Monica Spellman
December 16, 2022 7:52 PM
Mom fail by Monica Spellman
Monica was supposed to wait. That was what the websites said. It was what Xavier's family had tentatively guessed at, even though they had never been in her position with Xavier. She was supposed to wait until Oz felt ready to tell her what she had already suspected eighteen months ago, and had confirmed for certain at the concert when she saw just how her son looked at his “best friend.” She wasn't sure if there should be an upper limit on that wait time. What if Oz wanted her to know but didn't know how to say it? That sounded very Oz-like, and she hated the idea of him suffering in silence when she could do something about it. But if he did want to say it himself, then she would be taking that away from him. Worse still, what if she wasn't someone he wanted to include in this? He spent so much time away from her, and they weren't as close as they had been.She was supposed to be patient, because she was the adult.
She was supposed to help him and make things easy, because she was the adult.
She was supposed to not be butt hurt by him leaving her out, or even if she was, she had to prioritise his feelings, because she was the adult.
Which made it impossible to know how to move in any direction. If she waited, was she being patient and kind, or letting him suffer in silence? If she pushed him, was she selfishly letting her own feelings get to her?
Right now, she was waiting, but that was being forced on her by the fact that Oz was still asleep. Not that she was going to start the conversation. It was up to him. It was just a perfect time, if he did happen to want to say something. She didn’t have to go to work until the afternoon. Henry was already out at the library (in another display of their unidenticalness, Henry still regularly rose at seven, whilst Oz was very much a sleep-til-noon kind of teenager). She was going to make pancakes (Henry had had his earlier) and give out comforting mom vibes to the max, of the exact sort that said ‘You can tell me you’re in love with your best friend.’ And if he still chose not to, that was—fine.
“Morning,” she greeted, when he emerged from his and Henry’s room. It was still technically accurate because it was eleven-fifty-nine, and she was trying hard not to become her mother and not be one of those sarcastic parents who pointed out sleeping late like it was a flaw. She held out her arms, pleased that he shuffled willingly into them for a morning hug, even if he did stink. Honestly, she didn’t want to gender stereotype, and really it was an Oz thing more than a Henry thing but he’d gone from being dirty and sticky because he was a small human to dirty and stinky because he was a big human with no noticeable gap. There was just… no age at which he had not been vaguely gross. Not that she was going to say that, other than by nagging him to shower and put some deodorant on. She didn’t want him to be self-conscious, though she didn’t want him to be gross either… “You alright?” she asked, as he seemed a bit deflated.
“Yeah. Just… sleepy.”
That wasn’t true. He was sad. She knew the difference.
“Pancakes?” she offered. “Henry had his already. He’s at the library,” she added, as he scanned the room. “I figure we can go pick him up and hang out in the park?” she suggested.
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
Monica retrieved the batter from the fridge, whilst Oz retrieved her phone from the kitchen counter.
“No missed calls,” she informed him, as she heated the pan. “You want to call Xavier before we go out?”
“I’m just stealing it to play Candy Crush,” he lied. He opened up the game, but he looked completely disengaged. He watched the screen like it had betrayed him—providing only constantly sliding colourful shapes, instead of the person he wanted to speak to.
“You’re allowed to miss him,” she said gently.
“Okay,” Oz shrugged, hunching his shoulders.
Monica poked the edge of the pancake with the spatula, being Definitely Not Annoyed at his tone. She was the adult. He had just woken up. He didn’t trust her… She’d done nothing to deserve that… And the flipping pancake was sticking. That meant it was just not done yet, just needed more time—but she needed something to do, so she was going to keep chipping away at it.
“Oz,” she said, trying to force her voice to be calm and kind. “What’s up?”
“The sky.”
“Haha. That’s a good one. They didn’t have that in my day.” She rolled her eyes. Okay, that was real mature and mom-like of her… She bit her tongue, and was rewarded as Oz moved to fill the silence.
“You don’t think his parents told him not to talk to me, do you?”
“What? No, Oz. why would they do that?”
“I swore at him.”
“They liked you.”
“People like that never like me. People like that would call the cops on me if they saw me on their lawn.”
“Oz, they were full of praise for you. Stop worrying—”
“No, but… You don’t get it.”
“What don’t I get?” It was a pretty direct challenge. Sometimes with Oz, direct was the best way…
“Nothing! Never mind. You just don’t understand—”
And sometimes it wasn’t.
“I understand—”
“No! You don’t!”
Of course not. Heaven forbid she should be able to understand what it was like to be a teenager!
“You have feelings for Xavier. Maybe you’re even dating him. And you’re sad and mopey because you miss him. How’s that for ‘not understanding’ what’s going on, hm?”
“Wh…what?” Oz stammered, and for a horrible second Monica wondered… had he known those things about himself? Given the very deliberate conversation they’d had “about Henry” she figured Oz had worked out that he himself was crushing on boys, but he could be spectacularly dense when it came to his own feelings. He had known, right? He quickly put that fear aside by asking “How long have you known?”
“Since you asked me about Henry,” she admitted.
“What?! That was ages ago!” His eyes were wide. His voice was raised. But it was hard to get a read on whether he was more shocked or angry—and the smell of burning pancakes began filling the kitchen. Monica swore, quickly snapping the stove off.
Way to mom fail…
“You’ve known for a year and a half?” he asked again. “And you didn’t say anything?”
“Well, nor did you!” No. That sounded accusatory. “I’m sorry, Ozzy. I shouldn’t have said any of that… But you seemed so sad since you got home, and so happy when you were with him at the concert, and I’m used to being part of what’s going on with you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. You don’t need to apologise. I’m the one who messed up…”
“No, but you’re right. I just didn’t know what to say… Especially after we had that talk about Henry, and I doubled down so hard on the fact that I was straight. I just didn’t want you to start seeing me differently…”
“Oz, I’ve always told you, it wouldn’t matter to me…”
“I know. People say that but… but wait, you really mean it?”
“The only differences I see are you growing up, and you finding someone who makes you really, really happy. Those are good things, and you’re still you.”
“Yeah… Yeah, I guess that’s kind of it…” He blinked at her, as if she had uttered some profound, amazing truth that he had been struggling to put into words. “And I’m not gay, by way. I like girls. But… as well? And yeah… Xavier’s… Xavier’s my boyfriend?”
“That’s wonderful,” she pulled him into a hug. “Now, would you like some slightly burned pancakes?”
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Monica Spellman
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