”You view the world with rose coloured glasses my girl.”
Her mother was always the same when she mentioned travelling the world. It was an mixed sensation of guilt, and anger all mixed into one ball of tangled wool. One good tug, and the whole emotional thread would unravel.
“Mum, I’m not expecting it to be perfect, but this is a chance of a lifetime. A trip to New York Mum, all expenses paid. I don’t even have to pay for the fare,” Aliza said.
“How long have you known this girl. I mean, only yesterday you were going on your first date. Now you’re planning on travelling thousands of miles across the world because she has a job there.”
“I’ve know Melissa for almost a year, and you said you liked her. You even said she was the making of me.”
Aliza thumped the red, leather sofa, and her mother’s eyes were as sharp as one of her knitting needles. It’s all she could hear now. Click, clack, click. Over and over and over again, refusing to listen to her side of the story.
“I do like Melissa, but your relationship is like my half made jumper. One good pull and it might just be a pile of wool again.’
“And if I go, then I might just be the best, comfiest, wonderful jumper. It might be on some catwalk in New York, this time next year.”
“It’s so far away . . . you might forget me . . . and what if you break up . . .”
It wasn’t what she expected; her needles were silenced, and the weak thread of the jumper broke away from the ball of red wool. The argument was lost, but that only made it harder.
“I have to go Mum,’ she said, and ignored the text from Melissa. “It’s like you said when you met Dad, my scarf was made, and our colours matched.”
For the first time that day, her mum hinted at a smile. “I’ll have to get another ball of wool. I’ve heard that New York has cold winters, and you’ll need some scarves, hat and gloves too.”
“Love you Mum.”