I can't shake the habit of entering silently. My body has trained itself to ensure its presence is unfelt in this house, not like the draft Má blows through it or the lighting that is Iris. Even when I call into it, 'Hello? Má?' my voice turns into dust, absorbed into the white walls.

Just as I turn into the kitchen, Má stands from the table with a screech of her chair legs. 'I've been–!'

Her eyes snag on my septum ring and her already-frazzled face screws up. Is it new? Is it a prank? Is she hallucinating? But then she sees the tattoos that circle my biceps, unhidden by a jumper or hoodie, and for a moment, she's suspended. Then she decides these are not the worst of my offences.

'I've been phoning you for days. You can't just not answer. I've been worried about you!'

'Worried? You've just been worried you won't be able to offload all your issues onto me for five minutes.'

'Miles!' Má berates. Her eyes ricochet across my features, scouring for a seam that proves I'm a stranger who has shown up wearing a mask of her son's face — or is it her husband's face?

It's odd hearing the name from her mouth: she never calls me Miles. It's sobering too, like the spell is broken and for once I'm not Ba and I'm not Thỏ. I'm just a person who has no stakes in disappointing or pleasing her.

Still, I reflect her horror. The surveillance state around my tongue has finally worn down — not defeated but simply deteriorated from overuse — and my newfound freedom reveals to be more than I can chew. I don't want to talk to Má like this.

'I'm sorry.' I can't quite look at her as I cross the room to sit at the kitchen table. 'I need to talk to you.'

Má stays standing. 'I need you to talk to your sister about her summer job. Apparently, she hardly shows up and she's rude when she does — I've already had to beg them for a second chance but they'll sack her if she don't start showing up.'

'Okay.' My body jerks as it instinctively tries to stand, to serve out its orders. Don't bend. Communicate your feelings even when it feels difficult, Dr Qureshi's voice reminds. I lock my ankles around the chair legs to keep myself seated. 'But now, I need to talk to you.'

Má crosses her arms over her chest but eventually returns to her seat. I wait, wait for her broiling anger to soothe but it only swells, raising the temperature a few degrees higher than it already is. Sweat seeps out of my skin and we've not even started.

I massage my collarbone and force myself to look at her. 'I love Ziri.'

Confusion strikes through her ridicule. This is not what she thought I came here to say.

'I'm gonna be with him as long as I can. I'm sorry if that's not what you imagined for me. You don't have to like him, but I love him, and you can either learn to respect that or you can not be in my life.'

Má's cheeks brighten with blotches of red. 'Don't be stupid.'

'But, that's me: the stupid one.'

'Miles, your family comes first. The fact that he's making you choose–'

'No, you are. We've been dating for five years and you still treat him like he's temporary.' Dr Qureshi's reminders that I can only control my own delivery and not how people respond to it disintegrate. My carefully rehearsed speech flies out the window. Summat base in me just needs to see blood that's not mine for once. 'You're just like Bà. You do realise that, right? You're gonna be exactly the mother-in-law you hate so much.'

Má starts to yell but cuts herself off after a single note and it's left to echo through our morgue of a house. The fever recedes into her body. Shrinking, she picks at a loose thread in the hem of her top.

'He's just... so... different. Being with him... When people see you, they can't tell.'

Her voice ain't unkind but I've breathed in too much of her anger to put the fire out. All the memories I've discussed in therapy resurface like bile — combined with my stress and lack of sleep, the result is toxic.

'Honestly, Má,' I say, my voice serrated through a rusty grater, 'I'm not that concerned with homophobes on the street when I've got plenty in my own family.'

'Like who?'

'Like you.'

Her anger flares again. 'I'm not homophobic, Miles.'

'No, you just think it's a phase I'll grow out of. I'm gay, Má,' I press. 'It's not gonna change. And I'm not gonna hide it because it makes people uncomfortable. That's not my fucking problem.'

'What is wrong with you today? I don't even recognise you!'

'No, you wouldn't. You've never even looked at me.' I drag my hands down my face. This is not how I wanted this talk to go. 'You know I'm an actual person. I'm not your maid, and I'm not your therapist, and I'm not Ba.'

I've handed her the knife and she don't hesitate to use it — 'You sure could pass for Dean right now.' Má's eyes glisten though I can't tell if it's tears or hatred that turns them into mirrors. How do two people who hate each other so much end up married?

Seeing Ziri's parents treat him the way they do is just a sore reminder of all the love I don't have. If I were depressed, I'd be physically dragged out of bed. If I were in hospital, I wouldn't tell Má. I wouldn't tell Ông Nội, Bà Nội, or Iris. I would deal with whatever it were alone and then drive myself home and make myself dinner.

Now, I would tell Ziri. He'd make me food and read me a book and let me sleep until I felt better. We'd watch Imagine Me and You on repeat. He'd wash my hair and moisturise my back.

That is what I came here to talk about.

'I loved him,' I whisper. 'And I miss him. But I'm not him, Má. We're two different people. I ain't ever gonna live up to that — like, I'm sorry I didn't fucking do well in school when I were taking care of you since I were nine. I do everything for you. And for Iris. And never in my life have I heard a single thank you.' Momentum starts building up again; I clamp my mouth shut. Focus on breathing. Feel the flow of air.

'I wanna support you but you cross so many lines. I don't wanna be your emotion sponge. I don't wanna hear about your marriage problems. You can't phone me every time you're upset. You need to go talk to an actual therapist.

'I love you, Má, I want to help, but I can't be the only person taking care of you. There's summat wrong. You know there's summat wrong...'

Má's anger finally ruptures and blood spills across my hand; I've cut the scab back open. Her hurt is unavoidable and it's my fault. My first betrayal were being born; if I really loved her, I would've stayed connected her forever.

I'm a bad son for causing her pain.

I have to grit my teeth to keep talking. 'I have to tell you summat, Má.'

'Okay.' She trembles. She's afraid.

I don't need to tell her. She don't need to know. It won't change owt — knowing won't change owt. I'm hurting her on purpose. I'm a bad son. My family has every right to hate me.

'When were still living in Leeds, I had a boyfriend there.' Má pales though she tries her best to pretend like this is pleasant news. Until I continue. 'He were twenty-four. He forced me to have sex with him, a lot. And I couldn't tell you about it cause I didn't want to make you upset.'

Tears well in Má's eyes and it takes everything in me to not apologise, not take it back and say I made it up. There's enough blood now that it's difficult to hide. It stains the army green of my shorts, forming camouflage patterns I long to disappear in.

My mind is frantic to leave my body. It claws the inside of my skull but there's no attic left to flee to, no basement to hide from.

'I'm going to counselling for it — Ziri convinced me because he's a good partner. He's kind, and loving, and more emotionally intelligent than everyone in our family put together. And I feel safe with him. I'm safe with him.'

Má wipes her tears. Pain stabs my heart, squeezing it in a fist so tight the whole muscle is seconds from pulverising.

I can't die now! I can't die when my flat is a mess and I look too much like myself. Dead, I will be even more of a nuisance. I had always thought I would clean first, pack my own belongings into boxes: keep, donate, toss. I were always supposed to die in a corner of the world somewhere my body wouldn't be in anyone's way — nobody will even have to clean it, nobody will have to burn it, nobody will have to write an obituary. I can't die in Má's kitchen.

I'm a bad son.

'I'm sorry. I love you. Má, I love you so much. But you don't get to pick and choose the parts of me you like and leave the rest — either you get all of it or you get nowt.'

I push the heel of my palm into my chest as if I can massage the pain away through my ribcage, and wait. Má stays silent. I stand.

'And I'm not going t'uni. You can tell Ông and Bà.'

Her stare is nailed to the table. I suppose that's my answer.

Though I'm desperate to get out of this house before I start crying, I only make it one step into the entrance hall before I stop. Iris is sitting on the stairs, too slow to clamber away, and it don't take more than a glance at her expression to know she heard almost all of that.

She blushes and opens her mouth to claim it were an accident but we would both know it's a lie. Instead, she says, 'I'm sorry.'

It's okay is the only bullet that suits my gun but Dr Qureshi's voice rings from my head. 'Thank you for apologising...'

Her brow knits and admittedly mine does too. These aren't syllables my tongue would ever learn to sow together on its own.

Though the corners of my eyes still burn, the lump in my throat eases. 'Can we talk?' I ask.

Iris nods. I expect her to lead me to her room but instead she guides me back to the kitchen, digs out two Twisters from the freezer, and exits through to the back garden. We sit on the edge of the terrace because Má has never got any outdoor furniture to eat our ice lollies. I can't stop myself from glancing back to see if Má followed but there's no sign of her behind the living room windows.

When there's a third of my Twister left, I break the silence. 'Why aren't ya going to your job?'

'It's really boring.'

It takes immense effort to keep my face neutral. 'I know Chloe's from a family where she probably won't need to work til she's twenty-five and she'll always get a job through connections but you ain't. You need good recommendations.'

Iris grumbles her acquiescence and focuses on her lolly. I pull the last bit of mine off the stick and instantly get a brain freeze. My teeth ache as I hurry to chew it up.

Iris don't need longer to ruminate. 'So, um... that was a whole thing.' She glances at the windows behind us. 'Didn't think you'd have it in you.' As much as she tries to bury it under sass, there's an undercurrent of reverence in her voice.

'Me neither.'

'It was good though. She deserved it.' The undercurrent runs toxic now, sharpens into summat vindictive, and I stiffen. Though the needle is pointed elsewhere, I know the thread is spliced under my skin and it's only a matter of time until she pulls.

'Aye, I know she can be difficult, but–'

'Yeah, you know but you don't care.'

'What's that s'posed to mean?'

'You know what she's like and you never stand up for me!'

'I stand up for you all the time.'

'But you're always on her side!' Iris turns to her Twister as it starts to melt over her hand. There's a fracture in her voice. 'You're always on her side.'

I lick my lips and swallow. The lime flavour lingers in my mouth. 'You're right. But...' I bend the lolly stick, listening to its fibres stretch. 'No matter what I do, you're upset about it. When I didn't go t'uni after school it were all "why are you still here, leave me alone". Then I move it out and it's "how dare I leave you alone with her?"

The stick breaks. Cheeks hot, I tuck both halves into the wrapper and the plastic grouses as I twist both ends to seal it. I miss the tangle fidget from Dr Qureshi's office.

'Some things are my fault, I can admit that, but you blame me for everything. You take out all your anger out on me — just like Má. Don't matter what I do, you're always angry, and that's not fair. You're almost seventeen, you can take responsibility for your own decisions.

'Speaking of which–' I look at her, cushioning my voice '–if you don't wanna live with Má, you don't have to. We can arrange summat else, whatever you want. If you wanna find foster parents–'

Her face scrunches. 'I don't wanna go to care, are you serious?' Every word is dragged out to ensure I know the full extent of her revulsion.

'Or I'm sure you can move to live with Bac Trai.'

Her disgust only intensifies. 'I'm not moving to fucking Leeds.'

If I weren't so tired, I'd laugh. I would've done anything to move back to Leeds.

But I raise my hands in surrender. 'I'm only saying that you have options. You're old enough to decide for yourself what you want.'

Iris bends to finish her lolly though a good portion of is currently seeping into the grass between her feet. 'I wanna stay here. All my friends are here and I don't wanna change schools. I'll just go stay at Chloe's whenever she's crazy.'

'Don't call people crazy. It's stigmatising and it's not her fault.' Though Iris scoffs, it's exaggerated. I exhale my frustration into summer heat where it evaporates. 'Is it okay if I talk to Chloe's parents about it?'

'Whatever. Just don't say anything embarrassing.'

'Here I were planning to show all your baby pictures.'

Her mock laugh echoes around the hills. As the conversation ebbs, Iris breaks her ice cream stick in half. She wraps them into the plastic and squints with me at the trees that peer over our garden wall. Somewhere beyond them is the lake. Maybe Ziri will come with me for a swim.

Iris punctures the silence. 'I know you've protected me from a lot. I know that. It just sucks all around.'

Knowing it's as much of a thank you as I'll get, I wrap an arm around her. She wriggles and moans her displeasure only to settle against me. 'I love you, em ba.'

'Fuck off.'