Constance Bernardi-Yamafuchi leveled a stern gaze at her son across the table. He had just returned from the Uvona region, standing tall at 6 feet despite her seeing him as a boy, even at 34.
Their greeting was tense.
"Mother," he acknowledged respectfully, bowing his head.
"Boy," Constance snarled in response, her tone cutting.
The tension eased slightly as the son offered a nearby chair for his mother. Once seated, they faced each other, their expressions guarded.
"You're looking well, mother," the son attempted to break the ice.
"And you look like your father today," she muttered gruffly, unimpressed. Noting his stoic expression, Constance pressed on. "So, Giovanni, do you bring me tales of victory or defeat?"
"Success," he replied stiffly.
"Are you still with that red-headed whore?" she probed, her tone sharp.
"Ariana is not a whore, mother," he countered.
"That doesn't answer my question, boy," she insisted.
"We divorced four years ago," he deadpanned.
"How's Silver?" Constance asked, a faint smirk playing on the corner of her lips as she observed his reaction.
"Silver's been dead for six years, mother," he seethed through clenched teeth.
Her taunt had struck a nerve, reminding her of the loss of her beloved grandchild.
"Such a sweet boy he was..." she reminisced softly. "Why don't-" She halted abruptly, dismissing the thought. "Never mind."
A hushed silence settled between them, allowing each to collect their thoughts. Constance noticed her son's gaze fixed on a man and a boy playing with a Pokémon outside the window.
"Have you talked to anyone about that?" she asked, an uncommon concern creeping into her voice. "That's one of those thing you should talk about."
"Do I detect a hint of concern in your voice, mother?" he retorted.
'Watch your tone, you insolent child!'
'I'm always watching my tone, mother.'
'Respect me, boy!'
"Kids die all the time," he retorted, meeting her eyes with a smirk. "I'm over it."
The restaurant was owned by Team Rocket, allowing them to converse freely.
"Sure you are," she countered, skepticism lingering in her response.
The door creaked open as a voice called out, "Ada!"
Ada's heart sank as she felt the imposing presence of her mother even before entering the house.
"Ada," her mother's voice echoed.
Ada responded with noncommittal murmurs, unable to muster the energy to engage.
Her mother pointed out that no one had heard from her in weeks.
Ada remained indifferent, her mother's persistent prodding weighing heavily on her.
"Just go outside," her mother urged.
Ada let out an exasperated sound in response.
"I have news to share," her mother began.
"If it's about my sister and my husband, I'm already aware," Ada cut in, the wounds still raw from the betrayal.
Her mother's attempts to intervene were futile as Ada remained resolute in her decision to distance herself from the unfolding drama.
Ada stood her ground as her mother launched into a tirade about family loyalty, holding firm to her feelings of betrayal and abandonment.
"They are getting married in six months," her mother said.
Ada's patience wore thin, and she firmly uttered, "Goodbye, Abby."
Her mother protested, but Ada's mind was made up.
"I need to be alone," Ada declared, silencing her mother's pleas for understanding.
As she walked away, the weight of her mother's words lingered, but Ada knew that she needed space to heal from the hurt that had consumed her.