Ander - Part 5: Subchapter 42
42
-our... SOUR!! Arghek!" Mateo's eyes flew open and the gutrot hit him a split second later, making him groan. He burped, felt a little better, and sank deeper into bed. Was this his bed? Was this his room? He blinked his eyes and looked around, searching for familiar landmarks. Above his head were the antlers of the first stag he ever brought down. On his bedside table was his trusty crossbow, loaded and ready to go. Good old Agatha, one of the few women in his life he could always rely on. And by the door was -
"Good gods!" he exclaimed, making a pre-emptive grab for the heart that nearly jumped right out of his throat. "Mother? Father? What are you doing here?"
_And why do you look so intimidating?_he thought, but did not say. Mother in particular looked, well... almost menacing. She had her arms folded across her chest and her mouth was all turned down at the corners and her ears were pointed straight up and it seemed like lightning bolts were about ready to spark from her eyes. This wasn't like her at all. But then again, she's been different ever since that bastard forced his way through their front door.
"Your mother wants to have a word with you, sonny," Father said. "And if I were you, I'd shut up and listen very carefully."
Oh boy, this won't end well...
Mother closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. "Do you have any idea how mortified I was this morning?"
"Um..." Mateo tried to think back, but the time between being thrown out of Othello's and landing on this bed was just a hazy jumble of random images and sounds. He remembered something about 'ass over teakettle' and being splashed in the face with a bucket of ice water. And maybe something about Kiana? Mother was still waiting for an answer, and the way her foot was tap-tap-tapping against the hardwood floor was telling him it better be a good one. "Er... very?"
She stomped her foot and the sound bounced around in Mateo's skull, re-awakening the headache he had tried so hard to sleep off. "I worry all night long, and then you show up on the doorstep, barely conscious, unable to stand, leaning on Kiana like some common souse! Do you know how that makes me feel!? If it was anybody other than Kiana standing in that doorway I would have slapped you right across the face!"
Mateo was a bit taken aback by all this. He got up on one elbow, gingerly rubbing his forehead, and said: "Whoa, Mother, what's with all the hostility all of a sudden?"
Maybe he was still a bit hungover, or maybe he was hallucinating from all of Father's sootmilk, but he could've sworn Mother's fur just turned a darker shade right before his eyes.
Father shook his head and muttered: "I told you. You should've just shut up and listened, but nooooo. You knew better, didn't you?"
Mother came and sat down on the edge of his bed, but the way she did it, walking upright and straight and fast, with her head held high and that frown creasing her brow, it was so unlike the normal, quiet, soft-spoken version of his mother that he knew and loved it was like being caught in the path of a cavalry charge.
"You listen to me, Mat, and you listen well! Your father and I decided to give you some space after all the unpleasantness. We thought you'd be able to pull yourself together. We thought you were a strong, mature individual who could cope with anything life threw at you, but clearly we were wrong!"
Mateo sat up, rubbed his eyes and peered at this strange vixen sitting on the edge of his bed, screaming her head off. Was this really his mother? She certainly looked the part. Well, except for the snarling fangs, of course.
"Mateo! Are you even listening to me!?"
Maybe he was still dreaming? Maybe that big bushel of Kiana grapes was still bouncing around somewhere?
He looked around a bit, swivelling his eyes near and far, allowing them the necessary amount of time to focus on whatever they were looking at before moving on. Eventually he reached the window and saw that there was still a faint glimmer of golden sunshine skirting along the garden, now covered in snow for some reason. Was it sunset already? Did he sleep the entire day away?
"Mother... I am sure that whatever you've got to say to me is very important, but I am very tired. Can't this wait until tomorrow? I will give you my undivided attention when I -" Mother raised her hand in the air, and Mateo was so sure she was about to apologise that he didn't even feel the first slap across his shoulder, and by the time he did, she had already landed the second and third. "Wha- Ow! OW! What are you - Ow!"
"We! Waited! Long! Ee! Nough!" she screamed at him, every syllable accompanied by yet another slap. Mateo covered up as best he could, but that only made Mother target his forearms instead, evidently not caring where she was hitting him as long as they connected. When was the last time Mother actually struck him? He couldn't even remember. Granted, she wasn't actually hitting him very hard, but just the shock of seeing her like this was a blow in itself.
"Mother, stop it! What's gotten into you!?"
"I will not let you turn into your grandfather!" she screamed.
Everything went quiet, save for her frantic breathing, and Mateo carefully lowered his arms.
She was crying. His mother was looking at him with tears in her eyes, and there wasn't a great big brown Wolf or an ungrateful ex-fiancée to blame.
Only him.
That moment stretched on and on. He wanted her to pull out that ancient handkerchief of hers, or fiddle with her dress like she always did, or look down at the floor, or... something! Anything! Just as long as she'd stop staring at him like that! Like she was seeing...
"Mother? I..."
"Mat." She reached out and took his hand. "Your father and I love you very, very much. You understand that, don't you?"
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak with this massive lump in his throat.
"Good. That means we only want what's best for you. We want you to be happy. That's why we can't just stand by and watch you make yourself miserable any longer."
"But-" He swallowed and tried again. "But I'm not the one making myself miserable. It was that -"
"No, Mat. This is not Andrew's fault, or Kiana's. I understand things haven't been going your way, and that hurts me just as much as it does you, but you're the one who's been destroying yourself, no one else."
"Oh, I get it," Mateo said, pulling his hand out of her grasp. "You love me, but you love that 'Andrew' just as much, don't you? That's why you want me to get along with him. You want us to be the best of pals, real brothers even! Bet let me tell you something, Mother. He may be your son by birth, but that's not what makes a family! He was never here, and that makes him a stranger!"
"Right now you're the one acting like a stranger."
"I don't want to hear that coming from you. You've been acting different ever since he showed up."
A small smile touched the corner of her mouth, but it did not reach her eyes. "That's what his Wolf name means, you know. 'Different'."
Mateo rolled his eyes. "Whoop-de-doo, Mother. I'll be sure to make a note of it."
"You're wrong about him, Mat. He was with me when I needed him most, right here." She tapped the left side of her chest, right above the heart. "He gave me the strength to keep going during the darkest time of my life. And do you know what that darkest time was?"
"What?"
She reached out, placed her other hand over his heart, and said: "It was the time after I lost him, but before I gained you."
Her hand felt heavy on his chest, as if she was pressing more than just her palm against him.
"It's true," Father said, finally stepping out of the doorway to put his hands on his wife's shoulders. "She was going through a hard time. I'm usually pretty blind when it comes to the subtleties of the female mind, but even I could see that something terrible must have happened. I did my very best to cheer her up, make her happy. But..." He sighed. "I was failing. There was something eating away at her, and no matter how much I wanted to help, I couldn't reach deep enough. But then, on some days, right when I felt like she was about to give up entirely, I'd see her staring off at the mountain, and she'd have this big smile on her face. Even back then, when I knew absolutely nothing, it always felt like I was getting some kind of help from outside. And knowing what I know now, I'm sure that help was coming from your half-brother, holding her together just long enough for you to arrive. I wish you could remember the look on her face when she first held you, the way she smiled. And on that day, I knew that everything would work out all right, because we are a family, and that's what families do. We work together to make each other happy."
Mateo turned his head away at the mention of 'half-brother', but Mother pushed her palm against his heart a little harder and said: "It's perfectly okay if you don't want to think of him as family, Mat. You can even think of him as a stranger if you want. In a lot of ways, that's exactly what he is, and I understand that. All I want from you is to stop hating him. Can you do that for me? Please?"
"I don't know, Mother," Mateo said truthfully. "My life was going so well, and then everything fell apart the moment he showed his face. I understand that a lot of things happened between you and him, things that happened long before I was even born, but... I can't help but feel that, if he was never born in the first place, then so many of those horrible things that came afterward wouldn't have happened either."
"You're right," Mother said. "If I had never met Kadai and Ander had never been born, everything would have happened differently. But do you know what would have been the most different?"
"What?"
"I'd be dead."
That gave Mateo pause. "Dead? No, I know Grandfather did... bad things. But most of those things happened because you fell pregnant. If you never went over the mountain, life would have gone on as normal and you still would have ended up marrying Father, right? I mean, you were already courting at the time."
"Oh, I'd be alive physically, Mat. But I'd be dead here, on the inside, where it matters." She lightly tapped her heart. "I was dying on the inside long before I ever met your father, and if it wasn't for Andrew, I'm not sure I ever would have been able to recover. I only knew him for one day as my baby, but he was able to patch up the cracks in my heart just long enough for you to arrive. Now do you now understand why I am able to love both of you? Even though you never knew each other, you were always working together to keep my heart from breaking." She smiled and looked up at Father. "And don't think I forgot about you, Michael. You are the glue that keeps us all together, and for that I truly love you."
"And I love you, love." He bent down and kissed her on the mouth, and Mateo quickly looked away, partly because such a display wasn't doing his nausea any good, and partly because they had just dumped a heap of information on his hopelessly hungover head. But even with a pounding headache and sore muscles and a general feeling of looginess throughout his entire body, there were certain things that were all too obvious now.
Mother loved Ander, and in hating something she loved, he was hurting her very much, and that was something he did not want to do, no matter how badly he really did hate that son of a b- that Wolf.
The same went for Kiana. He knew his chance with her was over (if there ever really was a chance) but he did still care for her, and he knew that if he continued to act the way he did, she would come to feel the same way about him as he did about Ander, and that was pretty damn bad.
So he sighed, swallowed back his phlegm (his mouth still tasted a bit like vomit, despite all the sootmilk) and said, "Okay."
"What was that, dear?" Mother asked.
"Don't expect me to be all buddy-buddy with him, but... I'll try not to hate him anymore. So okay."
"Oh Mateo, that's wonderful!" She leaned in and gave him a warm hug. "Thank you!"
Mateo didn't expect a reaction quite as strong as this, but he reached up and patted her on the back, grateful that at least this part of his mother remained unchanged, the warm part, the caring part. "If it means so much to you, Mother, I'll do my best."
"That's all I ask, dear." She leaned back and wiped a little tear from the corner of her eye, but at least she was smiling. That was the important thing.
Father held his fist up to his mouth and cleared his throat in the overly loud and dramatic way of a thespian. "Excuse me, sonny, but this is not over yet."
Oh bother, what now? "Yes, Father?"
"No more booze for you. Preferably ever."
"I figured it'd be something like that. Don't worry, I never really cared for the stuff anyway. It's just sour grapes when you get down to it."
"Also, you're going to need to pay me back for every glass."
That one was a little unexpected. "But that- I don't even know how much -"
"One-hundred-and-ninety-eight glasses of red wine, just two short of two hundred. Such a shame, really. You can say what you want about Othello, but that Fox keeps track."
"Two...?" Mateo didn't really know how to react to that. It came down to about a hundred glasses of rotten grape juice per month, and he didn't even like the stuff! Good gods! "Um... how am I going to pay all that back? If I may ask?"
"Easy! I figure about a season's worth of good hard work in the fields should just about do it."
"The fields?" Mateo looked out the window. Yup. All still covered in snow. "But Father, it's winter. There are no fields to tend. It's just snow out there."
"Exactly. You'll be doing some good old-fashioned rock harvesting so the ploughs don't bend their blades come spring, and you'll be starting first thing tomorrow morning. But don't worry, I'll provide the gloves. Wouldn't want you to lose any fingers out there, eh? Eh?"
"Er..."
"That'a boy! Now how about some dinner in bed? You think you could handle some toasted bread? We still have those sesame seeds you like so much. Maybe an egg or two? You'll need all the energy you can get."
"Um..." Mateo's stomach rumbled and roiled, partly from hunger, and partly from nausea. "I think I'll take half a piece of bread, but no eggs. I don't think I can handle eggs right now..."
"Okey dokey! You just sit tight and try not to think of booze for the next rest of your life. I'll be right back."
Father stepped out the door and with a swish of his tail he was gone. And for a minute it was just Mateo and his mother again.
"Thank you, Mat," she said. "I know this is hard for you, but I really appreciate you trying."
"It's okay, Mother. Sorry about the... erm... showing up all... like this. And the staying out all night. And the er... you know. The way I acted like a total -"
"Jackass?"
"I was going to say 'fool' but..."
Mother reached out and ruffled his hair. "I think you'll be back to your old self in no time." She got up, brushed the wrinkles out of her dress and said, "I'm going to make sure that father of yours doesn't burn the bread to a crisp. Will you be all right for a while? Do you feel like you're going to throw up?"
"No, I think the worst is over."
"Okay. I'll be right back. Try to take it easy tonight. I don't think your father was joking about the rock harvesting thing."
"I'm sure he wasn't."
She gave him a small nod, stepped outside, and eased his door shut with a soft click.
And suddenly he was alone, with the last golden line of sunset slowly creeping up his wall.
"Huuuuurgh..." he groaned, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and carefully stood up. It always felt weird, trying to walk right after you've regained consciousness after a night of binge drinking, like you're walking on stilts made of rubber. He slowly made it to his window, planted his hands on the sill to steady himself, and looked outside.
There was so much snow out there. Probably more than he's seen in years. Only the backs of the garden chairs were still visible, poking out of the snow like tiny little bridges for ants. Not that any ants would be around this time of year.
He'd have to wade through all that tomorrow, pushing his way through waist-high snow, digging through the powder in search of rocks, probably with big burlap bag on his back, too. He'd just be walking up and down the lines, filling the bag with rocks, making it heavier and heavier as time dragged on.
Mateo entertained these gripy thoughts, but only because it felt expected. He knew he was supposed to be averse to the whole idea, especially considering how tired and rundown he still felt. It was a doozy of a punishment, after all. But in truth, he didn't mind as much as he thought he would. He'd been sitting in Othello's for two months, chugging wine almost every night, slowly letting his ass grow out over that uncomfortable stool by the bar. He felt weak and slobby. Maybe going outside in the snow would do him some good. He'd be able to do some walking, some lifting, get his muscles working again, clear his head. Of course, he would much rather have done that with a nice bit of hunting (_real_hunting this time, not the 'hunting' everybody's been putting in quotation marks these days), but at least it'd keep his mind off things. Like Kiana. And girls in general, really. Who needs them, anyway? Was there some kind of law that said he could only be happy if he had a girlfriend? The idea was actually rather preposterous. He could be perfectly happy all by himself. He didn't need help from some vixen with a curvy butt and a nice long tail and a big, heaving pair of...
"Ack." He thumped his forehead against the glass. Who would even want to be with him now? What vixen was there in all of Grovenglen who could fill the giant, gaping hole Kiana had torn into his heart?
Layla, maybe? She was certainly cute, and she had one of the fluffiest tails in the valley. You could just bury your face for days in a tail like that. Buuuuuut, she was Kiana's sister. Probably not a good idea.
Rachel? She was one of those little white vixens. Even whiter than the snow outside. Real pretty. And her family had some money, too. Although, she did have that weird obsession with cleanliness. If even a spot of dirt landed on her coat she'd go ballistic. He'd put her in the 'maybe' pile.
Donna? She's been looking to settle down, hasn't she? Too bad her face was a bit homely. And by 'homely' he meant it was built like a log cabin. Oh, but that's just mean...
Maybe Sandra? She's pretty nice. Very quiet. Very brainy. Maybe a bit on the skinny side, but those frumpy dresses of hers might be hiding a nice body underneath. You can never tell.
Or what about Sharon? She's got some good assets. Too bad her father's a giant lumberjack who carries a massive axe over his shoulder wherever he goes like some kind of lunatic. Honestly, who takes an axe to go shopping!?
Maybe he should just take Angie up on her offer...
Yeah, Matty! Come on an' pluck me! I could use some pluckin'! Daaaaahaha!
Oh gods, how much wine was still in his system?
Mateo leaned back and shook his head, trying to banish the image of Angie and her bony body. He mostly succeeded.
He could hear his parents laughing and arguing somewhere in the kitchen. Mother saying that the bread was done, Father saying something about how bread wasn't properly toasted until it was as black as the hearth that toasted it, Mother saying that Father's idea of 'toasted' was a normal Fox's idea of 'burnt to a crisp', Father saying that Mother's idea of 'toasted' was a normal Fox's idea of 'slightly warmed up'.
He was glad to hear them have fun and be happy, but sometimes it felt like everyone in the whole world was pairing up, discovering true love, making each other feel the kind of joy that can only be found in the arms of your soulmate.
Everyone except him.
"Haaaaaaaaah," he sighed, fogging up the glass, covering up the glare of the setting sun with a thin layer of moist vapour. He reached up and ran his finger across the glass, drawing a clear line through the fog with a faint squeak. Next he added some arms, some legs, a circle for the head, and then came the ears and the tail, making a little stick figure Fox inside the white cloud. A masterful, if lopsided, work of art. Pure genius. Truly a treasure for future generations to behold.
"Meh," he scoffed and wiped it away, cleaning up the view of the snow-covered mountain once again.
Grovenglen was a pretty big place. He didn't know each and every single Fox within this valley. So maybe, just maybe... somewhere out there... was the perfect girl for him. She was probably getting ready for bed this very moment. Or maybe she was wandering around outside, going for a late stroll. Maybe she was looking at the mountain right now, just like he was. That meant their gazes were sort of... 'touching', weren't they? Sure. Maybe he'd meet her someday, and then maybe they'd strike up a conversation and discover that they have all sorts of things in common, things like hunting, and camping, and an appreciation for good weaponry. Hell, maybe he'd meet her tomorrow, harvesting rocks in the fields. It wasn't impossible. Unlikely maybe, but not impossible.
"Yeah... maybe..." Mateo said, wondering what such a perfect girl would make of him as he was now: hungover, smelling of barf-burps and sootmilk, swaying from side to side, barely able to keep his eyes open. Those things he could fix just by cleaning himself up, but what if there was more? What if all those things Kiana had said about him were true?
'What if?' Seriously? 'What if?' Even your own mother called you a jackass not ten minutes ago.
If a perfect girl existed somewhere, the only way he'd get her was to become the perfect man. That's just common sense. The perfect girl wouldn't want to be with a jackass. Hell, even a regular girl wouldn't want to be with a jackass.
The last shining rays of sunlight suddenly vanished, as if the mountain had swallowed the sun itself. Not such a harsh leap to make, actually. All covered in snow from base to tip, blanketed in pure white, the whole mountain range looked like a giant set of serrated teeth. Darkness oozed over the house, flowing in from the West, and suddenly he was looking himself in the eye, staring back at his own reflection in the blackened window. He looked... well...
He looked like a jackass.
"Stop being a jackass, Mat," he told his own reflection. "Stop it! It's just like Othello said. And Kiana. And Mother. And Father. And damnwell just about everybody, really. From now on, you are no longer a jackass. Repeat after me. 'From this day forward, I, Mateo, son of Sarah and Michael, do solemnly swear to no longer be a jackass'. Do it!"
He put his right hand over his heart and raised his left in the air, ready to take the oath. "From this day forward, I, Mateo, son of Sarah and Michael, do solemnly swear to no longer be a jackass. Unless somebody really, really deserves it. And even then, only just a little. And in such a way that people think I'm witty and suave. And charming. And - No! No jackassery at all! I solemnly swear to not be a jackass, and that is final! No 'if's or 'but's! And if I break my oath, I'll um... er... I'll carry a great big bag of rocks on my back for a whole day. Every time. So please..."
His reflection looked back at him from out of the pitch black world outside, a mirror image made completely out of shadow, the left hand over the heart, the right hand up in the air. His ears were droopy, and there were dark crescents beneath his eyes. It was almost like seeing himself ten years from now, all worn down and miserable, a warning of what would happen if he were to fail.
"Please..." it whispered. "Don't let me turn into Grandfather..."
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