47
Courtland
"Dinner's great,"
Buzz says, his deep voice filling the silence.
I've lost count of how many awkward silences there have been tonight. When it's just me and Mom, I've come to accept it as our norm.
But my main concern is making sure Buzz is doing okay. I wish we had more time to talk when we pulled up because I could see he was struggling, so I'm sticking to my word and making sure I am as physically close to him as possible at all times.
There's got to be a reason why Mom invited him to tag along with me tonight. But Mom being Mom, she still hasn't gotten to it.
"Thank you, Brock."
My eyes flash to him.
The first time she did it, he told her to call him Buzz. The second time she did it, I quickly changed the subject and peppered her with a bunch of pregnancy questions.
This time, I'm not having it.
If someone gently corrects you with the name they go by, take the fucking hint already and call them by that name.
"It's Buzz, Mom,"
I point out, glaring at her.
She looks from me to him.
"People still call you that?"
"Uh, yeah. I actually like it,"
he says, smiling shyly.
"But you used to hate it as a kid."
Buzz turns his head to me, confused as heck. "I did?"
"Don't you remember? You used to get so upset that your classmates called you Buzz. You said that stupid movie ruined your life and you liked the name Brock so much more than Buzz. It was very dramatic."
"I… I don't remember that,"
Buzz says, and to be honest, neither do I.
Maybe it's a memory we've both suppressed?
"Your mom would bring it up all the time."
His eyes widen, and she quickly looks away, realizing she shouldn’t have brought up his mother.
I get the weird dynamic between them because I've felt just as awkward the few times I've seen Buzz's dad. On the one hand, he's a grown man and is free to live his life—mistakes and all—however he likes. On the other hand, I'm collateral damage of one of his biggest mistakes.
Does he owe me anything? An explanation? Contrition? An apology?
I have no idea.
It's not like there's a manual of life I can look in to get the answers.
"I'm sorry,"
Mom says, regret flickering across her face.
"I'll try to remember to call you Buzz from now on."
"It's all good,"
Buzz says, smiling way too big. A clear sign he's uncomfortable.
Dinner was ready when we arrived, so we came in and started eating right away. I suspect Mom wants to eat first and talk afterward, but given how things are going, I think it'd be better to talk while we have dinner so Buzz and I can make a hasty departure once we're done.
"So, Mom, is there anything you want to talk about?"
She looks better than the last time I saw her. I've been in regular contact with her doctor. Despite being typically stubborn, she's taking vitamins and is even having healthy meals delivered to the house.
"We can talk after dinner, Courtland."
"Actually, we have plans for later."
"You do?"
"Yep. We're going to see a movie,"
I say, since it's the first thing that pops into my head.
"Really?"
"Yep."
She purses her lips, annoyed.
"Fine. There is something I wanted to speak to you about, and it's the reason why I invited you as well, Bro—Buzz."
She pushes her plate away and starts chewing on her bottom lip, her annoyance giving way to an emotion I can't place just yet. She rests a hand on the round dome of her stomach.
"Last time you were here, Courtland, you mentioned wanting to help me."
I nod.
"That's right. Whatever you need, Mom."
"I've been doing some thinking, and I've decided I'm not keeping the baby."
"You're not?"
"I'm too old to be a mother again," she says.
"And let's face it, I wasn't great the first time around."
She drops her head, and I stare wide-eyed at Buzz. He looks as surprised and confused as I feel. He gestures toward her, like I should step up and say something.
"You weren't the worst Mom,"
I say, wincing when I hear how that sounds. Not that it's not true, it's just maybe now isn't the right time to be bringing that up.
"And besides, what happened in the past is in the past. It doesn't mean things can't be different in the future."
She doesn't move for a while, but when she lifts her head, I can see my words have made no difference. Her mind is made up.
"I'm going to give this baby up for adoption."
"Okay,"
I say, snapping myself out of shocked son mode and into my well-practiced doctor mode, where I respect every patient's decision, whatever it may be and whatever my own personal thoughts about it are.
"It's your choice. And if that's what you want, then I'll support you. Did you want me to help with the adoption process? I can put you in touch with some agencies."
"I do need your help, but not like that."
"Then like what?"
She glances at Buzz for a few moments then turns to face me.
"I'd like for you and Buzz to raise this baby."