THE THINGS WE DONT SAY
1184 Words
By Friday, I had managed to avoid making a decision. Technically, that wasn't the same thing as making no progress.
At least, that's what I told myself. Dad hadn't asked again. Mum hadn't asked either. They had both apparently agreed to give me space, which sounded nice until I realized that being given space meant I had absolutely nothing to distract me from my own thoughts. At school, I was normal. At home, I was normal. In my room, I stared at the same blank page in my notebook and tried to convince myself that writing down New Zealand counted as progress.
It didn't.
I crossed it out.
Then wrote it again.
Then crossed it out harder.
Very mature.
I closed the notebook.
My phone buzzed beside me.
It was Mum.
Mum: Can we talk tonight?
I stared at the message. For some reason, those four words made my stomach twist more than the actual question of whether I was leaving.
I typed back.
Me: Sure.
The reply came almost immediately.
Mum: Video call?
I hesitated.
Me: Okay.
I put my phone down and looked around my room. There were photographs taped along the edge of my mirror. Some were recent. Some weren't. A birthday. A beach trip. Dad making a terrible face while holding a cake. Mum standing beside me in one of the older ones, both of us squinting into the sun. I picked it up. I couldn't remember exactly where it had been taken. That bothered me more than it should have. I remembered Mum's hand around my shoulder. I remembered the wind. I remembered laughing. But I couldn't remember the place.
Maybe that's what happens when someone is gone for too long.
You remember the person. You just start losing the places around them. I put the photo back.
That evening, Mum called at eight.
I answered from my bed.
Her face appeared on the screen, slightly blurry at first before the connection settled.
“Hi.”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
She smiled.
I smiled back.
For a few seconds, neither of us said anything.
It was strange seeing her like this. Not because I didn't know what she looked like.
I did.
But because screens had a way of making people feel close while reminding you that they weren't.
“How was school?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Pretty much.”
She smiled.
“You sound like your father.”
“That's insulting.”
She laughed.
There it was. That familiar laugh. For a second, I was younger again. Then the moment passed. Mum leaned closer to the camera.
“How are you feeling about everything?”
I looked down.
“I don't know.”
“You don't have to know.”
“I know.”
She waited.
I picked at the corner of my blanket.
“Would it be weird if I came?”
Her expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for me to notice.
“I'd be happy,” she said.
“But?”
“There isn't a but.”
“There is definitely a but.”
She smiled sadly.
“You've spent most of your life in Australia, Isla. I'm not going to pretend moving across the Tasman is a small thing.”
I looked at her.
“Would you want me there?”
“I want you wherever you're happiest.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is.”
“No, it's a mum answer.”
She laughed.
“A mum answer?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “Yes. I'd want you here.”
Something in my chest loosened.
“But I don't want you to come because your dad is getting engaged.”
I looked away.
“It's not just because of Claire.”
“I know.”
“I don't hate her.”
“I know that too.”
I looked back at the screen.
“How?”
“Because if you hated her, you'd probably tell me.”
I laughed.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“Because it's true.”
I smiled.
Then Mum's expression softened.
“You can come here, Isla. You can stay with me. We can figure things out together.”
I nodded.
“But if you stay,” she continued, “I won't think you chose your dad over me.”
That one hurt.
I swallowed.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I didn't answer.
She smiled gently.
“You're allowed to love both of us.”
I looked down at my hands.
That was the problem.
I did.
The next morning, I woke up before my alarm. I stared at the ceiling. Then I sat up. Something felt different about the room. Nothing had changed. But suddenly, everything felt temporary. My books. My clothes. My photographs. The little things I'd never thought twice about keeping. I got dressed and went downstairs. Dad was in the kitchen. Claire wasn't there. He looked up when I walked in.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
He studied me for a second.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you look like you're thinking about something and pretending you're not.”
I opened the fridge.
“Maybe I'm just hungry.”
“That's possible.”
I grabbed some juice.
Dad watched me for another second.
Then he said, “Did you talk to your mum?”
I nodded.
“How did it go?”
I took a drink.
“She wants me there.”
Dad's face stayed calm.
But I knew him.
I saw the small change in his expression.
“And?”
“I don't know.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
I closed the fridge.
“That's it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don't know.”
He smiled slightly.
“Neither do I.”
That made me laugh.
Then he walked over and leaned against the counter.
“Whatever you decide, I'll be okay.”
I looked at him.
“I don't want you to just be okay.”
His expression softened.
“I'll be more than okay.”
I didn't believe him completely.
But I wanted to.
He reached over and tapped the notebook sticking out of my bag.
“You writing about all this?”
I quickly pulled the bag closer.
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You've always been terrible at lying.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Prove it.”
“You're doing it right now.”
I stared at him.
He smiled.
I rolled my eyes.
“I'm going to school.”
“Have a good day.”
I headed toward the door.
“Isla?”
I turned.
Dad hesitated.
Then he simply said, “I love you.”
I smiled.
“I love you too.”
And that was it.
No speech.
No pressure.
Just that.
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