Chapter 12
Calvin
I’m in that weird transition between sleep and wakefulness.
I feel like I’m still dreaming, yet not.
After rolling over, I try to find my deep sleep again.
Once I’m comfortable and about to doze off, my eyes pop open, now wide awake.
It took me forever to snooze last night.
Dammit. Sleep has been fucking impossible lately.
I suddenly sit up when I hear a sound I don’t recognize. Crying, I think.
Braeden.
Shit.
Did he cry out last night?
Double shit.
I sit up, throw the covers off, and rub my eyes. It takes me a moment to get oriented before standing and pulling on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, since I only sleep in my underwear.
I leave my room, head to Braeden’s, and knock on his shut door. “Braeden?”
There’s a whimper on the other side, but I’m not sure if he’s awake or dreaming. I knock again, but he doesn’t respond, so I grab the doorknob and twist it to find it unlocked. I ease the door open and peek inside his dimly lit room. Apparently, Braeden keeps the small light on the dresser on.
Because he’s moving around a bit, I realize he’s awake. Maybe a nightmare woke him up.
“Hey, Brae,” I say gently.
He doesn’t acknowledge me, but I know he’s aware of me since he settles down. I can’t help him if he keeps ignoring me. One minute, he’s clinging like a starfish, and the next, he wants nothing to do with me. The back-and-forth leaves me a bit rattled and confused about how to help him.
I sit on the edge of his bed and hover my hand over his arm, unsure if I should touch him. He’s curled on his side with his head buried underneath one of the pillows and turned away from me.
“Uhm, you okay?”
Stupid question. Of course, he’s not okay.
“Bad dream?”
Braeden doesn’t respond at all, so I rest my hand on his shoulder, and when he doesn’t flinch, I scoot closer.
“We can talk if you want.”
Instead of sitting up, he moves over, giving me more space on the bed. That’s an invitation, right? I stand and sit back down, leaning against the headboard and stretching my legs out.
I keep a box of tissues on the nightstand for guests, so I grab a few sheets and tap Braeden’s shoulder. “Hey, here. You can probably use these.”
He sits up and rubs his wet, red eyes, then snags the tissues from the box. He blows his nose and leans against the headboard like I am. His hands rest on his thighs, and he keeps his head down.
I have no idea what to say. I have no fucking words of wisdom or how to help him through his grief. But I have to try. I’m all he has now.
With a sigh, I allow myself a bit of vulnerability.
Seth responded to that, so perhaps Braeden will also.
“I miss them, too, kiddo. What a horrible friend I’ve been.
We’ve all been busy with our lives, and…
I lost track of the days, weeks, months…
years. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.
And it’s not…” Ugh. This is the hardest part.
The part where I admit why I never returned to Texas, but Braeden may trust me more if I’m honest. “My mother is the reason I’ve avoided Texas.
She’s come to see me a few times, but I refuse to go back.
Anxiety, I’m sure. I’d rather see her on my own turf, you know?
Because of that, I never came back to visit…
your parents. This is the first time you and I have officially met, and I’m so sorry for that.
Perhaps if I visited, we would’ve known each other, then maybe you wouldn’t feel so alone. ”
God, I hate being so fucking exposed. I shield all my insecurities and vulnerabilities like precious gems, keeping them locked up and secure.
I’m a little minnow in a big sea of sharks, my mother being the shark.
I learned early on that I must protect myself from her.
Never give her anything she can use as fuel against me.
It never works because she excels at poking, prodding, and peeling away my psyche with the precision of a surgeon.
Whatever I say must work because Braeden looks up at me with wet eyes and a trembling lip as the tears streak down his face.
“I miss them so much,” he says. As he does, his face crumbles, and he starts to sob.
I don’t hesitate to wrap my arm around him and pull him against me. My jaw clenches as I try to keep myself from crumbling apart. Braeden doesn’t fight me as he cries into my chest, his tears soaking my T-shirt.
I don’t know how long he cries for, but eventually, he grows silent and his body stills. A huge yawn escapes me, making my eyes water. Instead of climbing out of his bed and heading back to my room, I rest my eyes for a bit. I don’t want to disturb him now that he’s calm and sleeping.
He’s opened up a little and sort of let me in. Seth didn’t even need to do it for me. I feel almost accomplished.
Soon, I fall into a dreamless, but uncomfortable sleep.
By the next morning, Braeden is finally out of his room and sitting down with me at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of cereal. I watch him scroll through his phone as I sip my coffee.
He looks better today. Maybe he needed that one good cry and to cry on someone. I’d like to think I helped a little.
It’s still strange to see him in my house, and that sometime soon, he’ll be mine. I’m still wrapping my head around that. It’s fucking surreal. Is this how all new parents feel, or just my dumb ass?
“I’ve got a piano ordered. It should be here in a few weeks,” I say. “Do you have your flute and guitar here? Did you bring them?”
His brows shot up to his hairline. “Piano?”
I nod slowly. “Is that okay? It’s a Steinway Boston upright.”
Now his eyes bug out, and his jaw drops. “Oh, wow.”
Well, now I feel stupidly proud that I got that right. “I can’t invest in a baby grand at the moment. They’re more expensive than my car.” I chuckle and wink at him. He doesn’t smile back, but his eyes brighten.
“I thought we could put it in the living room.”
“You won’t get annoyed?”
“Do people get annoyed with your music?”
He shakes his head and takes another bite of cereal, a dribble of milk spilling down his chin, which he wipes away with a napkin.
“No, it won’t annoy me.” It may very well annoy me, only because I’m used to living alone in a quiet house, but I want Braeden to be comfortable here. I want this to be his home as much as it’s mine. “You didn’t answer my question about your other instruments.”
Seriously, I should be excited he’s even talking to me at this point.
“Oh, yeah, I have my flute, but I didn’t bring my guitar. That lawyer guy said they’ll sell all the stuff in the house and put it in a trust for me since my… T-they didn’t leave anything specific for me in their… will.”
“I get it,” I say quickly. “We’ll get you a new guitar, too, okay?”
“Okay.”
He goes back to eating his cereal and scrolling while I give myself a pat on the back that he uttered more than two words to me.
“Say, let’s get out of the house today. Get some fresh air. We can go to the park, toss the ball around, or see a movie. Whatever you want.”
Braeden shrugs non-committedly. “I’m not a… sports guy.”
“That’s okay. How about a movie then? I’ll even take you out to lunch.”
“Don’t you have to work or something?”
“I’ve taken some time off. Since the business is mine, I can work wherever.”
“Can we see that action movie with Tom Hardy?”
“Sure, kiddo. As long as it’s not rated R.”
Wow, he said more than ten words to me this morning. It’s about time. This isn’t so bad, right? I can do this. I can adapt and take care of Braeden. My friends would be proud if they were still here, maybe.
Before we can continue our talk, my phone vibrates with a call. Assuming it’s for work, I pick it up and see it’s my mother calling instead. Fuck my life. Just when I’m perking up, she calls right on time to bring me back down.
I’ve been avoiding her like the plague, but I need to tell her about Braeden.
I’m assuming social services will be interviewing her about my ability to care for him.
Time to suck it up and pray she won’t toss me under the bus.
Who knows with her? Some days she’s great, giving you a taste of what good parenting is. Other days, she’s cruel.
“It’s my mom,” I tell Braeden and step into my office for some privacy.
She’s hung up because I haven’t answered her yet, but I know it will only be a few seconds before she tries again.
Five, four, three, two…
“Hey, Mom.”
“You’re avoiding me again.”
I sit my ass down on a club chair in front of my desk and stare at the ceiling. “I’ve been busy.”
“You always say that.”
“Because I always am.” Before the conversation completely derails and I turn into a fucking simp, I say, “Do you remember Marisa and Robert Cox?”
“Your friends from college?”
“Yep. Well, they died in a tragic car wreck and… they’ve left me their son. Apparently, they’ve made me the kids’ guardian. His name is Braeden, and he’s fourteen.”
She’s silent on the other end, and I let her mull my words over. I’m sure she’s coming up with ways to demean me or make me feel like I’m too inept to be a parent.
One thing my mother hasn’t done is to encourage me to get married or have kids.
I’m sure she wants me all to herself. Or she thinks I’m incapable of such things.
That’s also the very reason she’s never learned of my bisexuality or that I was in a long-term relationship with a man—the very man who cheated on me. I’d never hear the end of it.
The few times she came to stay with me over the holidays, Grant was off with his own family, so she never got wind of our involvement.
“What the hell are you supposed to do with a child?”
“Take care of him? Raise him? He’s got no one else.”
“Surely there are parents out there who’d want to adopt him.”