Flora sat at the kitchen table, staring at the secondhand guitar she had grown attached to over the last few months. It was scratched and worn, but that didn't matter. It had become her outlet, her way of making sense of the chaos around her. She strummed a few chords, her fingers moving mechanically, but her mind was elsewhere—spinning in circles, stuck on thoughts she didn't want to entertain.
Across the room, Max was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone, his headphones blasting music so loud that Flora could faintly hear the beats. He hadn't said much to her today, but that wasn't unusual. Teenage silence was something Flora had learned to live with. But lately, it felt heavier, like there was something simmering beneath the surface. Something they both refused to talk about.
The lyrics to Taylor Swift's "Question…?" floated through Flora's mind: "Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room… and every single one of your friends was making fun of you?" She couldn't shake the sense that everything in her life was a series of unanswered questions. Questions she wasn't sure she wanted to ask.
"Hey, Max," Flora called out, breaking the silence.
Max didn't respond, too absorbed in whatever was playing in his ears.
Flora sighed, strumming the guitar again, louder this time. "Max!"
Max finally pulled one headphone off, glancing at her with mild annoyance. "What?"
"Have you thought about what we talked about last week? About trying out music? Like, for real?"
Max rolled his eyes, a classic teenage move. "Mom, we've been over this. I'm not into it like you are."
Flora huffed, setting the guitar down. "Yeah, well, I didn't think I was either until I gave it a go. Now look at me—I'm practically a rock star."
Max gave her a deadpan stare. "A rock star who plays in the living room."
Flora shot him a look. "You know what I mean."
Max shrugged, putting his headphone back on. "I'm not interested."
Flora watched him for a moment, her frustration bubbling up. It wasn't just about music—it was about everything. She didn't know how to reach him anymore, didn't know how to connect. The more she tried, the more he pulled away. It was like they were speaking different languages, and no matter how hard she tried to get through to him, there was always something in the way.
The doorbell rang, snapping Flora out of her thoughts. She stood up, casting one more glance at Max before heading to the door.
Ian, Max's father, stood on the doorstep, hands shoved in his pockets, looking as disheveled as ever. Flora felt a mix of emotions at the sight of him—annoyance, exhaustion, and something else she didn't want to name.
"Great," Flora muttered under her breath before opening the door. "What do you want, Ian?"
Ian smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Good to see you too, Flora."
Flora crossed her arms, blocking the doorway. "I don't have time for your games today. If you're here to see Max, he's inside. But if you're here to stir up trouble, don't bother."
Ian's smirk faded slightly, and he glanced past her toward the living room. "I'm not here to cause trouble. Just wanted to check in. See how Max is doing."
Flora narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "Since when do you care about checking in?"
Ian sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Look, I know I haven't been around much, but I'm trying. Can I come in, or are we going to have this conversation in the hallway?"
Flora hesitated but stepped aside, letting Ian into the small, cramped flat. She closed the door behind him and leaned against it, watching as Ian made his way into the living room.
Max, still lost in his phone, didn't notice his dad's arrival until Ian cleared his throat.
"Hey, kid," Ian said awkwardly, standing in the middle of the room like he didn't know where to put his hands.
Max looked up, surprised. "Dad? What are you doing here?"
Ian shrugged, shoving his hands back into his pockets. "Just thought I'd stop by. See how things are."
Max glanced between Ian and Flora, his confusion clear. "Uh, okay… Things are fine, I guess."
Flora bit her tongue, resisting the urge to snap at Ian for showing up unannounced. Instead, she walked over to the table and picked up her guitar again, her fingers strumming softly as she tried to drown out the tension.
Ian sat down on the edge of the couch, his eyes scanning the room. "So, what's new? You been working on your music with your mom?"
Max shifted uncomfortably. "Not really."
Ian raised an eyebrow, glancing at Flora. "You trying to turn him into a little rock star?"
Flora scoffed, not looking up from her guitar. "I'm just trying to get him to engage with something other than his phone for once. But he's not interested."
Max shot her a look, annoyed. "I told you, Mom, it's not my thing."
Ian chuckled softly, but there was an edge to his tone. "Maybe you should let him figure out what his thing is, Flora."
Flora's hands stilled on the guitar, her patience fraying. "Maybe if you spent more time actually being a parent, you'd know what's going on with him."
Ian's smirk vanished, and the room went silent, the tension thickening. Max, sensing the impending argument, stood up quickly, his eyes flicking between his parents.
"I'm going out," Max muttered, grabbing his jacket. "You two can argue without me."
Flora stood up, her frustration boiling over. "Max, wait—"
But before she could stop him, Max was already out the door, slamming it behind him. The sound echoed through the small apartment, leaving Flora and Ian standing in the heavy silence.
Flora exhaled sharply, turning to Ian. "This is why I don't need you showing up out of nowhere. You make everything harder."
Ian rolled his eyes, leaning back on the couch. "Oh, please. Like this is all on me? You're the one pushing him to be something he's not."
Flora glared at him, her voice rising. "I'm not pushing him—I'm trying to help him! You wouldn't understand because you're not around enough to see what he's going through."
Ian's expression darkened. "Don't act like you're the perfect parent, Flora. We've both made mistakes."
Flora's hands clenched at her sides, the anger bubbling up. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to make Ian understand how much she was trying. But instead, she took a deep breath, her voice lowering as she spoke.
"I'm doing the best I can, Ian," she said quietly, the weight of her words hanging between them. "But sometimes, it feels like I'm doing it alone."
Ian's shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he looked as tired as she felt. "I know. And I'm sorry."
They stood there in silence for a few moments, the tension still simmering but no longer boiling over. Flora picked up her guitar again, strumming a few soft chords, trying to ground herself in the familiar rhythm.
"I don't know what to do with him," Flora admitted, her voice soft. "He's slipping away, and I don't know how to bring him back."
Ian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Maybe you just need to give him some space. Let him come to you when he's ready."
Flora frowned, her fingers stilling on the strings. "And what if he doesn't?"
Ian shrugged. "Then you'll be there when he needs you. That's all you can do."
Flora looked at him, her frustration giving way to exhaustion. "I don't know how to do this, Ian. I don't know how to be a mom and still be myself."
Ian smiled softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. "None of us do. We just figure it out as we go."
Later that evening, after Ian had left and the apartment was quiet again, Flora sat on the couch, strumming her guitar absentmindedly. The melody was soft and slow, echoing the thoughts swirling in her mind. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was failing—not just as a mother, but as everything. She wanted so badly to connect with Max, to help him find his way, but every attempt seemed to push him further away.
As the night wore on, her phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from Jeff, her online music teacher, who had become more of a friend than she'd ever expected.
Jeff: Hey, how's it going over there? You working on that new song we talked about?
Flora smiled faintly, typing back a quick response.
Flora: Not really. It's been one of those days.
A few seconds later, her phone buzzed again.
Jeff: Want to talk about it?
Flora hesitated, glancing at the empty apartment around her. She didn't know how to explain what she was feeling—how to put into words the mess that her life felt like. But Jeff had a way of making things seem less overwhelming, even from thousands of miles away.
Flora: Just… everything feels like it's falling apart. Max, Ian, me. I don't know how to fix it.
Jeff: Maybe you don't need to fix it. Maybe you just need to let it be messy for a while.
Flora frowned, staring at the message. That wasn't the answer she wanted, but deep down, she knew Jeff was right. Life was messy. Relationships were messy. And maybe trying to force everything into place was what was making it all fall apart.
Jeff: You're doing better than you think, Flora. Just keep playing. It helps, right?
Flora smiled, her fingers moving over the strings again. Yeah, playing helped. Even if it didn't fix everything, it made her feel like she could breathe.
Flora: Thanks, Jeff. You're right.
Jeff: Of course I'm right. Now go write that song. I want to hear it.
Flora laughed softly, setting her phone down. The melody she'd been playing took shape under her fingers, and for the first time all day, she felt a little lighter.
As the night stretched on and the music filled the empty spaces in the apartment, Flora realized that maybe she didn't have all the answers. Maybe she didn't need them. Life was full of questions—questions she wasn't always ready to ask, but that didn't mean she couldn't keep trying. Keep playing.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.
