“Mom?” Dylan called into the hall, slipping through the unlocked door into his mother’s flat, his breath ragged and his mind unfocused. Mrs. Matthews looked back from the living room to see him, an aerobics workout video from the Eighties playing on the television; it was enough to distract Dylan’s brain for a moment. “Why?”

His mother was twisting on the floor, riding an invisible bike in sync with the now aged, or now dead, models onscreen. “It’s good for my pelvic floor, and helps keep my legs and stomach muscles strong.”

“But why this video?” he asked, closing and locking the door to her flat.

“You should do it with me.”

“Mom, it’s weird,” Dylan told her, hanging his jacket on the hooks by the door. Piper hopped over before he asked, “Has she been outside today?”

Words squeezed out between her torso twisting, his mother replied, “I took her out earlier today.”

Dylan watched the dog squirm, soft whimpers escaping from Piper’s mouth. “Mom, when was the last time Piper was out?”

She stopped twisting and looked at her son. “Who’s the parent, here?”

“Apparently, I am.” Dylan snapped the dog’s leash to Piper’s collar and exited the flat. After three minutes, the rain beginning to come down, Dylan returned and continued, “How is it I’m more responsible than you?” He was hoping this would lead to a conversation where he didn’t reveal Bryce.

“You are talking to your mother, young man,” she replied back, leaning down to eject the tape from the VCR. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

Dylan scoffed, unhooking Piper from her leash. “Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”

“I don’t usually get calls from you at five in the morning because you wanted to tell me ‘I love you’.” Mrs. Matthews smiled wearily, watching Piper trot past her towards the kitchen. “Though it is a nice treat.” She proceeded towards the kitchen for some water, calling over her shoulder, “Now what’s wrong?”

“Nothing wr…” Dylan trailed off, realising he’d trapped himself by the call he’d made. He watched his mother return with a cup of water in both hands, placing one down on the coffee table for him. Dylan, after a moment, whispered, “Yeah, I need help.”

“What is it?” she asked softly, sitting down slowly on the couch’s arm.

Dylan sat down in the chair opposite her, separated, again, by the ottoman. He chuckled, his anxious fingers tapping against his legs, before stating, “Well, my trip was a success, – ”

“You’re beating around the bush, sweetheart,” Mrs. Matthews noticed.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I-I know,” he whimpered, leaning back into his chair. “It’s just…really hard for me to say.”

The sound of someone knocking at the door immediately followed his words. “One second, sweetie,” she whispered. His mother stood and disappeared into the hall before reappearing. “Tom’s back,” she noted, smiling slightly, retrieving two potted plants from the windowsill. “I was plant-sitting for him. I’ll be back in a second, okay?” Dylan was then forced to listen to the subdued sound of pleasantries between his mother and her neighbour.

He began sinking into his seat, waiting for that tinge of anxiety in his chest that signified a Potential Soulmate.

‘It’s not there, anymore.’

Mrs. Matthews returned moments later. “Ugh, such a nice boy. I hope he meets his Soulmate – ” She didn’t complete the thought, seeing her son looking so disheartened in his chair. “Dylan?” Her son simply pulled his collar away. Expecting him to begin complaining about his Glow, she waited for harsh words against his dim Potential Glow.

Instead, she found herself seeing nothing beyond his bare skin.

She looked at him, wide-eyed.

Dylan opened his mouth, trying to find the words to explain. His mouth felt dry. His eyes began to water. “I…it’s gone.”

Mrs. Matthews moved to the ottoman and watched her son slowly tense up. Dylan clasped his hands together, tightening his grasp like he was trying to choke something. Jaw and neck tensing, Dylan’s eyes were glossy. Tears threatened to roll over his lower eyelid.

Two words brought out his emotional collapse, which were uttered quietly by his mother – “Oh, sweetheart.”

Body convulsing once, Dylan looked pained as his breath left his body quickly. ‘You failed,’ he thought, further fueling his breakdown. His attempt at keeping his mouth shut proved unsuccessful, his teeth clattered together as his breath left his body. He leaned forward, hiding his face with his hands in shame.

“I d-d-d…didn’t w-want it to happen, Mom,” Dylan choked. “I d…I d-don’t…kn-know what t-t-to d-do.”

She put her hands over his, rubbing the top of his hand with her thumb, and whispered, “It’s okay” over and over for nine minutes.

By that time, Dylan’s eyes were tinted red, his breath slow but laboured, and his figure limp from mental exhaustion. Sprawled out on the chair, a very concerned Piper watched him from his lap, who he scratched halfheartedly. “I didn’t want i-it t-to happen, Mom,” he repeated faintly, words broken apart by his still unstable emotions.

“I know, sweetie,” she whispered, still rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. She had moved the ottoman closer to her son to console him.

His whole body still shook. “I didn’t want it to happen,” he repeated, a small whimper escaping his throat.

“I know you didn’t,” she whispered, her tone gentle and soothing. His mother squeezed Dylan’s hand gently before wanting to ask that tentative question that was on her mind; she postponed the question for later. “You know, what happened with me and your father might not happen to you.”

Worried, tearstained eyes met hers, and Dylan shook his head furiously. “I don’t want to take the chance,” Dylan shouted, leaning forward and startling Piper.

His mother frowned. “Do you want to stay over tonight?”

Piper stretched, letting out an elongated yawn in the process. Dylan shook his head, his hand trembling against the dog’s fur. “It’s not necessary for you t – ”

“Do you want to stay over tonight?” she asked again.

Dylan took the time to consider the question before nodding, wiping his eyes and nose with his entire forearm. Sniffing, he whispered, “Thanks, Mom.”

Mrs. Matthews collapsed under her curiosity and asked the question – “So…who is it?”

Dylan had hoped that she wouldn’t ask, at least not at the present time. ‘You’re going to have to tell her eventually,’ his mind reminded him. ‘Best get it out of the way now.’ Jaw clenched for a moment, Dylan tentatively answered, “It’s Bryce.”

She blinked, processing the name. “The…guy who called your Glow defective?”

Dylan nodded ashamedly.

“The one you called a ‘playboy’?”

He nodded again, a saddened glimmer in his eyes.

But after a moment where neither spoke, Mrs. Matthews raised her hand to her face and snorted, suppressing a chuckle.

Dylan looked on, horrified. “Mom, it isn’t funny!”

“It is a little bit,” she replied, snorting again and giving way to more laughter.

“Mom, it isn’t funny!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she choked out before finally calming down. “You have to admit, it is a little funny.”

“No!”

“The two people who can’t stand each other, who are Soulmates?” she asked, standing up to stretch her legs. “Ugh, it’s like something from my soaps.”