Milàn #5
His jaw clenches again.
I sigh and try to breathe off that feeling of being on the edge.
“We’ll just talk,” I say in a low voice.
I step closer, and he takes a step back.
I hold both my hands up in front of myself.
He pushes himself more firmly against the wall.
“I will go past you to the living room. You’ll follow. Nobody will be blocking your way to the door. Okay?”
I drag my fingers through my hair again.
“Don’t touch me,” he blurts.
I put my hands up again and nod toward the living room.
I walk past him.
Aiden meets my gaze when I sit down at the table, eyes wide, gaze alert.
Neither of us says anything while we wait.
There’s a soft shuffling of feet before Rory appears in the doorway. He doesn’t come any farther.
We’re all still.
Waiting.
I blow out a breath.
“I’m not going back to him,” Rory says. “To some shitty trailer park in some shitty desert. And if you think you can make me, you’re full of shit.”
“We’re not sending you any—” Aiden starts to say, but it’s already clear these words of reassurance will do absolutely nothing.
“We’re talking about two different things,” I say. “Let’s rewind a bit. You like to draw.”
The sudden change of topic makes Rory snap his eyes at me. He seems to be surprised enough that I get an answer.
He nods.
Once.
I breathe in slowly and deeply and push the pencils toward him again.
He doesn’t come closer. Just eyes the pencils. There’s a look in his eyes, though. Longing. Temptation. Suspicion.
“These are motivation,” I say. “You have to show up for soccer, or you and I will get into a shitload of trouble at school.”
Rory scoffs and mutters something under his breath.
“Pardon?” I say.
“That’s a dumbass punishment,” he says, louder.
“Some would say it’s also a real dumbass move to punch someone for trying to be friendly, so the dumbass punishment fits the bill in this case.”
He scoffs again, but there’s the slightest shade of pink on his cheeks, and if somebody didn’t know any better, they might even classify his expression as something like regret.
“You show up for soccer and do your best not to beat anybody else up. In return, I know where the art supply store is now. And I’ve got a lot of money.”
“Umm,” Aiden says with the kind of alarmed tone that makes it clear he’s read a bunch of parenting books about teenagers and none of them support my methods.
“It’s a bribe,” Rory says. I don’t know if I should be worried that now he looks somewhat intrigued. “To… keep me here.”
“More or less.”
“Milàn. A word,” Aiden says tightly.
I ignore him.
“There’s more where this came from,” I say.
Rory inches closer.
I keep very still.
Aiden’s eyes move between me and Rory. He looks outraged, but for now he shuts up.
Rory takes another step closer.
He very carefully takes a seat on the edge of the chair. And snatches the pencils away. He eyes them greedily but also clearly tries to hide that he wants them.
“These are fine, I guess,” he says after a little while. He sounds dismissive, but when he puts the pencils back down he doesn’t drop them. He places them carefully on the table and keeps his fingers on them.
“Good to know.”
“For basics,” he says. “I can get something like these from the grocery store myself.”
The tips of his fingers gently move over the pencils. Jesus, somebody needs to teach this kid how to bluff.
I quirk my brow at him wordlessly.
“I want mechanical pencils.” Rory straightens his back and lifts his chin.
“Different sizes. An eraser pen. Sketch markers. Alcohol based, not water based.” He leans forward a bit, completely forgetting he’s supposed to be aloof.
Seriously. People will clean him out at poker like this. “And paper. It has to be—”
I hold my hand up to stop him. “So far I’ve followed through on my end. You haven’t. Maybe let’s wait until Saturday after practice with that list?”
He slouches back in his seat and eyes me with a mix of suspicion and calculation, and that’s fine by me. I need him to agree to get this punishment issue sorted.
Is it in the spirit of proper, responsible guardianship? Probably not.
Does it have major potential for creating problems in the future? Most likely.
Does it have all the hallmarks of kicking the proverbial can down the road? Yes.
But you know what? Fuck that. I promised Aiden a year, so in nine months it’s not my problem anymore.
“Do we have a deal?” I ask.
He studies me for a moment longer before he straightens in his seat and nods.
Aiden looks about ready to kill me. I’m gonna guess this is not the kind of parenting he approves of.
Tough shit.
“For a starters, as a sign of good faith, you can go and finish your homework,” I tell Rory.
He rolls his eyes, but he gets up and stalks out of the room, clutching the pencils in his hand. I drop my head back and blow out a breath the moment he’s out of the room and out of earshot.
Aiden rubs his hand over his face, eyes locked on the empty doorway.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks.
I shake my head, exhausted to the bone. “I’m winging it.”
“He’s a child, not…” He opens and closes his mouth a few times trying to find a suitable analogy. What he eventually comes up with is “Breakfast.”
I let out a mock gasp. “I would never wing breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”
“Milàn!” he grits out.
“Do you have any better ideas? Because I have news for you—everyone is winging it, and no one really knows what they’re doing.
There’s eight billion of us, and I can guarantee you, not a single person, dead or alive, has ever had it all figured out, even if you do your fucking best to give the impression you do.
I am so far out of my depth here, so I will do whatever the fuck I need to to keep us all afloat. ”
He stares at me for a bit before he laughs in a way that’s mostly disbelief.
“Perfect. How’s winging it going so far for you?”
I push myself up from my chair. “Ask me again after Saturday.”