Taylor's POV

The front door swings open with a creak. Dim white streetlight and what little remains of the greyed-out sun spill in, casting hazy shadows on the shoe rack next to the floormat. Taking in a breath and noting the quiet stillness of the house, I step inside.

On good evenings in the Ferguson household, you would see Mum in the lounge-room watching an episode of Desperate Housewives, her favourite show, with a steaming cup of peppermint tea. Ana wouldn't be far, either blasting some punk-rock song in her headphones (that I'm sure are slowly deafening her) or calling her best friend Lola to talk about their cars. I'd either be texting Darko, or thinking of a song I'd want to practice on the piano, or thinking about Darko while playing the piano. Even though we weren't all interacting with each other, it was always nice to just do our own thing in the same space. The company made the house feel warm and alive.

Tonight's not one of those nights.

"Ana? I'm home!"

A tired hum sounds from the kitchen. Locking the door behind me and kicking off my shoes, I glance at the small weeping Buddha statue perched on a bookshelf. Dad always told me to rub his back during hard times to bring peace, happiness, and strength. He wasn't a devout Buddhist, but his parents were, so some cultural things passed onto him and onto me and Ana.

Ah, what the hell. I rub the statue's back, cleaning off the dust collecting there.

Passing the loungeroom, I enter the kitchen, dropping my schoolbag on the dining table. Ana stands at the far end of the room, her head poking inside the cupboard. She still has her work overalls on; it wouldn't surprise me if she got grease on the kitchen countertop.

"Welcome back. Looks like we're having tom yum noodles tonight, Mum didn't cook and I assume you can't be bothered to either. And, fuck if I'm cooking after the slaving away I just did on your car. For free, by the way." she plucks a soup bowl and an instant-noodle packet from the pantry. She gestures to me, asking if I want a serve. I nod. She reaches back in and produces another.

Ana looks much more like Mum than I do. Our Dad was Thai, and our Mother Cambodian. I definitely took after our father more than Ana did, and vice versa. Her face is rounder, not as sharp and pointy as mine apparently is.

Even so, people say we look similar, but I really don't see it.

I sit by the table. "Where's Mum? Everything okay?"

Ana sighs, waving a dismissive hand in the air. Her focus is on the slow rumble of the electric kettle, the bubbling of the water getting louder by the second. "She's in her room. I wanted to check on her, but... yeah. I guess things are okay, considering. I haven't heard her cry in a bit, so, there's that."

Understanding, I nod. Ana went on to explain everything that happened — Mum had come home after work. Ana was outside busy with my car. Ana assumed things were fine, but an hour later she heard crying and yelling in the house. She ran straight inside. Mum, hysterical and in tears, ditched a dinner plate onto the kitchen's tiling, sending chips of ceramic flying everywhere. Ana saw an empty bottle of whiskey behind her, precariously placed on the edge of the dining table. Ana hugged her until she stopped crying, then told her to rest in her bedroom. By the time Ana settled her down and threw away the whiskey bottle, Mum was fast asleep.

While drinking isn't anything new, smashing things is. She has been moodier lately – maybe it's the medication. She has been taking a new prescription as of late. Then again, she shouldn't be mixing it with alcohol too.

By the time Ana's done recounting the afternoon, her hands are visibly shaking. "Look in the bin. Mum smashed something else."

I cock an eyebrow. "What?"

She nods towards the rubbish bin in the corner of the room.

Getting up, I push the flap on it and I feel my heart sink. Looking at Ana, she frowns before resting her forehead on her palm. Dad's favourite mug, a huge soup mug with a Superman emblem on it, lay splintered among the trash.

I shake my head. Closing the trash can, I look at the kettle.

"Do you reckon she accidentally broke his mug, then spiralled?"

"Possibly."

There's a beat. The kettle is fully bubbling at this point, puffs of steam billowing from the spout. The light on the side flicks off — the water's ready. Ana grabs the handle, pours the boiling liquid into the bowls. She looks at me as I reach into the pantry. "Spare some water. I want to make Mum some tea."

"Good call, she would appreciate that — you know how much he loves her peppermint tea."

Mug in tow, I reach for the kettle and pour, bobbing the tea bag in the water, watching as the liquid changes from clear to green. Ana prepares and covers the noodle bowls with a plate. "They'll be ready when we get back. Let's check on Mum."

Ana picks up the mug. We make our way to her bedroom.

My voice is barely a whisper as we knock on the door. "Mum, can I come in?" We're met with silence. I glance at Ana, before gently twisting the knob. "Are you awake?"

I swallow as the door sways open a crack. Ana hands me the cup. The warmth of the drink is almost comforting.

Quietly nudging the door further open with my foot, I step in, immediately wishing Ana went in first. The smell of spilled alcohol hits me, then ripe musk. I really don't like coming in here.

The room's a complete mess. Dirty clothes and empty food packets are strewn across the floor. A cracked glass cup lies on the stained carpet beside her bedside table. Dozens of bottles sit on her drawer, some completely empty, some half-drunk. This is probably the worst state I've ever seen her room — what's worse is I can only make out bits of it from the light of the hallway spilling in. Otherwise, it's a murky black.

"Mum?" I repeat, weaving my way through the visible mess and reaching her bed. Tentatively touching her shoulder, I place the mug next to her lamp, trying not to wake her up too suddenly. She used to have a snore that could be measured on the Richter scale, but ever since she started sleeping alone, she's quietened down.

As I turn on her bedside lamp, she snaps awake, her eyes blinking wildly. Sitting up, she opens her mouth, cocking her head to look behind me.

"W-who's that?!" she says, lip trembling. "Ana?"

Was she having a nightmare? I turn around to look at Ana.

"Yes, it's me," she says, approaching the bed, taking a seat next to me. "Are we gonna talk about what happened before?"

She hangs her head. After a minute of silence, she shakes her head no. I close my eyes for a few seconds, quietly sighing with exasperation, feeling an uneasy knot form inside.

"Was it something that happened? We saw the mug. Or was it something else? Did you take your medication?" I say. She looks away from me.

"Those things are poison - I never feel like myself when I'm on them."

Ana and I share a knowing look.

"You need to take those pills; you know they help. And you need to stop drinking when you take them. If these don't work, this is it. We can't afford for you to go back to therapy — this is all you have."

I'm extremely lucky to have Mindy as a therapist. Free counselling is offered through my university, and I'm so grateful for that. Otherwise, I would probably be in the same shoes as Mum right now. The thought of that sends a chill down my spine.

She sighs, continuing to not make eye contact with me. Her eyes are hooded and puffy. Vacant. Vague. The dried-up outline of tears streak down her cheeks, stopping at the edge of her jaw. Her lip quivers. "W-what's the damn point? I'll be fine. Look, just go away, lecturing me about taking them isn't going to bring-"

Her throat tightens. She shuts her mouth, swallowing hard. She doesn't look at me.

"Mum..." I say, voice uneven, "It won't bring him back, but there is a point. It'll help keep you here with me and Ana. We love you... we don't want to lose you as well."

Mum reluctantly brings her eyes to me, then Ana, for a few moments before weakly grinning, her lip shaking. Leaning forward, I wrap her in my arms. Ana rubs her back as she unloads a well of tears into my shoulder. I take off my glasses and wipe away a few stray drops of my own, before steeling myself.

"Hey," I say after a couple of minutes, reaching for the peppermint tea on her bedside, "you need some rest. Drink this — I made it for you. Tea."

She nods, lifting herself from my shoulder. I gesture to the cup on her bedside table. She tentatively takes a few sips of the beige liquid before setting it back down. Lying on the mattress, she lifts the blanket up to her chin and looks up at me through glassy eyes.

"You sound just like him, you know?"

I freeze. "W-what?"

"Your father. You are just as kind as him. If it wasn't for those glasses, you'd look just like him when he was your age."

I grit my teeth. I know she means well. I can hear my brain telling me to chill the fuck out. But, I feel something prickly forming in my gut, and I want to leave.

"My sweet Jason," she says, touching my face. I flinch away, and jump out from my seat. I feel myself getting angry — I feel my fists ball at my sides, the tightness in my chest, the friction of my molars pressing together.

"F-fuck you, Mum."

Before she can even reply, I get up and leave the room, slamming the door behind me. I feel the hinges rattle in the door frame as I storm off into my room.

#

"Hey... you okay? Can I come in?"

I peek away from my phone. I can see Ana's shadow underneath the doorframe.

"What is it?"

She sighs. "Look, do you want to eat in your room, or in the kitchen? Tom yum's ready."

I get up and open the door. Ana's holding the two soup bowls, with cutlery precariously woven in her fingers as she tries to hold it all together. If I wasn't so annoyed at my Mother, I'd be impressed – I don't know how the bowls haven't burned her palms. I contemplate telling her to go away, but I stuff the thought down as I sit up and grab a bowl from her.

"Gross dude, you need to clean your room, it's nearly as bad as Mum's," Ana says with a pained expression as she enters. "Your floor isn't a shelf, you have a wardrobe for a reason. Plus, pretty sure you're not meant to stack dirty dishes on your piano. And EW, what are those marks on the wall?!"

"Dead mosquitoes," I say, before stuffing a forkful of spicy noodles in my mouth. Ana looks horrified.

"You're supposed to clean the squashed bugs off the wall when you kill them, you freak."

I shrug as I swallow. "Why? It's a warning for other mosquitoes. What did Heath Ledger's Joker say once? It's about sending a message."

"You're revolting."

"Fuck off."

I take another bite of my noodles. Ana swirls her spoon in her bowl. I know her well enough that she wants to say something. Whether I respond to whatever she has to say is a different story.

After a few bites, Ana finally has the words. "That was..."

"Fucked?"

"Fucked."

We nod. "She's never compared you like that to Dad before. And the whole face stroking thing? What was that about?"

I know Ana also wants to say I am the spitting image of our father as well, but she keeps that to herself. I hate how similar I look to him. I can't see family without somebody saying 'wow, you look like Jason!' then, they remember he's dead, then they go on about how sorry they are and how they're there for me if they need it. It's exhausting, and I feel I can't escape it.

"After you left, she told me that she was sorry and didn't mean to upset you, if that means anything to you. I wanted to tell her to come tell you herself, but she said she was feeling tired again, so I left her alone in her room."

I don't know what to say. The room goes quiet, and I hear a few soft snores coming from the hallway. I sigh to myself. "At least she's sorry."

We eat the rest of our noodles in a comfortable silence.

"I'm going to head to Darko's soon to chill for a bit," I say, finishing. "Thanks for dinner."

She half smiles. "Whatever, it's fine. Hand me your bowl."

I furrow my eyebrows, before giving it to her. "What, you're my maid now? When have you ever taken my dirty dishes?"

Laughing, she gets up from my bed. "Not your maid, I just don't want one of the good bowls to end up rotting in a corner of your bedroom."

I gently toss a pillow at her, hitting her back as she steps out into the hallway. "Clean up your room! It's a landfill in there!"

Snickering, I go to yell back, but I feel my phone buzz nearby. I pick it up.

My good sir, everything all g? U coming over still?

Sigh. That nickname will be the end of me.

I'm fine. Yeah, I'll drive there. Be at yours in ten mins.

I glance out to the hallway. I can hear Ana in the kitchen, washing the dishes. Mum's asleep. But, Mum's words, Mum's facial expression, keeps replaying in my mind. My sweet Jason. Her look of fleeting happiness and familiarity. I can't stand that I'm just a reminder of what she lost. Plus, his mug's gone now. Another piece of him, gone.

I catch myself wringing my hands together. I can't be here. I don't want to be here. I pick the phone back up.

Can I stay the night?

The little three dots appear again.

Yeh, ill get the blow up mattress. R you sure everything is okay? U havent slept over in a while.

I don't want to lie, but I don't want to get into it, so I just say Thanks, I'll be there soon and start packing my bag. 

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A/N: So, by now you would have noticed one big change - Taylor's race. In the novel's first inception, he was white, and honestly I really struggled to connect with him. When I first wrote this book, I saw a lot of myself in him but I struggled a lot with internalised racism (I grew up being taught that white was the standard), so I made him white instead of the south-asian Thai/Cambodian I wanted him to be. 

Now that I'm much more confident in my writing, and much more confident in myself, I really wanted to portray Taylor as I originally wanted to. Plus, I don't think I've ever seen any LGBT+ South Asian representation at all, so my hope is that others who fall in that group see this and also feel the connection to Taylor that I feel. 

What do you all think? 

With all my love, Jacob x