Chapter 8 #2
“It’s the dang water heater. Again. The water coming out of the shower is cold enough to freeze an iceberg and I have to get ready for work.
I’m supposed to be there for shift change in an hour.
” I hear her shuffling around, doors opening and closing, before she huffs.
“Actually, never mind, honey. I’ll just take a sink bath and call it good because I can’t be late. ”
“Mom . . . Mom . . . hey, Mom!” I’m trying to stop her swirling the drain like the apparently freezing cold water. “I can be there in fifteen, thirty if you let me just replace the damn water heater this time.”
I have been holding that water heater together with duct tape and prayers for almost a year.
I’m not rich by any stretch, but I do well enough to replace my mother’s water heater without a blink.
Well, a financial one. The problem is . .
. she won’t let me. That damn pride and self-reliance are both a blessing and a curse.
“Fifteen it is. Don’t you dare stop at the hardware store and buy me a new one or you’ll have to take even more time out of your day to return it.” The stern voice that used to keep me in line when I was a troublemaking kid still works.
“Fine. See you soon.” I hang up, already halfway out the door when Ross calls me back.
“Kaede!” I pause, looking over my shoulder but already gone in truth. “Sorry about . . . I’m protective, overly so, according to Abi. Just fix this, for real. Okay?”
“Yeah, I gotta go. We’re good.” I don’t believe me entirely either, but I stride out of the gym to my car, heading home.
I almost turn off to Home Depot anyway, knowing that I could call ahead and have a water heater ready to roll.
But Mom won’t let me bring it in the house, so there’s no point.
Instead, I pull up to the small white two-bedroom place I grew up.
I look over the yard, green and weed-free, the trim all perfectly painted, and the front steps with a new wreath on the door.
Mom must’ve bought it because for all her talents, craftiness isn’t one of them.
Budgeting? Hell, yes. She taught me the value of a dollar and how to squeeze every penny from it.
Cooking? Absolutely. From pork chops to strawberry cake, everything from her kitchen is an orgasm in your mouth.
Even science, because while I was struggling with high school chemistry, she was crushing it with nursing school pharmacology, and we worked each other through it with flash cards and midnight pots of coffee.
By example, she taught me to work hard, never give up, and get shit done.
But crafting? The thought is nearly laughable.
I open the garage door and see Mom in her gardening clothes.
She’s beautiful, and I don’t only think that because I’m biased as her son.
She wears her fifty-two years of life remarkably well, looking at least ten years younger.
Her almost-black hair has only recently needed a bit of coloring to hide the gray strands I thought looked like highlights, and her face shows her history of looking at the bright side of life with smiles and happiness.
I go to give her a hug, but she holds up her hands.
They’re clean from her digging in the dirt, but there’s a brown line under each short nail.
“I could wash my hands in the sink, even though it was cold, but I figured I’d do the full scrub-down in the shower because I cannot go to work like this.
I’m an infection waiting to happen,” she jokes.
“All right, let’s take a look then. You think the pilot light might be out?”
Her good humor goes sardonic. “Kaede McWarren, do you think I would call you over here for something that simple? I’m quite capable of that, I’ll have you know. Did it for years when you weren’t even allowed to light a match.”
I shrink sheepishly. “I know, Mom. Sorry. I’ll take a look, but you know what I charge. I can’t cut my rates just because you’re family.”
She grins and holds up her dirty nails. “Well, I could make some peanut butter jungle bars, but you might have more than chocolate chip cookie dough, peanut butter, and coconut flakes in them. You mind a side of dirt for some extra seasoning?”
I pull a face. “Uh, a little dirt never hurt, but maybe I’ll bill you for the house call later.”
“Deal.”
Grabbing the old toolbox, I start poking around the water heater.
It’s an old one, a classic Kenmore that was probably new the year the house was built, which means that it’s well past its life expectancy.
But a classic thirty-year-old water heater isn’t a thirty-year-old sportscar.
People don’t collect them and there’s no aftermarket for parts.
Instead, what Mom has here is an ugly collection of patchwork parts. I take my time, looking over each piece.
“Thank you for this, honey,” Mom says, hovering and watching me with a smile. “You’re such a good boy. Really.”
“Thanks, Mom, but you really should let me get you a new one.”
Mom, who’s stubborn and tougher than I am, shakes her head the way I knew she would. But I’m hoping that by mentioning it repeatedly, I can wear her down. Eventually.
“You know I’m saving for it. But I can put up with it for another paycheck or two if you can Band-Aid it along for me.”
No, Mom, you’re just too proud, I think, but I’m not going to argue it. I understand where she’s coming from. It just drives me crazy that she won’t let me take care of her the way she took care of me.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I promise, though I wonder if she’d finally let me replace it if I can’t do anything with it this time.
“Work and talk, Kaede. Tell me about the gym and about the meeting you had. You knocked the socks off that investor, didn’t you?” I don’t need to see her to know how proud she is of me. It’s threaded through her voice.
While I tinker with the water heater, I tell her about the contract signing and our plans for expansion. She’s heard them before, but she likes to hear that I’m dreaming big.
I conveniently leave out any mention of the verbal screw-up I made with Jeffrey and Missy and my resulting fake engagement situation. Mom’s all for going all-in, but I think she’d think this is a bit too much. She’s probably right, but I’m going full-steam ahead.
Luckily, the problem today seems relatively simple, a worn-out internal fuse. I don’t have the proper one, but I do have a workaround that’ll work for today, a good old-fashioned penny until I can get her a new one.
The water heater hums to life and I climb up from the garage floor.
“That should do it. I’ll hang out for a few minutes to make sure this old thing doesn’t burn the house down.
” I give her a warning glare, which she returns in force considering I learned it from her.
“But you should be good to start the shower and wait for the hot water to come in.”
“Perfect! Thanks so much, honey. I’m gonna get a move on so I’m not late. Can you lock up the garage?”
“Yeah, Mom.” Before she disappears around the house, I remember something. “I didn’t forget about the jungle bars, though!” I call out.
“Bill me!” she teases over her shoulder.