50. Connor
CONNOR
Rawley, Avery, and I show up at Grace and Johnson’s house in the morning to help with prep for the Christmas Eve party. Although, as expected, our two hosts have most things handled. Mainly, it’s a way to keep each other company with so much otherwise shut down for the holiday.
Also, we’ll be buffers for each other when Mom arrives.
“The caterer’s ETA is still noon?” Grace asks Johnson as they both walk into the dining room.
Avery and Rawley are at the kitchen table with me, eating a snack, chuckling quietly while they look at a video on Rawley’s phone.
“Yup. Who else will be here then?”
“I think everyone,” Grace replies. “Except someone needs to go to the airport to pick up Mom. Connor? Unless someone else wants to?” She looks, eyebrows raised, at everyone else in succession.
Rawley, Avery, and Johnson all have a “not me” expression on their face. Shocker.
I swallow the compulsion to make an excuse. “No volunteers? I’ll do it then.” Goodie. Now I wish it wasn’t a Tuesday, so I’d have practice.
“Can’t you ask Landon? He’s closer to the airport,” Johnson says to Grace.
“He and Rori are at the children’s hospital this morning for the Waves Foundation gift-giving event. They should be here right as she arrives, but it’s too close to call.”
“Avery and I need to stop by the Surge owners’ team luncheon around then,” Rawley explains.
In other words, I’m stuck. Rawley shoots me a look of sympathy. Not that it does me any good.
So much for buffers.
“Okay, I guess it’s on me then.”
During the drive to the airport a couple of hours later, I check in with myself again.
There’s no churning in my gut.
No tightness in my chest.
No fear in my mind.
This isn’t going to be pleasant, but the EMDR therapy has done what it’s supposed to do.
You can do this, Connor.
When I pull into the short-term parking area, I send her a text.
CONNOR: Tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll swing around to the curb to get you.
A few minutes later, a return message pops up.
MOM: None of my children could bother to greet me inside the airport?
The faintest twinge of guilt rises up—but it’s not rooted in any deep anxiety, just a surface reaction. One I’d have to such a comment from anyone.
CONNOR: The day was too hectic for anyone else to come, and this way I can meet you right in front.
She doesn’t respond to that, my next message from her is simply “Ready” seven minutes later. I circle around from the parking lot, and once I spot her with her roller bag, I pull up.
Getting out of my car, I approach her but decide against a hug. “Hello, Mom.”
“Hello, Connor.” That’s it. That’s all I get.
“Here, I’ll put your luggage in the trunk.” I open the passenger door for her and bring the bag around the back.
After I close the trunk, I take stock. We’re at another checkpoint: being in her presence. But yeah, I feel calm. In control of myself.
She’s quiet as I get back in the car and start us on the journey to Grace and Johnson’s.
“I’m glad you could come,” I say a minute later, trying to set a positive tone. “It’ll be nice to be together for Christmas.”
“Well, I knew it was my motherly duty. None of you seem to bother coming to Alabama anymore.”
No response to that comes to mind, so I stay quiet. The silence continues for a few more minutes.
I guess that’s the best-case scenario?
Then, as we get to our highway exit, she glances over, studying my face. “You’re still wearing those glasses? You look your best with contacts. More polished. More powerful.”
“Mom, no one cares that I wear glasses.” I temper my tone. She says made-up shit just to be critical.
“They may not care,” she argues. “It’s the impression you leave, though.”
“That’s not true. Delivering on performance is what counts.”
Her voice escalates. “It may, but so does looking your best. Plus, you’re constantly fidgeting when you’re wearing them.”
I don’t answer her. There’s not really a point.
After another couple of minutes of silence, I pivot to a new topic.
“Grace and Johnson went all out on the party. It’s going to be great.”
“Wonderful. What type of cuisine will it be?”
We finally find a safe topic with the event planning. I share what I know, describe each guest I know, killing a bunch of time.
“This sounds lovely.” She sits up straighter. We’ve almost made it to Grace and Johnson’s house without more drama.
When I park the car, she breaks the spell, though, before opening her passenger door. “We are going to talk about your future during this trip, Connor.”
Oh wonderful. I don’t say anything back, only escort her into the house with her luggage. Not that she’s staying here—no, Grace made sure to get her a hotel nearby.
“Hi, Mom,” Landon says as he catches sight of her. Luckily, he seems game to engage with her, and Rori comes over to join them.
“I’ll help too,” Grace whispers in my ear. Other than me, she’s the best one with her.
“Thanks. Is everything else coming together?”
She shows me where the caterers dropped things off, but I’m not exactly useful in that arena. I go to Johnson’s mom, Pam, who asks me to figure out the speaker system to pump in the Christmas tunes.
“You know what,” Pam whispers to me conspiratorially, “I’m going to see if your mom wants an Uber to her hotel to clean up. I’ll schedule one for the return trip to the house in a couple hours too.”
The party doesn’t start for almost three hours so that would be a nice break from her presence. “Brilliant idea.”
She scoots off to handle that, and in the meantime, the speaker setup doesn’t take me longer than five minutes. I end up sitting with Rawley and Avery in Grace and Johnson’s absurdly large basement, playing video games, wanting to escape any potential drama upstairs.
“How was the drive from the airport?” He looks at me sympathetically.
An eye roll is my answer.
“Went that well, huh?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “The usual.”
“So is Rori’s friend coming?” Avery says suggestively.
“I already asked,” Rawley responds. “Apparently, she decided to stay back in Tampa.”
“Oh, too bad for Connor.”
Actually, very good for Connor. It would’ve been painful to navigate that without coming clean about Eden, and there are a few more days before we plan to do that.
Three hours later, we’ve managed to set up everything as planned, decorate, and get ourselves looking presentable. Without starting a civil war among the family, since Mom only returns from her hotel once the other guests have started arriving. Winning.
Circulating through the other people I know, the first hour of the party goes fast. I’m largely hanging with Rawley, Avery, and the younger Waves players.
The food is buffet style, so other than a couple of people from the catering company refilling the trays, it’s casual.
They hadn’t hired a bartender either—not a big deal since most of the guests are watching what they drink with the playoffs coming. A table is filled with a bunch of options, and it’s self-serve.
Helping matters is the fact that the group attending largely prefers chill hangout sessions instead of upscale parties, so they’re going with the flow.
Except Mom, of course. I drift off toward where she’s talking to Pam, who’s once again earning her GOAT status by occupying her.
“Connor,” Mom says in a loud whisper that Pam absolutely can hear. “Why aren’t there servers to bring around drinks and food?”
I look quickly at Pam, whose expression is hard to read, before responding. “It’s not that kind of party, Mom. It’s informal.”
“Humph.” She looks unsatisfied with that answer.
“The food is delicious,” Pam says, in a placating tone.
“I do like the seasoning on the shrimp,” Mom observes. “They did a nice job with that.”
“So, Connor,” Pam turns to me. “How’s it going with the Waves? Johnson said you’re doing great in the practices.”
“Alright, I think. Making more kicks than I miss.” I add a wink.
She laughs. “I’m sure many more.” She reaches out and pats my shoulder. “You should be proud.”
Mom is silent for a moment as she watches Pam’s reassuring gesture, before finding her voice.
“Football is not a long-term plan, though. You’re just a backup. What are you going to do as a career?”
If I hadn’t screwed up things with Milo, I could defend myself by telling her about my permanent job offer at SLP. Instead, I stay silent.
“He could try to make the NFL a long-term option, right? For a few years at least?” Pam asks.
“He better not,” Mom spits out. “What a waste of his intelligence.”
“Mom,” I interject to stop her from saying more, as Pam’s face falls.
“You’re too gifted to simply play football. To be a kicker.” She says the last word like it’s poison.
It is toxic.
“Stop, Mom. Not the time or place.” The room is literally filled with NFL players she’s insulting.
“I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to speak my mind. Not that any of you listen to me anyway.”
Fuck. She’s being as awful as she’s ever been in public. “It’s not that.”
“It’s astonishing how ungrateful you are. All of you. I give my advice because I know better how the real world works.”
“Mom, that’s enough.” I try to keep my voice low, but now I’m getting irritated.
“It’s just too bad that I seem to be the only one in this family with standards.”
I’m dying to make her shut up. Pam looks anxious to do the same. She doesn’t stop, though.
“Your sister, not going to law school after I did everything I could to make it easy for her. You, wasting the brilliant mind you inherited from me.”
Pam’s face shifts, now frozen in a conciliatory expression. “Connor will be successful in whatever he tries…”
Mom ignores her, her eyes narrowing on me, voice sharpening further. “Football should be off the table. Just because your brothers—”
“STOP!” I yell before bringing my volume down to a moderate level, though my voice is no less furious. “I’m not seventeen anymore. You can’t say garbage like that to me. I’m an adult.”
My anger, born of logic. My rage, cool and calm. This isn’t the trauma talking. It’s just a son fed the fuck up.
But as soon as my burst of anger passes, I have one thought—oh shit.
I look around at all the faces locked on me. Johnson, Landon, Grace, Rawley, Rori, Avery and many more. All staring at me.
My anger cuts through the shame of making a scene.
“Mom, you can’t come here and insult your hosts, insult the majority of the guests, insult me, and think we’re all going to let it ride.”
She seems to recognize the stares in her direction. “Well…”
“I’m having a fucking good time on the Waves, and it’s what I want to do. I get to decide.”
“But what are you going to do with your degree?” Mom asks, her volume lower, but her tone as strident as earlier. “Do you even have a plan?”
“I hope he doesn’t have a plan yet,” comes a new male voice. Del. “Because I need him right where he is. Our number two kicker. As we fight for this little thing called the Super Bowl.”
Del faces me with a smile spread across his face.
Landon steps in the fray next. “Mom, why don’t you come with me and Rori?” he says quietly, resting a hand on her arm.
“Fine,” she says in a clipped tone, not looking at Del or me, as Landon leads her across the room.
Now left without her overwhelming presence, I collapse a little energetically. Del comes closer and puts his hand on my back. “I’m sorry if I overstepped there,” he whispers so only I can hear. “I have a…challenging mother too.”
He helps guide me back to where Rawley stands, as if he suspects I need my brother’s strength right now. I don’t necessarily, but Rawley throws his arm around my shoulder, merging me into his conversation with his Waves friends.
The next five minutes I’m in my own world, as Rawley and his buddies talk playoffs. Did I really do that?
Grace’s easing her way toward me, I notice. Finally, she reaches our group, Johnson in tow.
As the conversation dies off and the larger group breaks up, she turns to me.
“Proud of you, Connor,” she says, kissing the side of my head.
“We’re here for you, man,” Johnson adds.
Just then, a text comes into the Better Together chat.
LANDON: I’m getting Mom into her Uber back to the hotel.
The one that Pam pre-ordered, like she sees into the future.
In true Mom fashion, we get a text ninety minutes later that she’s rebooked her flight for the early morning and won’t be joining us for Christmas.
No one responds.