Love Me, Mikayla

XV

MIKAYLA

. . .

"He thanked you."

My hands halt for a mere moment of something that tickles my heart. The sound of my bangles stops resonating. I stare blankly at the cloth in my hand which covers the dish as I'm wiping it.

"Why me?" I frown but quickly wipe it off because I look at my mother-in-law.

She chuckles. "Because it was you who sent him the bowl, have you forgotten, ha?" She gently pats my cheek before she walks away to open the fridge. I don't take a sneak peek.

"No," I haven't. I know it was I, who sent him another bowl of Kheer because I remember her telling me that he likes it. If it was something common for him, I wouldn't have been so thoughtful but couldn't ruin the moment for him when it was his favorite.

"So you deserve it," her voice comes from behind.

"I didn't want him to know it was me," I murmur, resuming my work as I arrange the dishes.

"And why's that?" She comes beside me, filling a container with milk. "Things between you two should be clear. Don't hide from each other."

Now, how can I tell her that our marriage isn't ordinary? I don't know about him but I hate him and will never stop hating him. As much as I'm diligent in my work, so diligent I'm in holding onto grievances. Only in his case.

I don't say anything after and we continue doing our work. She puts the container on the stove and I leave the counter when I hear her voice from behind.

"You care," about him? Nah, not even a bit. But I don't say it. I turn around and hear her continuing, "Some eyes can see kindness, dear."

"You know it."

She turns around, smiling at me gently. It is warm. Warm enough to melt hearts and soft enough to soothe any ache. I wonder how she and her son can possess that smile despite living a life that I, too, am living.

I don't find any difference between our lives but there's something with them that I can't see. It keeps them calm and their eyes show it. Their smiles show it.

So is with my so-called husband. How does he do it?

"But it's not specially for him," she concludes, leaning against the counter.

I sigh, still not opening my mouth for any reply. Amid my hatred and stubbornness, I don't want to hurt his parents. Or even my parents.

"You don't love him?" She finally asks and I'm amazed to know how she knows it. Is it too obvious?

Her smile is gone but I see a bit of sadness spilling into her green eyes. They're beautiful. So alive.

They remind me of my childhood when I used to ask my father if eye color could differ like that. Because if Blondie is really her son, he wouldn't have blue eyes. His parents don't have blue eyes. Then how does he? I used to wonder about it but now, I don't care.

Though I'm shocked to realize his mother knows it, I hide it well. I shrug my shoulders, answering, "We're arranged. Does it matter?"

She mimics me as she shrugs her shoulders and folds her arms underneath her breasts. She stares at me for a while and I feel exposed under her gaze but I stand confidently.

"Arranged marriages exist," she says, "But love is necessary."

"Why?" I frown lightly. She gives me a puzzled look and I know why she is looking at me like that. Of course, love happens and people get used to each other but my point is also valid. "I mean, even without love, marriages do exist, right? People die without acknowledging their feelings for each other like they've lived with a friend."