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I had the most epic idea for Mom but the problem is I know Ian will never agree. He never does. Well, at least he usually doesn’t.
I flew open Ian’s bedroom door, “I had the best gift idea for Mom!” I announced with pride.
He was scrunched over his desk, writing something, “Barley,” he sighed, “I’m just gonna make her a card, I’m already working on it. You can do what you want, let me do my own thing.”
Though he tried to dismiss me, I would not just quit so quickly, “You can make a card and do my idea! We should make her dinner!”
Even though Mom is the cook of the family, I figured wouldn’t it be nice if Ian and I made dinner for her. Then she can just relax and not have to do more work after getting home from work on Mother’s Day.
He turned to face me, “You don’t know how to cook,” his brows furrowed.
That’s only a minor problem. It’s in the thought that counts anyway! “Well you do know how, so if you help me then it will work out. And then we will both have a great present for her,” I told him with a confident smile.
He sighed again, thinking, “She would appreciate not having to cook…”
Yes! He agrees with me! Task one complete! “Exactly!” I exclaimed excitedly.
He stood up, abandoning his card, “But you need to listen to me if we’re gonna do this. We don’t want to screw it up.”
How bad could it be?
Well two hours filled with disaster after horrendous disaster answered that. Okay, first off I’m not even sure why we needed to use a blender, let alone why everything exploded when I turned it on. And don’t ask me about the ‘chicken’, or rather the saltier than the ocean, blacker than my cast, bird shaped thing on the floor. Why it’s on the floor, I don’t even know.
But the real disaster was not until Mom came home. “Barley!” She screamed as soon as she walked in, though Ian and I were both standing there , “what did you do to my kitchen?!” She threw down her purse, taking in the what could hardly qualify as food splattered everywhere and the smoke still lingering in the air.
I got up from where I was attempting to clean, “Mom, I’m sorry, we were just trying to-”
“Stop,” she cut me off, taking an overly deep breath, “Just let me clean this up. Ian grab a mop.” Why do I have to leave but Ian doesn’t?
No, that’s a selfish thought. I’m the older one, it was my idea, I deserve the blame. It was my responsibility to think and do the right thing, but Ian was right. Ian’s always right, I should have just let him make his card and shut up about my dumb plan.
I quickly went to my room, closing the door and leaning against it, and slid down to sit on the floor. No matter how hard I try, all I do is screw up. I even ruined Mother’s Day, it was her day and I destroyed it.
As I sat there like a moron, I vaguely heard words in the background. Leaning against the door I strained to listen, “he wanted to make dinner for you,” Ian’s voice sounded. Why is he trying to make excuses for me? I don’t deserve it.
“He what?” Mom asked, even from my room I could hear the confusion in her voice.
Ian continued, “He convinced me to help him make dinner, so that when you get home you wouldn’t have to cook,” if I was watching I bet he shrugged, “It was a good idea, we just bit off more than we could chew,” I think he ended with a light chuckle, but I could not hear too well.
Why would he stick up for me like this? It’s not like he got in trouble, I took the blame and I deserved to. Why would he risk blame just to help me?
Though I could in fact hear the smile in her voice “That is a very sweet idea.”
Though she was not yelling anymore, he kept going, “It really was an accident, and we were trying our best to clean it up before you got home.”
He’s standing up for me, he’s actually trying to make it better for me. I never would have asked him to do that but he just did.
I could not hear what she said next, but I did hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. By the sound of it I could tell it was Mom. After years having my room in the middle of the hall and under the stairs I got to know the sounds of everyone’s footsteps like it was their voices.
A knock sounded, “Barley?” Mom asked through my door. She actually came, I would not think she would want to see me after I made such a mess of her kitchen.
I stood up, and moved to open the door. Before I could apologize again, she beat me to it, “I’m sorry I yelled,” full sincerity in her voice.
No, she had and still has every right to be mad. I deserve it, I ruined her Mother’s Day. I always ruin everything…
“No, it was my fault,” I insisted. It’s always my fault.
But she still continued despite my insistence, “Ian explained, your idea was very thoughtful. It means a lot you'd want to do so much,” how could I not want to do all I can for my own Mom? “But you know you’re enough as you are Barley, I know you love me.” She pulled me into a hug, so warm and so full of care.
Though part of me still felt she was wrong to apologize, and I deserve her anger, I took in the comfort. In just one hug, she was able to apologize and reassure me and comfort me and wow how does she do it?
“I really do love you,” I whispered, relishing in the embrace.