<Happy birthday, dearheart.>
A kiss on the forehead, and previous protests dispersed in a wave of affection that was so specific for their mother-son relationship. He was stubborn, would object to her mothering and public displays of maternal affection, but just like his father, all would resolve with a single kiss on the forehead. Judging by his expression, you could almost hear the mother in his voice, even though his lips remained firmly pressed together. She seemed to pay little heed to it; today was a special day, and cause for celebration.
She was crafty in the kitchen, neither Logan nor their son would deny that, and she’d conjured up a plethora of delicacies for the occasion—even though it was a simple celebration, a ceremony of three, there was enough food to feed two households, as per habit. If anything, her child and husband would never be left wanting. Theirs was a life of plenty, but no materialistic life; she had made a point of teaching her son -and perhaps even her husband- to appreciate the little things and to always return in kind. Over the years, the man nicknamed Wolverine had become master of his own temper, and while their child had inherited quite a bit of his father’s hot-tempered nature and his mother’s strong will, years of love and dedication had molded him into a fine young man.
The contained little smile on her face as she laid eyes upon the way her son had tied the Obi of his Yukata in an unusually messy bunch, betrayed her next action. Oh, he was skilled in many things, but he’d never quite figured out that piece of traditional wear…much like his father, in all honesty. Her fingers untied the messy knot that was bunched up just a little off to the center of the Yukata’s waist area, and she set out to do what she’d done so many times before, almost blindly this time.
<Did I mention it is important that you look plausible today? There is a very special young lady who would like to make your acquaintance.>
Another maternal kiss, this time on the cheek, and she tucked the remaining end of the Obi under the waistband of it.
<There we go.>
Letting go was difficult for a mother, even though this was supposed to be a happy occasion. He had matured so fast, and now old enough to start a family of his own, it was important that she should encourage him to leave the nest. He was far from a duckling now.
How she wished she could keep him under her wing.
How she wished she could hold on to that precious time just a little longer.
But as she woke, bathing in sweat, at the first ray of sunlight through the window of her temporary residence and shook off the last remnants of the most beautiful dream, she knew it had always been unreachable. There had never been birthdays. Years had gone by, yet the pain was ever-present, as though someone had freshly carved it into her.
<Happy birthday, dearheart…wherever you are.>
