Still Life with Strings by L.H. Cosway

along like a house on fire.
    While his mother talks
on and on in the background, Shane takes a few steps towards me and discreetly
laces his fingers through mine. He gives my hand a tight squeeze and whispers
in my ear, “Don’t let her get to you.”
    I pretend not to know
what he’s talking about. “What do you mean?”
    “I know how she is. My
mother has this knack for sucking the life out of people. I have first-hand
experience.”
    My eyes are drawn to
the woman as he tells me this. Now she’s arranging a vase of flowers on top of
a chest of drawers. They’re bright and purple, but they wither away when she
touches them, until they’re all black detritus.
    “She does have a
certain…way about her,” I finally agree.
    Shane huffs a breath,
like I’m putting it way too mildly, and let’s face it, I am.
    “My mother is a fucking
snob, Jade. I promised myself I’d stop caring about her opinion a long time
ago, and I have. Do you know when I discovered Mona had cheated on me, I was
more anxious about what my mother would think than anything else? How fucked up
is that?”
    I stare at him, my
mouth open. “Jesus.”
    “Yeah. I knew that
she’d blame me for it, and of course she did. She thought the sun shone out of
Mona’s too shiny and perfect-to-be-true arse. In fact, she still does. She
thinks it was somehow my fault our engagement didn’t pan out.”
    God, this poor man. He
says he’s stopped caring, but the way he’s talking right now tells me he’s far
from over the hold his mother seems to have on him. Perhaps that’s what his
whole “teach me how to live” thing is about. He wants me to teach him how to
get free from the emotional bondage.
    Our hushed conversation
is interrupted when Mirin calls, “Oh, Shane, come over here and stand by the
door. I think it will make for a good background.”
    I smirk when I notice
the photographer giving the stylist an eye roll. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s not
thrilled about Mommy Dearest coming in and taking over. Shane kisses me lightly
on the cheek, sighs heavily, and goes to his mother. When I see Mirin looking
at me in a puzzled way, I realise she saw the kiss and is none too happy about
it.
    My phone rings in my
pocket, a welcome distraction. I pull it out to find Pete’s number flashing on
the screen. I can only imagine what this is going to be about. I always make
sure to call both April and Pete at least once or twice a day if I’m not in the
house to make sure they’re okay. When Pete’s the one calling me it’s usually
because he’s in trouble or needs money. He hasn’t called for money in a while,
though, which is worrying, since he’s a fifteen-year-old boy with no form of
income. It begs the question, where is he getting his cash from?
    “Hey, Petey, what’s
up?” I answer, walking into the next room of the suite to take the call.
    There’s an audible
sigh, then, “You need to go to my parent teacher evening.”
    Jeez, is it that time
of year again already? “Oh, yeah. When is it?”
    “Uh, tonight.”
    “Okay, you could have
given me a few days warning.”
    “This is me giving you
warning, Jade. It’s two-thirty — the whole thing starts at seven.”
    “Yes, but I would have
liked some time to organise a decent outfit and all.”
    “Fuck, are you going or
not?” he grits out.
    “Don’t swear at me. I’m
not one of your pals on the street. And yes, of course I’m going. I’m your
guardian, after all.”
    “Good. Hanging up now.”
    “I’ll be home to make
dinner. I love you.”
    All I get is an
embarrassed, “Jesus Christ,” before he makes good on his promise and hangs up.
I don’t care how much it annoys him — I’m going to keep telling him I love him
until it finally sinks in.
    A word to the wise,
fifteen-year-old boys are perhaps the most emotionally stunted individuals on
God’s green earth. And, I’ll add, they do not do well with compliments, affection,
or any form of kindness, especially when