Tara Ahuja's Golden Rules

14: My Mom

When we arrived home, Ajit sat waiting by the kitchen island, as per usual.

Varun and I walked in silently.

Ajit scanned our demeanors, "Have a good time?" he asked.

Funny, I could be asking him the exact same thing.

Varun and I glanced at each other, and then looked back towards Ajit.

"As much fun as I could have finishing the dumb project," I lied.

Ajit pressed his lips together, and nodded, as if he were satisfied by my answer. Ajit looked over at Varun, "And you, Varun?"

Varun shook his head, "What about me?" he asked.

Ajit scowled at Varun's tone, not asking any further questions. He just stared at Varun.

I felt the need to break the tension and also to put Ajit in his place. "How was your day, Ajit?" I asked.

"Fine," Ajit simply replied.

"Fine?" I inquired, "I hope your company was fine."

Ajit pursed his lips, "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

I shook my head, "Nothing, nothing."

Varun let out a playful chuckle that he quickly muffled. Ajit shot him daggers with his eye, and I pretended not to notice.

Other than that, the afternoon was quite mundane, which I guess was fitting for a very non-mundane morning.

I decided to take some time for solitude; my social battery was completely drained. I laid on the couch in the living room. Varun and Ajit were upstairs. I heard a rumbling in the keyhole of the main door. After some jangling, my mother entered.

I instinctively sat upright, "Mom, You're home, "I said.

We've talked a lot about my father, enough to where I'm sure you've got an alright grasp on his personality. Mama Ahuja is a whole other ballpark.

Sometimes I look at these girls who have amazing relationships with their mothers and I'm jealous. I'm jealous because that could never be me; I can barely tell my mother the simplest things in my life. Honestly, she's pretty much an absent parent and it hurts. One of my parents died and the other one died but is still living.

But something was different that day. I saw the exhaustion in her eyes and her soul seemed completely tired. Behind her eyes it seemed that she was begging for me to break through her tough demeanor. I didn't know if I could, but some thing with the urging me to try.

"How was your day?" I asked

She turned a face me, again, "Fine,"she said, shortly.

I shut my eyes tightly and open them, "How was your day, really? "I repeated.

Maybe this would show her that I really cared and wasn't going to take a one-word generic answer.

She sighed, and began walking towards me on the couch, "It was exhausting, " she admitted

Her shoulders sunk into the couch. I felt a twinge of guilt. I never realized how tiresome my mother's job actually was. She busted her body working as a single parent, and all I could do was bash her thinking about how much of an absent parent she was. I was being selfish by doing that, right?

I gulped, watching her state, "I'm sorry, mom," I said.

She paused, and sat upright to face me, "Why are you sorry?" she asked.

For everything. For all that I put her through. For existing.

"Take your pick," I said.

She took in a sharp breath. "I may not say it often, but I'm not mad at you," she paused for a moment, "Well, not anymore."