CHAPTER 42 #2
“It’s one of the reasons my mom’s parents liked it here so much.
They thought it would be a great place for her to soak in the sun and just live the best life she could.
” My eyes fall to the left, where the floor-to-ceiling windows look out toward the garden and giant willow tree.
My mom is in front of her easel, wearing a set of pink silk pajamas.
Rhonda told me it’s what she likes to wear the most, so I stocked her dresser full of sets.
Her salt-and-pepper hair is held back with a clip, and instead of painting, she’s looking out the window while the album we’ve made for her rests in her lap.
Clearing my throat, I say, “She’s over there, by the window. Come on.”
She tugs my hand one more time. “You’re sure?”
“Positive, beautiful,” I answer.
Together, hand in hand, we walk over to my mom. My stomach twists in knots the entire time, my heart hammering, my mind begging for this to go over okay. For her to at least recognize me.
To just give me this one moment to share Maple with my mom.
With my mom’s back toward us, Rhonda spots me, offers me a nod, and then gently whispers in my mom’s ear.
Her back stiffens, and fear creeps up my spine. I squeeze Maple’s hand tightly, clinging on for strength. She’s not ready. It’s not going to be a good day for Mom.
I wait as Mom sets down the album on the stool next to her, where she usually keeps her paints, and then she turns around, her weary eyes confused as they connect with me.
No, please, Mom. Please not today.
Clearing my throat, I let go of Maple’s hand, then squat in front of my mom, trying not to tower over her and scare her. I feel Maple take a step back, but not too far that I can’t still feel her presence.
“Hey, Mom,” I say softly. “It’s me…Saint.” I speak in a soft tone, trying to hide the timbre of my voice and the pain from her not recognizing me.
“It’s Graydon,” Rhonda says sweetly. “See how he’s grown, like in the album?”
Mom’s eyes flick to mine, confusion infused in them.
She shakes her head, and I can feel my heart plummet, crashing into my ribs and breaking off another piece of my soul that I’m not quite sure will ever heal.
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “I understand how this can be confusing. I’ll let you get back to your—”
Her hand lifts and connects with my cheek, the warmth of her palm nearly bringing tears to my eyes as her head tilts to the side.
She studies me.
Confusion is still in her expression, but there is a hint of recognition. The smallest hint, so I don’t move. I don’t even fucking breathe. I just let her process.
Please, Mom, please recognize me.
Please see me.
Please…
“Saint?” she asks, and my legs almost give out on me.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer quietly, tears springing to my eyes.
“Oh, my boy, you’re so…you’re so big.”
I chuckle as my emotions fill me to the brim. My tears spill over my lids and to my cheeks. “Yeah, I kind of grew.”
She slowly nods. “You’re so handsome.”
“Just a product of you, Mom.”
A small smile presses against her lips as she wipes away my tears. She picks up the album and brings it to her lap. She flips to the pictures of me from high school. My football pictures are the first on the page, next to my senior pictures and graduation.
“I missed you graduating.”
“You didn’t. You were with me,” I say. “Grandma sewed a picture of you into my gown, right over my heart, so you were with me.”
Her eyes find mine. “Really?”
“Really,” I answer.
She moves to the next pics of me in college, playing football, draft day, and some of the most important moments where she wasn’t physically present.
“And here,” I say. “You were sewn into my jacket when I was drafted, so you were there too. When I got the call, you were the first person I hugged.”
Her eyes well up.
I turn the page. “And here, in my helmet, I keep a picture of you while I’m playing, so I always have you with me.”
She stares down at the picture, her tears matching mine. “You play for the Foghorns, like your father.”
As much as it kills me to acknowledge his presence, I nod. From the beginning, I’ve said that I wouldn’t speak ill of my father, not because I owe him that, but because I don’t want to snap my mom out of this dreamlike state where she knows who I am.
“I do. I’ve been playing for a while, but there isn’t a day that goes by when you’re not with me.”
She turns the page and there’s a new set of pictures, the ones of me and Maple. She takes a moment to look them over, her fingers swiping over a picture of me holding Maple closely.
“Is this…your girlfriend?”
“It is,” I say. “That’s Maple. She’s right behind me, actually.”
Mom’s attention shifts to the figure behind me, and the smallest of smiles crosses her lips. Quietly, she says, “She’s beautiful.”
“I know. I’m really lucky she chose me. She’s a zookeeper, Mom. Takes care of the flamingos. I’ve been helping out at the zoo. Do you know what she makes me do?”
“What?”
“Wash the dishes.”
My mom clutches her chest and lets out the best sound to ever hit my ears…her laugh.
It brings back a flood of memories, hitting me all at once.
Sitting at the kitchen table, playing cards.
Attempting to have her run routes in the backyard but failing miserably.
Carving pumpkins the night before Halloween, getting slime and seeds all over us.
Making smoothies but forgetting to put the top on the blender so everything shoots up.
It’s one memory right after the other, filling me with joy, happiness, and not a hint of heartache.
“Well, I need to meet this girl who makes you do dishes.”
I stand and then offer my hand to Maple, who takes it and carefully walks up to my mom. She squats in front of her as well, mimicking my position, and places her hand on top of my mom’s.
“Hi, Mrs. St. John. I’m Maple.”
Mom’s eyes light up, and her smile grows. “Maple, it’s so nice to meet you. I hear you make my son clean bird dishes.”
Maple chuckles. “I do, and between you and me, he’s really good at it, hence why I keep having him do it.”
I watch as Mom takes Maple’s hand in hers and encourages her to stand and then move over to the stool next to her. Maple takes a seat, and my mom brings the album between the two of them.
“Tell me what you’re doing in these pictures.”
“I have something even better,” Maple says and then pulls her phone out of her dress pocket. “Let me show you where this all started.”
For the next few minutes, I watch Maple charm my mother, showing her picture after picture of us that we’ve posted on Flock and Tackle.
Maple talks about how much she likes me and how I’ve helped her in her endeavor to save the flamingos, and she even shows her the mural I painted.
My mom is completely infatuated as she takes her time, looking over every picture.
Occasionally, Maple looks in my direction, offering me a smile that nearly splits me in half.
And as my mom bumps shoulders with Maple, laughing and talking about the flamingos, I watch them, my eyes enraptured by the woman who has not only captured my attention but my mom’s as well.
I consider her words from the other night, when she grabbed me from the abyss of both self-loathing and anger at my dad.
“You’ve had enough abandonment in your life; I refuse to be someone else who does that to you. So like I said, do your worst, but whatever you do or say is not going to make me leave you here alone. Not happening. We’re in this together.”
Fuck, those words. Her heart. Her tenderness and kindness toward my mom.
I’m falling in love with this woman.
There’s no question about it.
She’s it.
She’s the one.
And I will do everything in my power to hang on to her because I will never forget watching her sit with my mom and treat her as an equal, as if nothing is wrong with her.
This is a core memory unfolding right in front of me, and because I don’t want to ever forget a moment of it, I take my phone out and take a picture of the two of them together, my mom holding her hand as they laugh together.
I stare down at the picture, my attention on Maple.
The love of my goddamn life…right there.
I had Maple pack a bag. Just in case things went south, that meant I could go back to my place with her and just sulk in my own space. The trip home has been silent.
But instead of sulking, I feel…full.
Emotionally and mentally full.
Like the clouds have parted and are being driven away by this sense of calm in my chest. And there’s only one person to thank for it.
I put the truck in park and grab her overnight bag, then go to her side of the truck and help her out. I take her hand and lead her into the apartment, where I set her bag down, shut the door, and turn toward her.
I scoop her up by the ass, and she wraps her legs around me, then her arms around my neck. I carry her up to my bedroom.
“Is everything okay?” she asks when I set her down on my bed. “You’ve been quiet, and I’m worried that maybe I did something wrong.”
I shake my head. “No, you did everything right.”
I kneel in front of her and take her hands in mine.
Looking up at her, I speak from the deepest part of my once aching soul and say, “You have no idea the impact you’ve made on my life today, Maple.
” I kiss her knuckles. “You had a choice today. You could have treated my mom like she was sick, or you could have been nervous, unsure of how to be around her, yet you weren’t.
You treated her like your equal, like a long-lost friend.
You made her smile, laugh, and you brought a light to her eyes that I haven’t seen in a while.
I’m…I’m so grateful for you and don’t know how to express that, other than showing you just how grateful. ”
I let go of her hands, then take the hem of her dress and push it up around her waist. Then I reach around her and undo the zipper before pulling her dress completely over her head.