My Mother's Boyfriend

My Mother's Boyfriend

Maya

Instantly, I change direction, heading to the dining hall where the looming figure of someone I now recognise from behind, is leaning over the wide table- a table my mother adored. The huge man reeks of power- even from behind. I could sense the air around me stilling as if he himself commanded it. He is danger- with a capital D.

When I said I expected anything these days, certainly this was not one of those expected but unexpected things. Never even came close to the list.

It is the man from the news. The very one who is famously making headlines with my mother. Her young lover. The mafia man.

Of all the disrespectful- what exactly is Don Alejandro Michael, my mother’s boyfriend, doing in my father’s dining room?

Oh-no.

“I’m calling the police,” I threaten, bringing my brother’s phone up and pressing the screen frantically at the same time my eyes sought my grandparents. My visually trembling hands match my insides. My grandfather is standing about two feet from my grandmother, who sits with a hand across her chest, a stricken look on her facial features, and I go at once into panic mode.

“Aajee,” (grandmother) I wail, rushing to the elderly woman, thinking she is having a heart attack, and she rears her head up, giving me a look of horror. I can’t tell if it's because I was ‘running all over, inside the house’, or still dressed in my pyjamas and a strange man was in the house.

In our culture, it's considered as disrespectful to be 'scantily clad' as a female in a man's presence- even family. And yes, sleepwear, no matter if you are in something draped like a hanging curtain- it's considered taboo. Because we are 'tempting men' when we do so. Women are at the fault of everything, as far as I can understand from my traditional upbringing.

Typical for the dragon lady to be in perfect health. Whether I am more relieved or disappointed that she is indeed well, remains a mystery to even me. Turns out, she is just having an overly exaggerated reaction to the audacity of her son’s, still legal wife’s, boyfriend.

My mother’s much younger, and very handsome plaything. I have eyes and I can make an observation and I observed that he is a handsome devil. He is much more attractive in real life than the tele made him out to be.

The mafia that runs this town, and the reason why my father dared not say anything to him at my mother’s funeral, was currently pointing a gun at my father’s mother. Not him, but another man who only came into my vision when I rushed towards my old grandmother, is holding the gun aimed at her almost twelve feet away.

To say my blood ran cold is an understatement. Never in my life had I ever seen a gun until then. The sight of the black thing made my stomach want to explode...through the back of me.

Yet somehow, my mind went on overdrive.

The elegant mauve-coloured waistcoat, and matching pants-wearing man, straightens to his height, turning his head to give me a once over. I have been terrified of monsters beneath my bed as a child and let me tell you- the similarity is very near to how I am feeling now when his eyes hit me.

Terror.

My insides are quivering.

His light brown eyes squint, bringing my attention to his thick, well-shaped eyebrows. One arched as if challenging me to continue blabbing my mouth. I do not.

On second thought, maybe he was showing me how I irritated him for he turned back to my father then my grandparents all received his lingering stare. Let me say that the tall, lean, olive-skin-toned, short, dark-haired, attractive man made me understand a bit why my mother could not resist him.

And I loathe him for making her forget about me and my brother.

His deep voice echoes around the room. “Leave, the adults are talking.”

No reaction to that, because I am accustomed to hearing the adults in my life talking to me that way. But I am nineteen years old- in three months, with my identification card to prove it. I’m not a child!

One flick of the mafia’s head has the gun-wielding man aiming the Glock at me and that’s when I react. I squealed, ducking my head with my hands coming up to shield myself.

“Ooh,” comes from my grandmother while my father shouts, “Leave my daughter alone, you prcik!”

“Russell, watch your mouth,” my grandmother scolds him, and my grandfather clears his throat loudly, showing his disapproval of their son’s choice of words.

“Wow. I’m not here for this. Shut your mouths while I speak, please,” I hear Don Michael saying monotone, but the voice is accompanied by clicking sounds. His shoes- he is moving towards me!

Not moving, my eyes still shut tightly, I feel my brother’s phone being taken from my vice-like grip from where my hands are covering my head. I’d forgotten I was about to call the police.

I open my eyes then, but I keep my vision plastered to the floor. His elegant black shoes come into my sight when he steps in front of me.

Large. I picture his foot breaking down the front door and I gulp.

“Maya, is it?” he inquires gently, and my heart stops for a fraction of a second. I know he isn’t going to shoot me or anything, but the fright is still there. I also know my father cannot help me at this point. “Good, please go back to your room your family, and I have some important details to discuss.”

“Uh-hmm,” I managed to get out, pulling in my lips, and without another glance at my elders, I scrambled out and ran back up to my room still worried about my elders, downstairs.

Feeling safe inside my room, I hugged my brother closely, eyeing my phone on my night stand. But I did not pick it up. Not even when it rings.

I tell Anthony that it’s alright. That someone came over to talk about some stuff with Dad, and he said for us to wait here and not disturb the important meeting.

“But you left my phone,” he mumbles and pulls away from me. Tony is addicted to games and Don Michael, the mobster, has his phone.

“Sure, go on ahead and disturb Dad,” I say flatly, hoping he does not sense my fear, and he pauses his movement to the door. He knows when Dad gives a warning it's to be so.

“Fine,” he agrees with me and tells me he is going to his room. Anthony’s room is closer to the stairs than mine. And my terror rises again.

“No, stay here!” I lunge forward and grab his hand which is almost on the door handle when I think of the arrogant face of Don Michael and him kicking down the front door.

“Stay with me, I’m scared,” I get out, hoping my wide eyes weren’t a dead giveaway to him to stay in the safety of my room.

“You’re always been scared since Mum died,” he says quietly, raising his head upwards to look at me and I see his lips are trembling. Tony misses mum and which eight-year-old doesn’t? But he does not want anyone to know. He thinks he is betraying our father because Mum left him.

“Yes, I miss her, and you do too. It’s okay to miss someone you love,” I say through my teary eyes, dropping to my knees to give him a fierce hug.

“But Papa says she is bad, and we are to not miss her, Maya,” he informs me, and I frown.

I get that father is bitter but that was before. The woman is dead- our mother is dead. We should be allowed to grieve her. Tony should not be made to feel guilty for missing our mother. “Papa might be wrong about that Bug, cry all you want.”

Anthony loves it when I call him Bug.

“Papa says only girls cry,” his lips pout as he rubs his eyes, which are flowing with hot tears.

“Boys can cry, too.”

“They can?” he squeaks out.

“Uh-huh. Adults cry too, Tony. See? I am grown, and I cry,” I show him my own tears and he nods. My brother is still going through the transition of acceptance of me, from child to adult. Even I am because in this house, I am still a child even though I am well over eighteen.

“Promise to not tell Papa I cried?” the Pokémon wearing pyjama-clad boy with short curls, blue eyes like our father’s, and red lips asks of me, and I shake my head yes.

“Bug,” I call him by our mother’s pet name for him, “You can come here and cry with me whenever you want.”

He nods his head again and cries some more. We move to the bed where I pull my heavy blanket back over us.

“But when you go back to school?” he adds as an afterthought, and I frown. I have no answer to that. I might still be here if my father listened to his parents. Life is so unfair to women. Dad got to finish school because he is a boy- the best I can hope for is to marry someone like my father one day who will allow me to have the freedom like my mother.

To finish my education and eventually, a job I can be proud of.

Obviously, I will not do what she did and become a slut shaming cougar.