Chapter 22 #2
I shake my head and knock louder. I’m getting ahead of myself.
Or am I right on track? What if?—
The door whips open, and Mom blinks at me.
Her dark hair is mussed on one side, and she’s in tan sweats.
She blinks at me with eyes that are a lot like Iverson’s.
I guess it’s more accurate to say Iverson’s are like hers, but it’s hard to think that my brothers got much from my mom other than bitterness.
“Haven.” Her voice is scratchy. “You’re early.”
Five minutes. “Sorry.”
She grunts and steps to the side. “What kind of pizza did you get?”
The acid in my stomach intensifies. Happy birthday to me too. I step inside, and I’m surrounded by a cloying flower smell. The kind that sticks in your nose and seeps into the fibers of your clothing. Nothing like the light, pleasing scent of Prescott. “Pepperoni.”
“You know that gives me heartburn.”
“Sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t remember. You just told me to pick up something I like.”
“Thought you’d have better taste than that.” She grunts and goes up the stairs to the table. Has she gotten thinner since the last time I saw her? Each visit I have with her, she’s a slow disappearing act. She chuckles. “But then, you make whiskey for a living.”
“Good whiskey, vodka, and gin.” An open bottle of red wine is in the middle of the table. Only one glass is by the spot she normally sits. I set the pizza on the table and find my own glass and get us a couple of plates and napkins.
When I return, she’s already got a slice in her hand with her leg cocked so her foot is on the chair. I take the spot across from her .
“How was work?” I ask to have something to say, and pour us each some wine. The mystery of how long it’s been open and sitting out will have to remain unsolved. Sometimes it’s better that way.
“It’s work. What are Iverson and Durban up to?”
“Same as us. Work.” I stuff some pizza into my mouth.
She tips her head to study me before she takes a drink of her wine. “Durban getting married?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” I say around my mouthful.
“What’s his fiancée’s name again?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
She snorts. “You don’t know it?”
I set my slice of pizza down. “You know I’m just respecting their wishes. Anything to do with them, you have to go through them.”
But I’m here. Ask about me. Ask if I’ve met anyone, and maybe I’ll tell you about her. I’ll tell you that she’s amazing and thoughtful. I’ll say she gives as good as she gets, and the balance is refreshing.
“I have grandkids I don’t even know.”
She has kids she doesn’t know too. The little I’ve eaten sits like a stone in my gut. “I know, Mom.”
She huffs out a breath and drops her food. Then she beams. “I got you a present.”
Surprised, I look around, but there’s no gift or brightly wrapped anything. “Oh?”
“Let me grab it.” She gets up, and the silence of her place descends on me. It’s not like how it was growing up, with her outbursts and her rants atop the noise of me and my brothers, but I wouldn’t call it better either. Prescott would hate it.
When Prescott told me she hates the quiet, this is what she’s talking about. Yeah, I don’t like it either. I like the life Meadow gives my place. The sound of Prescott’s footsteps in my kitchen and our chatter at my table.
I’ll get that tomorrow. And then I can forget about this.
Mom returns and plops a box labeled Electric Wine Bottle Opener .
“A wine kit?” I don’t mean to sound confused, but I’m in the spirits industry. Wouldn’t she think I have something like this already?
“It’s electric. Beats the hell out of doing it by hand.” She taps the box. “And it’s got a stopper. Got it when I picked up the wine for dessert.”
Is that my birthday cake, then? No. I’m not going to question it. “Thank you.”
The war of being a good son rages inside me as I finish my slice of pizza.
She got me a gift, and I’m not going to complain.
Yet the disappointment won’t lessen. It only grows and adds to the sense that I’m a shitty son.
She can’t afford much, and she did take the time to buy it.
Why can’t I just be grateful for the effort?
Maybe because she used my money for the purchase.
She finishes her slice and pours herself the last of the wine. My untouched glass is only half full.
If I eat one more bite, I might choke on it. This whole night has been…dismal. If my brothers find out that I drove here and then got treated like this, they’ll give her an earful. Though she’d probably be happy that they contacted her. As long as it was about her.
One thing is certain—tonight is not about me.
I grab my present and rise. “I should get going. It’s a long drive back. ”
Flipping open the lid of the pizza box, she studies the insides. “I hate to ask, but my gas light came on right when I parked in the garage.”
“Okay?” I know damn well what she’s asking. When will I learn? Not fucking today, apparently.
“You got enough cash on you to cover it? I had to pitch in for a going-away gift for a coworker, and payday isn’t until next week.”
Tell her no. Tell her no more.
I just want to leave and forget that I got my hopes up again.
I work in the morning, and then a night with Prescott will help me forget all about today.
With a sigh, I sit back down, drop my box on the table, and dig out my wallet.
It’s filled with twenties. I stare at them. Mom stays quiet, waiting.
If I do this, she’ll just ask me for money again. And again. Next year, will she use my cash to buy me a gift that requires no thought? Will she even remember my birthday? Don’t I deserve better?
I close my wallet and tuck it back into my pocket. “I’m sorry. I can’t cover your bills anymore.”
She laughs like I’m joking, then she catches my expression, and her smile extinguishes like a smothered candle. “What?”
I flinch at the whip-snap of her voice. Tension rides the back of my shoulders like a newbie on horseback—unsettled and clenching in all the wrong places. “No more money.”
She draws back, confusion and disgust scrawled across her face. “Then what are you good for?”
“Wow, Mom.” I take my gift because, dammit, tomorrow’s my birthday, and I rise. “Have a good night,” I say on my way to the door .
“You know, I never wanted you,” she calls after me.
A burning ignites in my stomach. There are people in my life who want me. Two guys who helped raise me when she wouldn’t. This is what my brothers warned me about. This is what I get for not listening to them. This is what I get for trying to celebrate my birthday.