Whit #2
But the day I found out I was pregnant, providing for us became my sole concern.
I knew most of the town was talking behind my back—saying I was a fuckup, starting rumors about my relationship with Alex, assuming my parents would be stuck raising my baby.
So I took online courses, worked my ass off, and climbed the ladder on my own merit.
I bought a house, paid for daycare, signed my son up for afterschool activities, and volunteered with countless bake sales.
Did everything possible to prove everybody wrong, myself included.
Sometime around one o’clock, the leftover pizza in my fridge is calling my name too loudly to be ignored. I push back from my desk and grab my phone to head downstairs, when I realize I haven’t changed my settings so Blair’s phone number automatically bypasses the Do Not Disturb function.
Crap. Good thing there haven’t been any emergencies.
Blair: Hey, Jonas wants to stay behind at the ranch. Cool with you if Denver drives him home later? If not, I can bring him back now.
I have to reread the text a few times to make sense of it, and to confirm hours of uninterrupted blue light exposure aren’t messing with my eyes.
He wants to stay at the ranch? Each time I pressed for information about his experience there the other day, he shot back with a terse, clipped response and an unbothered shrug of his shoulders.
No details, no obvious excitement or disdain.
I test a few responses as I cram pizza into my face, not wanting to seem too eager to be rid of my kid for longer, but also mindful that any trepidation will have Blair forcefully shoving his lanky body into the passenger seat of her car.
Whit: If he wants to stay, that’s fine by me.
A slow roll of my neck works out a few of the knots and kinks—a sharp crack releases pressure that comes from hunching over the computer all day. I take my time on the short walk back to my office, twisting and stretching to relieve the pain in my lower back.
Ergonomic desk chair, my ass.
With a dramatic plop, I fling myself back into said ergonomic rolling chair and stare at the small notification counter that indicates how many emails filled my inbox while I was filling my stomach.
But because I still have exactly two minutes before I have to get back to work, I spin to face the window and watch the elderly woman across the street playing with the three-year-old granddaughter she babysits frequently.
The way a broken bone aches during a storm, a melancholic pain radiates from my breastbone at the sight.
Despite my own issues with my parents, I’m thankful Jonas has always had a good relationship with them, especially given the gaping hole on Alex’s side.
I’m terrified of what happens now that we’re rapidly losing Mom.
What happens when she doesn’t remember Jonas at all, and he has one less person loving him through the hard days?
· · ·
Hours later, Jonas strolls through the front door, letting it fall closed behind him. I look up from my book and slowly stand, stretching the stiffness from my legs and back. “Hey, buddy. Did you say thanks to Denny for giving you a ride?”
“Obviously,” he snarks.
“Sheesh. Can we try again without the attitude?” I pull the front window curtain aside to wave at my sister’s boyfriend as he pulls away.
“Yes, I did.”
Still more attitude than should be acceptable, but not a hill I’m willing to die on.
“I made Grandma’s famous lasagna for dinner.”
Jonas heads straight for the fridge, grabbing a can of Coca-Cola and chugging half of it in one long gulp. Even though I know what’s coming, I flinch at the belch that follows.
I rub a hand over my eyes, tripping over his discarded shoes on my way to the kitchen. “Jonas, please pick your stuff up.”
Ten seconds of him being home, and we’ve descended into chaos.
He ignores me.
And I don’t push it.
With two heaping plates of lasagna, I sit across from him with a look that I hope conveys my excitement to hear about his day. More important, I’m desperate to know the reason behind his deciding to stick around the ranch all afternoon.
Sliding a plate of food across the table toward his grabby hands, I apprehensively ask how his day went.
Around a large bite, he mumbles, “Good.”
“Do anything exciting?”
“Mmm…no.”
“What did you do?”
His head seesaws side to side with thought as he chews. And right when I think he might say something, he shovels another forkful into his hole.
This kid would survive the most intense interrogation known to man.
My shoulders slump in defeat, and I push a piece of meat with my fork.
“I learned how to saddle a horse.”
“Wait, really? That’s so cool, Jonas.” I beam at him. “Auntie B would love to hear that, I’m sure.”
“I guess.” He lifts his pop to his lips. “Is it cool if I go back tomorrow? Auntie B said she’s heading out there in the morning and I can catch a ride.”
“If it’s okay with Denny, I don’t see why not.”
He nods, a brief glimmer of light sparking in his eyes. “He said I can get on a horse tomorrow, if I want.”
I thought it was customary for every little kid to beg for a pet. Blair and I created an entire presentation to show our parents we deserved a dog—not that they fell for it. But even when prompted, Jonas has never indicated wanting so much as a goldfish. I figured animals weren’t his thing.
“Do you?” I lick stray tomato sauce from the corner of my mouth. “Do you want to ride a horse?”
He answers mid-chew. “Yeah.”
“Tell Denny I want pictures.”
For the next few minutes, it’s quiet. A peaceful quiet, though.
There’s no tension or awkwardness or preteen angst bomb ticking in the middle of the table.
Jonas’s fork scrapes against his plate, collecting every remaining ounce of food.
I swear I hear vacuum sounds coming from his open mouth. And he goes back for seconds.
Leaning in close for the last bite, there’s a real possibility he’ll lick the plate. “This is really, really good, Mom.”
I sit taller, basking in the flutter of butterflies and dulcet warmth in my chest.