My Mother's Boyfriend

Betrayal

Maya

What seemed like hours later, the house became silent. Only one and a half hours have passed, and I know this because my eyes are glued to the huge white square-faced clock on the wall opposite my bed.

Complete silence. Two minutes went by and quiet- the only sound was the ticking of the second hand on the clock. Seconds later, barking of the dog, Betty, who is in the backyard. She's a rescue of our mother who found her on the streets- starving and collarless. At first, the dog was smelly and scraggy but within three weeks she had changed. She was now a happy and healthy dog that seemed starved for love.

Gently pulling my hand from beneath the sleeping Anthony’s head, I tuck the blanket in and open my door slowly. All is quite still, so I go downstairs slowly, still barefooted, my back pressed against the wall.

Hearing the low murmur of voices now, I creep up to where I left them at last, but instead of rushing in, I stand just outside of the doorframe.

“How could you agree to this?” my grandfather is saying softly, and I furrow my forehead, not liking the sound. He sounds...dejected. And this has me on alert.

It’s not that I don’t think that my paternal grandparents dislike me, but I think they hate that I am a girl. They would love me if I were a boy- like Anthony. But I am female, so I am a burden to them.

“It’s the only solution here, and besides, it’s her mother that made the mess,” my father’s cruel-sounding tone reaches my ears and something inside me withers. My father always loved me and never showed me rejection.

Until now.

And it’s all my mother’s fault.

For the first time in my entire life, I cuss out loud- well, a whisper but a sound I can hear. “Fcuk.”

I know it’s my studies- I can feel it. He’s making me stay home from now. I half-expected it but it’s like the lock was there but hanging loosely and now my father clicked it close. Depression washes over me and downcast, I turn to leave but pause my movement when I hear another voice.

“So, it’s settled.”

For a few seconds, I had forgotten that man. And what does he have to do with my classes being cut? Frowning deeper, I sneak up once again to the door.

“We don’t have a choice, do we?” the disgruntled voice belongs to my father and my muscles tense up.

“Mr Patel, we always have choices. You can choose to refuse this offer just as your wife chose to leave you when you abused her. That was your choice too, wasn’t it?” Don Michael went on, ignoring the loud gasp from my grandmother.

Shocked is what I am that he is spreading lies about my father. Sure, my parents argued- who didn’t, but my father never hit my mother.

“She was a woman that needed a good trashing!” the words were my grandfather’s. “He failed as a husband to keep her in check, and she ended up with you, putting this family to such shame!”

What?

“That whroe!” My grandmother added with a huff. “She deserves de@th! She had it coming!”

The old hag’s words are not new to my ears as I have been hearing them for almost two years now. But coupling it with what the old man just said...my head is starting to throb.

“Well, you got your wish, didn’t you?” Don Michael’s deep voice cut anything else they were thinking of saying next.

Reeling from the words, I came to the realization that my mother was indeed domestically abused. A rush of memories of her bruised skin that she always threw off as simply being clumsy flashes across my mind... Tears sting my eyes, and a heavy pain stings my chest.

How could I not know? How long?

Blinded by my love for them both, I never thought- it never entered my mind that she would be putting up with it- because she loved him? Because she loved us?

Walking into the room now, everyone showed surprise on their faces except Don Michael, who had the same non-expression face he had in all his photos that were flashed across newspapers and television. They all know I have at least heard my grandmother’s hateful comment concerning my mother by the dismayed look on her facial features.

“You hit mum?” I choked out, my salty tears stinging my eyes. My father is seated next to his mother and his father after her, on her right.

Everyone is silent as I glare at my father, who at least had the decency to not deny it. With a remorseful expression on his face, he turns away from my gaze.

“Right.” Don Michael, clasps his hands together, paying no mind to my breaking heart. He is seated on the far side of the table, the smaller side but not seated at the actual table but a few feet from it. The other man is near to him, but at the actual table with hands clasped on top of it, eyeing me.

“Mum is dead. And she left you because you hit her?” I throw at the man I used to admire, my mouth twisting and I see his face change into one of anger. But my nostrils flare as I try to contain my respect for him being my elder and my surging anger building towards him.

“Trust me when I say, I will get to the bottom of her de@th, and I will not rest until I know the truth,” my mother’s boyfriend says, and I feel like he’s saying it to me but I cannot take my eyes away from the man I call papa.

“Give it a rest. Nobody wants to know,” my father says and despite now learning the truth about him, I still am hurt by his words. The loathsome and spiteful man he truly is, now coming to light.

“My mother was m#rdered, of course, I want to know,” I cry out, my voice raw.

“Stay out of this, you vile child,” my grandmother throws at me, her eyes showing her venom when I turn to her.

“Child? I am an adult,” I scream. Sure, the PJs might not really be doing a fantastic job of showing I am indeed an adult- it is matching my brothers.

“She is lucky I performed the rights of a husband for her funeral when I should have left her in the morgue,” my father adds more nasty words, and I am now flabbergasted.

“Yes, I am sure the money I paid you handsomely changed your mind,” the mafia man said solemnly and stood up.

Money? What money?

This is new knowledge to my father as well and he frowns, “What money?”

My grandparents knew about ‘what money’ for they both wore sheepish looks now, turning away slightly.

What is happening? That feeling I am learning to be so familiar with now grows inside me. Dread. It began when my mum left us.

I did not know my mother that well, I felt the day my dad called, telling me she left him. I felt betrayed by her. Then she was killed in her apartment- who would want to m#rder her? Now I learnt this about my father and my grandparents who would do anything for money.

“Ah, well my time is up. Marcus?” Don Michael glances at his watch and then gets up from the table as if it were the most everyday casual conversation he just had. Meanwhile, my mind is whirling while I try to make sense of what I have just learned about my family.

I must be the most unimportant person there is, by the way, everyone is ignoring my outburst.

“Well, see you in six weeks I guess?” the mauve-waistcoat-wearing man mutters as he walks past me, but I pay no attention to his words. My mind is already wrapped with other more distressing matters than the sight of him.

My eyes are glued to my elder family, waiting for an explanation while I feel myself tearing apart on the inside.

“He paid you ma? You told me I should do the last rites- you degraded me for money? I had to face the shame of the family- they all knew what she did, and I even scattered her ashes,” my father was crying as he said these words and his mother patted his head, looking remorseful.

I thought he did it for us- their kids. For my brother and I to have closure.

My grandfather leaves the room, meeting my eyes as he did so, as if to say he did nothing wrong. It is very much like him and my grandmother to think that they are capable of no wrong. It is tradition, after all, that the elders in the family are always right.

Even when they are wrong, it’s just a fact we have to accept.

“You said it was for my soul to do the right thing,” he shouts in his anger, tears still streaming down his face, she tries to pull him into an embrace, but he shrugs her off roughly.

“I was thinking of Maya. She will need a dowry soon. I am always thinking of your benefit my son. That you want Maya to marry into a prominent family one day.” My grandmother’s voice shakes when she says this. Dowry is what they would give to my husband’s family in the future to marry me.

“Really ma? So, you took money from the man she is to marry just to give it back to him?”

Glancing up, she spots me, and her face contorts as if she had spotted a dirty animal ruining her carpet. “Yes, it all seems a waste now, doesn’t it? How was I to know that was the beast’s plan?”

My father, looking everything like a wretched man's description, collapses against the table, grabbing onto the back of the nearest chair while his mother continues.

“It worked out well, betaa, (son) we get to keep the money and get rid of her too.” The wrinkled woman is so full of hate and spite that she cannot even tell her son is in agony over her words.

Unable to speak as I take in the conversation that I am attempting to decipher while the previous words rush on in, I stay immobile in my spot, stricken.

“Ma,” my father pleads with her. “Maya deserves-”

My grandmother’s wrinkled eyes pinned me. “I say the truth when I tell you I had no idea he would want to marry this child.”

It takes another minute for the implication of their words to sink in fully.