the gossip hungry community they live in by constantly trying to enforce her views on them. This often leads to tension, discord and arguments, particularly where Stephanie is concerned."

It took me a long moment to process all that he had said. All of it was true, of course, but he'd said it so eloquently that I was briefly unsure if he was actually talking about my mother. The civilised description was apt without being snarky. It sounded like something I'd read in the character profiles the men had me looking over a few years back. I guess it made sense that Carlos would be able to phrase it just right, he always did.

I met my husband's gaze and smiled widely at him, silently broadcasting my appreciation of his save. In return he threaded his fingers through mine and gently rubbed his thumb along the back of my hand. Soothing. Definitely something I needed right now.

I didn't notice in the brief silence that had arisen until my attention was stolen from Carlos by Mom's quietly uttered, "Oh." When I glanced over she was looking a little surprised, and again wondered if she expected us to speak ill of her every chance we got. To tell the truth, I was a little hurt by that thought. Sure, she could be mean and controlling and we rarely saw eye to eye, but she was my mother and I loved her all the same.

"So tha's how ye are now," Brodie said, his tone soft, like he was unsure of what – if anything – he should be saying. "But ye said ye weren't always this way?"

"No," Mom said. "When I was young I was... well, I guess the easiest way to describe it would be to say I was the complete opposite."

I noticed as she spoke she was staring directly at a spot just to the left of Brodie's head making it seem like she was directing her words to him but avoiding making eye contact.

"I never did as I was told. I would run about the neighbourhood wreaking havoc wherever I went. When I got into my teens I started sneaking out at night. I would go to parties, and drink, and make out with boys."

Quick as a flash, Lesley's mouth was open and words were coming out. "Clearly you did a lot more than make-."

"Lesley Anne McKenna," Brodie barked over top of her. His face was turning a dark red and his electric blue eyes were livid. "Ye need to keep yer mouth shut or ye can wait outside 'til we're done here." In his anger, his already thick Scottish accent became even thicker so that it took all my concentration to decipher what he was saying. Between his growling, incoherent words and the irritation flashing in his eyes, I was afraid to make a move for fear that he would turn the combination on me.

Lesley sent an equally scary glare back at her father, but said nothing.

"What do you say?" he prompted sternly, not breaking the stare-down they were locked in.

A beat of silence practically sizzled in the air between them, burned by the harsh heat coming from both their gazes.

"Sorry," Lesley gritted out.

"Doona tell me," Brodie countered. "You yer grandmother."

An angry sigh left her lips, but she turned to face Mom and managed an apology that only sounded slightly scathing.

"It's fine," Mom assured her, which surprised me. She'd never shrugged off my disrespect. If I had pulled what Lesley just did when I was in my teen I'd have been grounded for a month at least. "This must be frustrating for you. Meeting the grandmother you thought was dead all these years only to learn that she never even tried love or even accept your father. You have every right to be reserved."

"But tha' doesnae mean disrespecting," Brodie added.

"Sure," Lesley grumbled. "Continue then."

As Mom began speaking once more, I silently reached for the tub of silly putty, took the lid off and lifted the contents out before pressing it firmly into Lesley's hands. She rolled her eyes at me, but did not put it down as she once again slouched down in her chair. We were making progress and no one, not even her morbid curiosity and need for the facts, was willing to delay that now that we were on a roll.

Progress! Progress! Oh, sweet sweet progress! Aren't you glad I updated?