You just go silent, unsure how to respond to this woman that you can't help but register as your mother. You know it can't possibly be true but you can't seem to steer yourself away from the idea of it being your mother.
"Oh, still a bit groggy from how tired you were last night?" she kindly questioned after waiting for a response in the doorway, finally deciding to come in herself and laying the tray down with these delicious looking pancakes. The type of pancake that people would've dreamed about, drizzled with maple syrup and butter. "Well, go on, best have them while they're warm."
You still didn't know what to say, but their plead to tuck into the pancakes helped buy you some time to figure out what to say. As you take your bite, you were stunned. These were the best pancakes you've ever had. The sweetness of the maple syrup, mixed with the melted butter, perfectly complimented the fluffy and filling pancakes. Diners and restaurants wished they could have had something of this quality. It was divine.
"My, someone was certainly hungry today. I'm so glad you're enjoying them, sweetie," your mother grinned. Her appearance was... odd. Well, everything about this experience was odd although not off-putting, but something about her just itched at your brain.
It wasn't the red checker-pattern dress that was covered in a neat navy blue apron, the auburn hair nicely tied into a bun, the slightly more prominent size of her breasts, her overall housewife-esque appearance, but it was something about her face. It was a beautiful face, but not certainly like your own, but also... familiar.
Very familiar.
...and then something clicked.
"...I've seen you before."
Your mother looked confused, and slightly worried that something happened that she didn't notice when she came up with your pancakes, "Of course you have, I am your mother... are you feeling okay, darling? Are you running a fever?" as she places the back of her palm on your forehead.
"...Barkley's Bar..."
She slowly lowers her hand off your forehead.
"You were at Barkley's Bar. I wasn't going to stay long, but... you approached me. We chatted and we had a nice time, just talking to each other about everything... I mentioned work and my family and how things were and you mentioned your own job and how your family were and everything... and when I left, I asked for your number. You said that I probably wouldn't need it because you'd definitely see me again. I asked why and you gave me a response like you're around the bar often, but now... clearly... it was all for this! This... weird shit that you've pulled on me! I don't know if you drugged me or if there was some delayed reaction to the drug, but this? Clearly, this was all for a prank, the whole mother look, the looking older make-up, some stupid pra-"
"It's not a prank."
Her voice sounded exactly as it did that night. The sweet-like higher pitch in that motherly voice dropped and now, despite you still feeling like you were speaking to your mother, you knew you were right about one thing. It was the same woman.
"...you remember what people say about meeting up with the fae? About whenever they ask for someone's name? You give any fae your name and we then own you for as long as we deem fit. But that night, you seemed so pleased to chat with me, venting out your frustrations about work, your family, how you didn't like how things were going for you, I just played along to hear more."
"Because you wanted to trick me?"
"...you know what?! Yes! But I realised how much I'd be doing you a favour!"
"A FAVOUR?! I'm now your slave! To do whatever task you want me to do! How is this a favour?!" you yell, leaning forward, slightly tipping the causalities of a good meal, the remains of the maple syrup and butter, onto the tray.
"Because you spent so much of that night telling me that you hated your life! How much you hated how your family was treating you and how much of their actions have fucked with your head enough for you to continue their actions because you're following what they want! You know what I've done? I have removed your name from your family. They won't remember it. They'll remember you, but will never place your name, and if they can't place it, they can't trace you. You are free from feeling trapped from them. ...happy now?"
You wanted to say no. You desperately tried to say no. But something about you knows that if you did, you'd end it with a question mark. You were away from them. Possibly for good. No more judgements from them. No off comments as you move past. You were done with them.
"...so what does this mean?"
She opened her arms back after folding them in annoyance by your comments, "...I don't know... you can come downstairs if you'd like, we still have pancakes. ...we did specifically make them for you. I'm just going to take the take the tray, and head downstairs. You can do whatever. You can try to leave but without us, you probably won't have people recognise you without your name. And yes, I said "us." Your "father" is downstairs too...
...welcome to the family, I guess."