Chapter 36 Patton
thirty-six
patton
Hope They Gave Her the Good Drugs
Idon’t hear the squeak of the vinyl as I slide into the booth, or the scrape of my cup against the wooden table.
I don’t hear Rachael and Rachel’s shocked murmurs, wondering if they heard correctly.
Nor do I hear the hesitant footsteps of the woman who birthed me, walking toward me after twenty-six years.
I don’t hear any of that when all I can hear is the drum of my heart, the rush of blood inside my ears, and the catch in my throat with every ragged breath I take.
The delicious vanilla scent that surrounded me only moments ago feels suffocating, like it’s too sweet for what’s about to unfold.
“S–son.”
My eyes snap to her, my hand fisting on my lap. Hot molten lava races through my veins. “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago, Abigail.”
Seven years. She did seven years for possession and intent to distribute. It wasn’t her first stint in jail, but it was her longest. And while she waited behind bars, having left her six-year-old son in the hands of the state, I waited for her.
Day in and day out, until I turned thirteen, when I knew she was being released, I waited for her to come back and take me home, but she never did.
I remember waking up every day and checking the mail. Surely, she’d write if something had changed. Surely there was a reason she hadn’t found me yet. She wouldn’t have forgotten her one and only son.
But she had.
Because I didn’t just wait at thirteen. I waited every year after that, on every birthday, every Christmas, and every first day of school, hoping that was the day she’d come back.
But by eighteen, I accepted she wasn’t going to. I knew she’d been released from jail and had searched online obituaries to confirm she wasn’t dead.
I could have looked for her, tried to find her myself, but I chose not to. Because that kid, who would scan crowds to find his mother’s familiar green eyes and perk up whenever there was a knock on the door, had grown up. He’d accepted her decision, let go, and found peace.
Or that’s what I thought until now.
Because right now, peace is the last thing I feel. Above that are feelings I haven’t made use of in a long time, like anger, hurt, and betrayal. But more than anything is the reminder of how I was abandoned, not just when she was in jail, but when she wasn’t.
“Patton—”
I lift a hand to silence her ragged whisper, even if it meets its mark inside my chest. “What are you doing in San Francisco, Abigail? How did you find me?”
She shuffles forward, plate still trembling in her hands. I can’t tell if the shaky hands are just nerves or a permanent condition.
“I-I made my way to L.A. a couple of years ago, but I never found you. Then I heard you were going to be filming in San Jose. I read about it when the shelter let me use their internet. So I took a chance and moved here.”
The shelter. I look at her haggard visage, her gaunt and hollow face, and her lifeless eyes. Time and addiction have whittled her down to the bone.
I wish there was something, anything, that could help loosen the rock lodged inside my throat. I’ve often wondered about her over the years, and though my thoughts were usually bitter and unforgiving, I’d never wish to see her homeless, alone, or weak. Never.
I’m still processing her words and the fact that my mother is in front of me after all these years when she speaks again.
“A few months ago, I saw you walk into this restaurant. I thought I’d imagined it, but then I saw you here a time or two after that. So . . . I came here and begged them for a job, hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you.”
“Why?” I ask, trying to keep my jaw hard. “What do you want from me? Oh, let me guess. You owe money to someone—your dealer, perhaps?—and you’re here to ask for my help.”
Her eyes turn glassy. “I’ve been clean for more than a decade, and completely sober for four.”
I give her a condescending smile. “Wonderful. Do you want a standing ovation? A pat on the back, maybe? You know, the things you were never there to give me.”
“I don’t want your money or your help, Patton. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why are you here?”
She doesn’t answer for a few long beats, her chin trembling as she tries to compose herself.
She might think I’m being cold and dismissive—and maybe I am—but she doesn’t know me well enough to know the wounds I’ve worked hard to mend.
She has no idea how much internal strength and positivity I needed, day in and day out, without any biological family to speak of, to find myself. To believe in myself.
Though I didn’t do it alone, not after I met Nisha. She was there every step of the way . . . until she wasn’t. But we’ve worked past that, and I’m never reopening those scars; not when we’ve finally moved forward.
Abigail nods at the seat across from me, sniffling. “Can I sit down?”
Before I can respond, Rach peeks around the corner. “We’ll stay open for a while, so take as long as you both need.”
I catch her wide brown eyes over Abigail’s shoulder before she quickly busies herself, wiping down an already spotless counter.
I don’t doubt that the two women are listening to every word of this family drama unraveling in their restaurant, but I trust them enough to know it won’t leave these walls.
Placing the plate on the table, Abigail uses the distraction to slide into the seat across from me, even though I never explicitly gave her permission.
My heart pounds like a stampede of wild horses inside my chest, my grip tightening around my cup as my gaze drifts over her.
For years I imagined what it would be like to see my mother again. At one point I even wrote down the questions I’d ask, aside from the obvious “Why didn’t you come back for me?” But I can’t seem to recall a single one right now.
She looks down at her hands on her lap. “I want your forgiveness, Patton. I’m not expecting your love—”
“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page, then, since I have none to give you.”
Her sharp intake of breath is like a prick to my chest. I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. Maybe she deserves my words, maybe she doesn’t. But despite everything, this is not who I am. I’m not this harsh or callous, this resentful or cutting.
I’ll never defend her actions, but I also won’t let them turn me into someone who clings to the past. Especially not when I’ve worked so hard to move forward.
Am I still hurt after all these years? Of course. But I’ve also learned that choices compound until one bad decision leads to another, and suddenly, you’re so far down the rabbit hole, you can’t find your way back to daylight.
I know because I’ve been in her shoes. Where her drug was meth, mine was ambition.
I chased its high until it consumed me. Until I lost the one woman who saw me for who I was.
To her, I wasn’t the guy on dumb billboards or overrated red carpets, but the man she gave her heart to, the one who vowed to protect and honor her, but didn’t.
The thought has me wishing I could turn back time, not just to swallow my harsh words to my mother, but to see the path I was on. The one that led to the dissolution of my marriage all those years ago. The one that led to Nisha and me being apart for so long.
“I didn’t mean that,” I say, my voice softer, my shoulders slowly releasing the tension gathered in them. “I . . . I don’t know what you were going through at that time, but I also don’t know how to sit here and pretend the last twenty-six years didn’t happen.”
She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I know. I’m so, so sorry, Patton. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but the biggest was not being the kind of mother you deserved. I was really messed up at the time. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a regret I’ll live with for the rest of my life.”
She brushes her cheek with the back of her hand.
“I’m not asking you to pretend. I know I can’t undo the past or give you back your childhood .
. . or all those moments I missed. But I am asking you to find it in your heart to forgive me.
” Her shoulders hunch. “And if you can’t, I understand that, too. I probably deserve that.”
My gaze catches Rachel’s from behind the counter before she pretends to remember something, scurrying off toward the double doors.
I look out the window next to the booth. “Why didn’t you come back for me? After you got out of jail, I mean. I . . .” I trail off before clearing my throat, my voice softer. “I waited for you every day, Mom.”
“Oh, Patton.” My mother drops her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking with her quiet sobs. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about hearing you call me that.”
For a moment, I think about reaching across the table to grab her hand, but I’m not ready—honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever be. So instead, I tighten my jaw and look up at the ceiling, holding back my own tears.
Her sniffles subside before she lifts her face, red-rimmed eyes bouncing between mine. “I did come back for you.”
My brows draw together. “What?”
“It was by pure chance that I found you, actually, since the state denied me your whereabouts, even after I petitioned. About three months later, I wandered into a county fair where kids from a local performance arts center were doing a play.” A smile tugs on her lips.
“I knew it was my boy the moment I saw you up there, playing the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz. You were so talented, even back then.”
“Clearly not talented enough for you to want me back.”
The words are out before I can stop them, bitterness crawling up my throat. I’d just told myself I was going to move past the resentment, yet here it is, rearing its ugly head again.