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rainbow-flavoured-skittles · 11 months ago

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Hey Mom, Dead Mom

Chapter 1: I’m a bunch of broken pieces, it was you who made me whole

it is here! I know I said there would be a sneak peek but there was less editing to be done than I expected ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

the title is from the Beetlejuice musical’s song ‘Dead Mom’ because it just fits Cole so perfectly. the chapter titles are from that song as well. this one is pretty heavy, since it’s about Lilly dying and Cole being neglected. so tw for hospitals, terminal illness, child neglect, alcohol use, and major character death. this fic is not the happiest thing I’ve written. cross posted on ao3, everything is under the cut to be safe

Mom had been very sick lately.

Cole looked up at his dad. “Is she gonna be okay?” He asked. Mom had just gone to the hospital again — she’d started coughing, and the ambulance had taken her when she collapsed. It was the second time this month it’d happened.

Dad pursed his lips. “Yes, Cole,” he said. “She’ll be fine after some rest,”

“Can we see her?”

“Not right now, she’s sleeping. Maybe later,”

Cole tried not to frown. Mom had been doing that a lot lately — sleeping, going to the doctor, ending up in hospital. Both her and Dad said she was just sick, and that she’d be better soon, but it didn’t seem to be true. In fact, Cole was pretty sure she’d gotten worse.

“Okay,” he finally responded. “I’m gonna go walk around,”

Dad nodded and went back to the newspaper.

The hospital was very cold and smelled like antiseptic. All the hallways were identical, and Cole got dizzy trying to navigate. The fluorescent lights seemed unnecessarily harsh. Cole hated everything about it. A couple people gave him strange looks as he passed by, but Cole couldn’t be bothered to care. He missed his mom. He hated this place and wanted to go home, wanted to go back to before this had happened. Before Mom had gotten sick and Dad had started being so distant.

One of the nurses stopped him when he tried to get on the lift. “Where are your parents?” She asked.

Cole did his best to look the part of a kid who had just gotten lost, which was not wrong. “My dad’s waiting for Mom to wake up, and I’m looking for the washroom,” he said.

The nurse gave him a pitying look. “Is your mom sick?”

“Yes,”

“I’m very sorry about that,” she said. “But you can’t wander around on your own. I’ll help you get back to your dad,”

Cole did not respond.

“Where were you earlier?” The nurse looked at him.

Cole shrugged. He didn’t really know where they had been waiting for Mom to wake up, just that it was on this floor.

“Was it the waiting room?”

“Maybe,” Cole mumbled.

The nurse sighed a little. “We’ll check there first,”

She grabbed Cole’s wrist and lead him to the waiting room, where sure enough, Cole’s dad was sitting and reading the papers.

“He’s over there,” Cole pointed at his dad. “I can go now,”

“Alright then,” the nurse said. “Hope your mom gets better,” She patted him on the shoulder and walked off.

Mildly annoyed that he’d been brought back to his father, Cole plopped down on the seat next to him. He swung his legs and hummed until his dad snapped and turned to him. “What is it, Cole?” He frowned.

“Will Mom be out soon?” Cole looked up at his dad.

“No,” Dad said in a firm voice, like there was no room for argument. “The doctors will tell us when she can come home.”

“But when will that be?”

Dad sighed wearily. “I don’t know, Cole,”

Cole stared down at the floor. It was white, speckled with grey and red. Or maybe it was green. Those two colours were very similar.

Either way, it was both easier to look at and more interesting than his dad’s frowning face. Maybe he could count the little flecks on it, though that seemed like a lot. And it wasn’t particularly fun.

Cole would ask if he could play with his dad’s phone, but Dad was in such a bad mood the that he didn’t want to try. Cole could understand why he wasn’t happy, though. He didn’t want Mom to be sick any more than Dad did.

All too soon and yet still not soon enough, they were told to leave. “I’m sorry, sir, but visiting hours are over. You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” the nurse had said as she shooed them out the door. Cole and his dad walked out and got into the car in silence. It was already dark out, and the streetlights were on. Cole counted them as they drove past — one, two, three, four…

Dad parked the car and they walked into the house. Cole didn’t dare talk, instead going upstairs to brush his teeth and go to bed. Dad probably wouldn’t have made dinner anyways. He was too busy and stressed for that. If Cole got hungry, he’d just eat some chips or something.

Cole jumped onto the bed and turned off the lights. His yellow sunflower nightlight glowed in the corner, bathing the room in a dim light. He could hear Dad downstairs talking on the phone. It was pretty loud, but Cole closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

The next morning brought rain and clouds, like even the weather was unhappy about Mom’s hospitalisation. Cole woke up well into the morning and dragged himself out of bed. He ate breakfast and went back upstairs, expecting to be alone in the house, but when he passed Dad’s office he could hear faint crying.

Cole frowned. That was weird, there shouldn’t be anyone else in the house right now.

Cole knocked on the door. “Dad?” He said.

The door swung open and Dad stepped out looking dishevelled and tired. He looked down at his son and sighed. “Hello, Cole,”

“What’s going on? Why are you sad?” The answer to the latter question was obvious — Moon was sick, after all, but Cole wanted to make sure.

Dad put a hand to his forehead and gestured for Cole to come in. “Cole, son, we need to talk,”

That didn’t bode well. It was never good if an adult told you ‘we need to talk.’ It meant getting in trouble and screaming and lots of crying. “Talk about what?” Cole’s throat felt dry and scratchy.

“Y— you know your mother is sick, right?” Dad said.

A sense of cold dread crept up Cole’s spine. “Yeah?”

“She’s not getting better,” Dad said softly. Tears streamed down his face. “She’ll be staying at the hospital permanently now,”

Cole knew a lot of big words. ‘Permanently’ was one of them. It didn’t mean anything good in this situation. “She’s not coming home?”

Dad nodded his head grimly. “Yes, that’s right,”

“No!” Cole screamed. “Why can’t she stay?”

“She’s too sick to come back, and the hospital is able to take care of her,” Dad tried to explain, but Cole shut it out. Mom wasn’t coming home. She’d be stuck at the hospital forever. They’d never again go hiking or have picnics or read stories together, because she was sick and they couldn’t do anything about it.

“It’s not fair,” Cole cried into his dad’s arms.

“It isn’t,” Dad hugged him tightly, but it wasn’t a happy hug. It was the kind of hug you give people when they’re sad and there’s nothing you can do.

Weeks passed and Mom got worse. The doctors hooked her up to a bunch of machines, ones that made beeping noises and scared Cole. She didn’t talk much, not anymore. Most of the time she just laid there and slept. Dad spent most of his time away from the house visiting Mom and crying. On the days that Cole was able to come along, he sat on the bed and read to Mom until they had to leave. She couldn’t always hear him, but on the days she was awake she’d listen to him and smile. There weren’t nearly enough of those days.

Today was one of those days, thankfully. But it still wasn’t a good day. Cole had gotten into trouble at school — there was a bully hurting the other kids, and Cole had gotten so angry. He’d pushed the bully and they had gotten into a fight. It ended with both of them on the floor and bleeding, and the principal was yelling at them and Dad was so disappointed and now Cole was suspended for a week.

“Hi, honey,” Mom smiled. She opened her arms for a hug.

“Mom!” Cole jumped onto the bed and hugged his mother. He wasn’t allowed to do that, but he didn’t care right now because Mom was awake and even though she was probably disappointed in him he just needed a hug. “I don’t want you to be sick anymore,”

“I know, Pumpkin,” Mom said, and how had Cole ever been embarrassed by that nickname? He’d give anything to hear Mom call him that more often now. “But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Mom pulled away from the hug and looked Cole in the eyes. “Your father said you got into trouble at school,”

Cole blinked back the tears from his eyes. “Yeah, but it wasn’t my fault!”

“What happened?”

“There’s this kid, and he’s always picking on the other kids, and—“

“And you got in a fight,” Mom finished for him.

Cole didn’t make eye contact with his mom. He looked at the wall instead as he said, “I’m sorry, Mom. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll make you proud,”

“Oh, Cole,” Mom said, and Cole braced himself for the inevitable ‘I’m so disappointed,’ but it never came. “Don’t you see? I’m already proud of you,”

Mom took his hand. “I want you to promise me, Cole, that you will always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust. Always,” she hugged him as tightly as she could while being bed bound.

“I promise, Mom. Always,” Cole said as he hugged her back. That was a promise he intended to keep.

Half a year went by before they got the news. Cole was at school when it happened — he hadn’t been able to say goodbye. Mom had flatlined. She was gone forever. Cole had known it was coming for months by then, had known their time was limited, but that didn’t stop the hurt. The funeral was in two weeks, two weeks to pull himself together and say his final goodbyes. It seemed like too short of a time.

Cole went home early, picked up by his dad. They were silent for the entire time, up until they reached home and Cole broke down. He sobbed into his dad’s arms until night fell, Dad crying along with him. They fell asleep on the couch that night.

Two weeks passed by in a blur, all the days blending together. Cole didn’t go to school for those weeks; he wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Dad let him help with some of the funeral preparations. It made Cole feel better to help, to show Mom he cared even if he hadn’t been there during her final moments. When Dad asked him what flowers they should have, he said sunflowers. Mom’s name may have been Lilly, but her favourite plant had always been sunflowers. “Because they’re all bright and cheerful, like you,” she used to say to Cole. Cole didn’t feel very cheerful these days. More miserable and depressed.

On the day of the funeral, it was bright and sunny. Cole loathed that. How dare the weather be so happy when Mom was dead? She was the most amazing person in the realm, and now she was gone.

“— was an incredible person. She was a wife, a mother, a daughter. She touched the lives of everyone here, and it is a tragedy that she was taken so soon.” Someone was speaking up on the podium. The funeral officiant, giving a generic speech that didn’t show how caring and generous and simply wonderful Mom was.

Dad had already spoken. He’d talked about how he met Mom, how he loved her so much and missed her. There had been a few others who spoke, friends or distant relatives that Cole didn’t really know. They all offered their condolences and gave Cole hugs he didn’t want.

Dad squeezed his hand. Are you sure you don’t want to go? He seemed to be asking. Dad had asked Cole a week ago if he wanted to speak at the funeral. Cole had declined. He didn’t want to give a speech in front of people he’d never met before, and he couldn’t fit everything he wanted to say in a few minutes. Dad had seemed to understand, gave him a piece of paper and told him to write on that instead. They would leave the paper with the flowers. Cole thought it was much better than the speech.

The officiant said it was time to say their goodbyes, but Cole didn’t hear. He just followed Dad and waited until their turn. He didn’t say anything, unlike the others who attended. Dad helped him put the flower and letter onto the casket.

Cole watched as the line dwindled and everyone was done saying their final words. The casket was lowered into the ground. The hole was covered and then smoothed over. In less than an hour, Mom had been buried underground with all the dirt and bugs. There really was no more foolishly hoping this was a mistake. Mom was not coming back.

Cole spent the next few weeks out of school as well, staying at home in his room. Dad spent a lot of time at the gravesite and didn’t come home until night. They spent only dinners together, and those were dreary and lifeless. Mom’s death had left a gaping hole in their lives. Cole didn’t know how to fill it, as much as he wished he could.

Jay called a few times asking if Cole needed a friend. Cole said no. Jay ended every call with a “you know where to find me if you need it.” Cole didn’t think he deserved Jay, honestly.

One evening Dad didn’t show up for dinner. He was always back by eight, always, but that day he wasn’t. Cole spent the entire night waiting and fell asleep at the table.

The next few days were exactly like that night. Dad went out before Cole was even awake and didn’t come back until after midnight. Every time he came back he was drunk and collapsed on the couch, leaving Cole to take care of himself. Cole hated that. Even during the worst parts of Mom’s illness, he hadn’t been completely alone. Now there was no one else to rely on. How was it possible that things had gotten worse?

When school started again Cole made a schedule. He’d spent almost an entire month away and needed to do a lot of catching up, so it was very tight. Wake up at six in the morning and eat breakfast. Walk to school because Dad can’t drive you anymore, and make sure to pack your own lunch. Once school is over walk back and do homework. Vacuum the house every Wednesday and do laundry twice a week. Dishes have to be done after every meal. Grocery shopping once a week on Sundays and dusting on Saturday.

The schedule was broken one day when Dad came home early. Cole had just gotten home from school and was doing his homework when he heard the front door unlock. That was strange, he thought. Nobody was visiting today. Nobody ever visited.

“COLE!” Dad’s voice yelled, and he sounded ridiculously angry. Cole flinched and wondered if he should hide. “GET DOWN HERE NOW!”

No use hiding, then. Cole crept down the stairs and faced his dad. Dad’s face was red and blotchy, but he wasn’t swaying. That was good. He wasn’t drunk, hadn’t spent the entire night partying.

“Do you care to explain why you haven’t been attending dance lessons?” Dad growled.

Dance lessons? Cole hadn’t gone to those since before Mom’s death. “I didn’t realise I was supposed to,” he said.

“You are a Brookstone. Dancing is in your blood. Why wouldn’t you have lessons?”

“I haven’t gone to them since Mom…”

Dad’s frown deepened. “You will be going to lessons from now on, five days a week.”

Cole didn’t have the energy to argue. “Okay,” he mumbled.

“Good. Have you done your homework?”

“I was doing it just now.”

“Alright, then. I have a meeting with the other Blacksmiths. You can take care of dinner?”

I’ve been taking care of everything for months! Cole wanted to scream. But he didn’t. He just nodded and stood there like the good son he was supposed to be.

Dad nodded stiffly and went back out the door. At least he didn’t seem as angry now, though Cole would have to adjust the schedule. Maybe laundry once a week instead of twice, and vacuuming would have to be on Saturdays. He sighed and went to go find his notebook. This would be a pain to figure out.

School and dance lessons were hell. Cole’s classmates ignored him as always and the teachers hated him. The dance instructors were no better, yelling when he couldn’t get a move right and saying he wasn’t good enough. Dad spent slightly more time at home — Cole was pretty sure that the Royal Blacksmiths had pulled him out of the alcohol bottles. He still ignored Cole, though, and got angry when he brought home a bad grade.

“Why can’t you at least try? You used to get such good grades!” Dad had ranted one night. “You were so smart, what happened?”

Those rants always hurt so much. Cole was trying, he really was. It was just so hard when he was juggling school and dance lessons and talking care of the whole house and his grief for Mom.

Of course, the fights didn’t help either. Cole got into a lot of them nowadays, sometimes because a classmate threw the first punch or because they were being a bully. They always ended with at least one black eye and a lecture from Dad. Sometimes he got suspended, or threatened with expulsion.

Dad finally gave up on him when the school called and said he was ‘impertinent, unable to focus, and a delinquent.’ Cole didn’t know what half those words meant, but he got the basic idea: he was a problem. A mistake that needed to be corrected. A good for nothing mess of a human being. All that was confirmed when five words fell from his dad’s lips, five words that brought the little stability he had crashing down.

“You’re going to boarding school.”

“Boarding school?” Cole repeated dully. The words didn’t make sense to him, couldn’t seem to form a proper sentence.

“Boarding school,” Dad confirmed. “Marty Oppenheimer’s School of Performing Arts, to be exact. They will help you with performing, obviously, and hopefully correct some… recent issues.”

“You want to send me to prison, basically,” Cole muttered.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Cole. MOSPA is a wonderful opportunity. I went there, as well as your mother.”

“Is it because this school wants me gone?”

Dad tapped his cane sharply. “This was always the plan, Cole. As soon as you got to middle school we’d send you there. Things just got a little delayed.”

“What kind of prestigious school like that would take me?” Cole snarked.

“I was one of their best students,” Dad said. He got a dreamy look in his eyes. “They couldn’t say no to teaching the next generation of Brookstones, not when you could be the next big hit.”

“Do I get a choice in this?”

“No,” Dad said, and that sealed Cole’s fate.

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