Chapter 8 #2
“I know, I’ll eat. I promise. In fact, I figured since you were off in an hour, maybe . . .” Her face falls as I’m talking, and my gut sinks. I bite my bottom lip.
“They’re short because of Mother’s Day, and I didn’t think you’d have time to visit, so I volunteered. If I had known,” she says.
I shake my head and force a smile on my lips. I never want my mom to feel bad about anything. Ever.
“No, it was a last-minute decision. You’re harder to surprise now that you’re in management,” I tease.
My mom is always the first to take on extra work, less for the money, she says, and more for the high she gets from helping people.
Between my brother and me, she’ll always be taken care of financially.
But Carmen Vargas loves to work. And she loves to serve people in need.
If the grind wasn’t so hard as she gets older, I think she’d still be pounding away hours in the ER.
“I do still get a dinner break, though. We could go now. How do you feel about today’s soup special?
I can guarantee all the oyster crackers you want.
” She winks as her lip inches up on one side.
Whenever I was sick as a kid, I lived on those crackers.
My brother swore they tasted like paper, but I didn’t care.
“You had me at the crackers. Yeah, let’s do it,” I say, slinging an arm around her after she snags her purse from her side drawer.
“Marina, I’ll be back in thirty. My baby showed up to take me out for Mother’s Day,” she brags to her colleague, as if I’m taking her somewhere far fancier than the second floor.
“Good game today, Jayden. We had it on in the break room,” Marina says. She’s worked with my mom since I was in high school. I’m sure she’s been forced to watch hundreds of games over the years between Adriel’s and my schedule.
“Thank you. I’m working hard, trying to get the big call. You know the drill,” I say. My mom’s face beams up at me. I forgot how satisfying one of her proud-mom expressions can be to my soul. I needed that.
I escort my mom to the elevator, my bag slung over one shoulder while my free arm remains around her. I don’t let go until the elevator doors close.
“Adriel call today?” I reminded my brother that it was Mother’s Day. He better have.
“Not yet. But he plays at seven tonight. They’re home, so I’m sure I’ll hear from him on his drive home. Or on the way to . . . wherever.” She rolls her eyes as the doors open, and she exits before me.
Adriel likes to party. It’s been an issue with the team. He’s supposed to be on a short leash, But my brother knows how to chew his way through restraints. As long as he stays away from the hard stuff and his damn car.
“He’ll grow out of it one day,” my mom says, pulling her badge from the hem of her blue scrub blouse to scan our way into the cafeteria section reserved for employees.
“He’s almost thirty, Mom. He’s fully baked, I’m afraid,” I say, taking a tray for my mom and me into my hand. I swat her palm away when she tries to carry it for herself. “If I can’t buy you a fancy dinner, at least let me carry your tray.”
She chuckles and mutters, “Fine,” before grabbing a fruit and cheese plate from one of the refrigerators. She slides it on her tray along with a Diet Coke. Once we’re loaded up with soup and an ample serving of crackers, we check out and head to a quiet corner table.
“So, the team isn’t leaving until morning?”
“Uhh.” I wince, knowing my mom will pull at threads no matter what I say.
“Mijo, you should be with your team. You can’t be asking for exceptions or special treatment.
They notice these things.” She busies herself with my soup, pouring a packet of crackers into the broth before stirring.
It’s a habit she has yet to break, babying me when it comes to food.
She glances up when she realizes I’ve been staring at her, and we both break into a short laugh.
“Sorry, I can’t help it,” she says, dusting her hands of cracker crumbs before focusing on her own plate of food.
“It’s kinda nice, actually,” I say, bringing a spoonful of steaming tomato soup to my lips and blowing on it before sipping. “And I am just taking a later flight home. Coaches were fine with it since Colby . . .”
Well. I handed her a thread.
My mom’s brows lift.
“Colby is with you?” She might want me to follow rules and be the perfect team member and the coaches’ favorite in every possible way, but when it comes to Colby, she’s all right with me dabbling in the gray area. Hell, she’s all right with marriage.
“She’s going to Seven Oaks with her dad, to visit Meg.” I lift my gaze to meet my mom’s as I blow on another spoonful of soup. I wonder if my eyes showcase the same regret and ache as hers.
“Of course. I didn’t think . . .”
“I saw Rick,” I add.
My mom puts down the apple slice she was about to eat and utters, “Oh.”
I rest my spoon in the bowl, the metal clanking against the porcelain. I sit back in my chair, pressing my hands into my eyes as I stretch. I let my palms drop to my lap as my head tilts to the side.
“He invited me to join them.”
My mom sucks in her bottom lip and nods. She may be the only person on earth who understands why this isn’t such an easy request for me to navigate.
“I think he really wanted me to say yes,” I say.
Her mouth tucks into one side, almost a smile but not quite.
“Rick thinks of you as a son,” she says.
“Yeah, just not good enough for his daughter.”
My mom’s head falls closer to her shoulder, and she slides an open palm across the table.
I exhale, letting my shoulders drop as I scoot in close and lay my hand in hers.
There’s something comforting about the way her thumb and pinky graze the sides of my hand.
Mine is twice the size of hers, yet she’s the strong one.
“You were young. He was hurting. He has always loved you, and you know he still does.”
She rests her other hand on top of mine, enclosing me in her warmth. I sink into her gaze for a moment, my mind toggling between the past and present.
“Why did Dad have to be such a fuckup?” I finally say.
My mom’s hands flinch, and she pulls away.
“I’m sorry,” I say, instantly regretting my words. Sometimes my thoughts boil over, though, and they simply escape.
“He wasn’t always that way. Your grandfather was violent, and your dad was sweet and kind. But he had a lot of pain, both physical and emotional. He did the best he could.”
When I was in high school, I used to get in fights with her over the way I felt she made excuses for my dad.
As I’ve matured, though, I better understand the nuances of life.
She’s right about a lot of things. My grandfather was an abusive alcoholic.
My dad was a sweet one. But she’s wrong about one thing.
He could have done a lot better. He should have.
We finish our meal in silence. I feel like an asshole for interrupting my mom’s Hallmark day just to make her feel bad about my dad. He’s really the only person who can hold himself accountable for his mistakes, and he’s dead, so . . .
After walking her back to her workstation, I hug her, holding on for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. She rubs her palms along my back.
“Don’t be. I love you.”
“I think maybe I’ll go to Seven Oaks. Maybe . . . it’s time.” My lips tremble with fear at the mere thought, so I hope when I get there, I can get out of the car.
“Good.” My mom steps back, holding my elbows as she stares up at me. She always looks at me as if I’m a work of art. I feel deeply unworthy every time.
“You’re a good man, Jayden. You are not your father, and you are not your brother. You are you. I love you.” She moves her hands to my cheeks and lifts up on her toes, pulling my face to her so she can kiss one side of my face.
“I love you too, Mom.” I nudge the vase on her desk; two petals have already fallen off one of the flowers. I did the best I could.