It's childish.
I watched the time, bidding my time and waiting to see if he would walk back with his own two feet but it was already 11 and he still hadn't returned or called in the least.
I got up from the couch and headed upstairs.
I told his mother I'd go get him. She didn't even glance up from the book she was staring at, as if I had pushed a rather annoying button.
"Do whatever you want," she said, bored as always. "Might be good for you two to bond but I wouldn't waste time on him, if I were you."
"Oh come on, don't be so harsh," I said and pressed my lips on her forehead. "No matter what wrong he did, in the end, he has your blood flowing through him."
She did not respond after my words and turned to her side instead, showing her back as she said,
"Be careful on the road. It's quite late." She said, and I closed my eyes.
This mother-son relationship was so peculiar.
"I will."
