37. Mack
CHAPTER 37
MACK
I ’m walking out of football practice when I spot the SUV. A Mercedes with blacked out windows and matte rims. Those rims are special order, and I’m betting these particular wheels traveled all the way here from Augusta.
What in the hell is my mother doing in Thunder Creek?
In the decade I’ve lived here, she’s never visited. Not even once.
Damn, we were on a good streak too.
I sidle up to the idling SUV, tapping on the rear passenger window. The black glass slides down and there’s my mother. Sitting in the backseat, ankles crossed, with Bobby at the wheel.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Hello, Ulysses.”
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
She frowns at me for a split second, then fixes her face, moving back to neutral. A few high school kids walk by, laughing and joking. They wave to me as they pass.
“Bye, Coach.”
“See you tomorrow, Coach.”
I shoot the kids a wave, then turn back to the problem at hand. My mother.
“Is there somewhere more private we can chat?” She narrows her eyes at the kids, goofing around in the parking lot.
I tip my head to the sky, debating.
“I could use a beer.” I duck my head into the car. “Bobby, follow me.”
Bobby nods and I hustle to my truck and hop in. Figure if my mother’s going to stop by, she should have a tour of Thunder Creek, starting with Mustang’s.
Firing up the truck, I pull out of the lot and drive over to Mustang’s, carefully following all the rules of the road. Wouldn’t want Bobby to lose me.
This is going to be fun.
Thursdays are popular nights at Mustang’s, the local college kids taking full advantage of the beer specials. I find an open spot and Bobby circles around, dropping my mother at the door. She climbs out of the SUV, her lips pressed in a thin line as she surveys the neon sign and the bucking horse.
I doubt my mother has ever visited such an establishment before, probably viewing this type of place as way beneath her. No doorman here, she shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.
Taking my time, I sidle across the parking lot. Thoroughly enjoying the look of displeasure settling on my mother’s unlined face.
Good.
She’s getting a little taste of her own medicine.
I open the door for her and she crosses the threshold, the sour stench of stale beer and peanuts hitting hard. The music pumps, groups of college kids dotted around what will soon become the dance floor. I see an empty booth toward the back and usher my mother over to the spot.
“After you.” I gesture at the pleather seat and she slides in, her nose wrinkled as the seat scrunches beneath her.
“This is—” she surveys the scene. “Interesting.”
I hold in a snicker, handing her a sticky plastic menu. “I wouldn’t recommend the wine, but suit yourself.”
A waitress appears, saying her hellos and complimenting me on our latest win of the season. Against my advice, my mother orders a house chardonnay, and I order a beer. The waitress takes off to fetch our drinks and I sit back in the booth, relaxed in my own environment.
“So, what’s up?”
“Ulysses…”
My skin crawls at the use of my given name here, but I bite my tongue. She’s already uneasy. No need to rub salt into the wound.
“I came to apologize. For the whole Gracelyn situation.” She casts her gaze down to the table, her mouth scrunched tight.
“Which situation are we talking about? The inviting my ex thing? The shunting of my girlfriend to the guest house? Or are we addressing the fact that you called Gracelyn a gold digger?” My voice is harsher than I intend, but I’ve put up with my mother’s bullshit for a long damn time and frankly, I’m sick of it.
“Yes.” Her voice is quiet, her shoulders slightly slumped.
My mother never has anything other than perfect posture.
“Thanksgiving was a total disaster. Gracelyn never wants to go back to your house again, and I can’t say I blame her. The way you and Emma Kate and Tinsley acted was abhorrent.” Anger gurgles up inside me again, even this many weeks later.
The waitress reappears, breaking the tension. She sets our drinks down, then bustles away. My mother lifts her glass and takes a sip, her nose scrunching up in distaste.
I warned her.
I take a long slug of my beer, appreciating the chilled beverage as it slides down my throat, giving me liquid courage.
“Gracelyn’s important to me—special enough to bring home—and the three of you made her feel awful. Less than.”
My mother swirls the straw-colored liquid in her glass, avoiding my gaze.
“I know.”
Well, damn. I didn’t think she had it in her to admit a mistake.
“I know, Ulysses, and I’m here to make amends. With you and with her. I gave her Nana’s earrings today.”
“What?” My voice tips up in shock.
“The diamonds your grandmother wanted your bride to have. I gave them to Gracelyn.”
Every muscle in my body tenses, yet a heavy weight lifts off my shoulders. A weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying until right this second.
“You gave Gracelyn Nana’s earrings?”
My mother nods. “I did. I know you’re going to propose. Nana wanted your bride to have those diamond earrings.”
I let out a long, slow breath. I always loved my nana and she loved me. The real me. Mack, not Ulysses Fauntleroy McIntire III.
Just Mack.
My mother recognizing that Gracelyn deserves those earrings is huge.
Fucking monumental.
My heart cracks open a tiny little bit, just enough to see my mother for the first time in a very long time.
A mom wanting to reconnect with her son.
Even if that means coming down to Thunder Creek and meeting me on my level. A level she’s not comfortable with and never will be.
“Thanks.” I reach across the table and grab my mother’s hand. It’s warm and soft and smaller than I remember.
She lifts her eyes to mine, shiny beneath the pendant light above the table.
“I really am sorry, Ulysses. I hope this can be the beginning of something good. I’ve missed you.”
Squeezing my mom’s hand, I nod. I doubt we’ll ever be the matching PJ family, sitting around the kitchen table playing UNO until midnight.
But this feels like a pretty great start.