I kept my eyes fixed on the table, my leg bouncing restlessly. Mama Val sat across from me on the couch, quietly watching—no, studying me.
Was she going to bring up what happened that night? Was this the moment she'd scold me, scream, kick me out? Was she going to tell Mama Enna everything?
"Heading out for a photoshoot?" I figured it'd be safer if I took the initiative.
I glanced over. She was fiddling with her fingers. "Ah, no. Just a meeting with a client about finalizing the design concept."
"That... sounds important. Why aren't you on your way?"
"Our meeting's in thirty minutes. And she's not exactly strict about punctuality."
"Still—"
"Anyway!" she cut me off, more firmly now. "There's something more important we need to talk about."
I dropped my gaze again. Of course. It was about that night.
She cleared her throat and spoke, her voice a bit hoarse. "First, I want to say… sorry."
I looked up. "What?"
"I was out of line, walking into your room and seeing what happened there without permission—"
"And what exactly did you see?"
She looked away, fake-coughing a few times. Her right ear was red, and her eyes kept darting in my direction.
After what seemed like some serious internal struggle, she finally sighed and faced me again. "That was... Fiona's way of showing you affection, wasn't it?"
I blinked at her, waiting. But she didn't laugh. She didn't cry either. She looked just as stunned as I felt.
She continued, awkwardly. "I mean, she did mention once that she was from the west—and people there live... differently. More liberally, I guess. I wouldn't know. I'm not her childhood friend like Enna. And she never really talks about herself, so..."
She glanced my way again, searching for a reaction—some kind of reassurance. But when she didn't get it, her face went pale.
"F-Forget it, I shouldn't have—"
"What if it's not?"
She froze in her tracks, half-standing.
"What if it's not about culture, or some odd way of showing affcetion? What if it's exactly what you first assumed it was?"
"Assumed? I didn't—"
"Didn't you? A man and a woman, kissing alone in a private room—that's not something a mother and son do, is it?"
I met her eyes again. Her gaze wavered—like I'd struck the right chord.
Silence fell. My fists clenched. What must she think of me now? Some ungrateful, immoral kid? A homewrecker? A stain on their family?
Sure, my moms never showed romantic affection to each other. But living under the same roof for more than a decade had to mean something more than just professional solidarity.
"Do you... see Fiona that way?" she asked softly.
I stared up, shocked.
"I don't know," she went on, clearing her throat again. "It's confusing. I can't say I'm okay with it. But... we're not related by blood. So when you started growing up, we should've expected something like this might happen.
"You might look at us differently. Admire us in ways you didn't before. But it's just a phase. One day, you'll look back and realize how ridiculous this all was."
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
She shrugged faintly. "Maybe what you're feeling is just... puberty confusion."
There was a pause. Then I replied flatly, "I'm not confused."
"Y-you are," she said, trying to smile. "It's hormones. You've barely interacted with any girls besides us, so—"
"Says who? I'm already dating someone."
She blinked. "Dating? Like dating dating?"
I sighed. "Made it official two days ago."
"You're making that up."
I grabbed my phone and slid it across the table. "See the top chat."
She gave me a skeptical look, but I only nodded. I never set a passcode, so she unlocked it without issue.
As she scrolled, I watched her expressions shift—hesitation, surprise, a wince, a laugh, then something like judgment.
"This girl's really trying hard," she muttered, glancing at me. "But honestly, you're an awful boyfriend. What are these half-hearted, dry replies? Even a temp in customer service could do better."
"I never intended to be a good boyfriend."
She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"She confessed. I said yes because I wanted to see if I could feel the same way about her... the way I feel about Mama Fiona."
She set the phone back on the table. "A-and?"
"It's different," I said, firmly. "Sure, she's cute, pretty, and sweet. I thought maybe I could grow to return her feelings."
"Then—"
"But when I touched her... it just wasn't there. That pull. That spark that makes you want someone. That... urgency. I only feel that with Mama Fiona."
I glanced at her—and she froze. "Sorry. That must sound sick to you. If being around me makes you uncomfortable, I'll move out—"
"What if we tested it?"
"What?"
That look in her eyes—even if it wasn't as fierce as Fiona's that day—still held something firm. That same conviction that had captivated me before.
"Do the same thing to me," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
She turned her face away—but I could see it: her ears turning crimson.
"K-kiss me too."