Chapter 2
GROWLY MAMA BEAR
STELLA brANCH
TV is sometimes a mother’s best friend and babysitter. I steal every spare second to study while Aiden sprawls on the couch, glued to the screen. My laptop hums as I reread the same page for my class on curriculum design, my brain struggling to keep up.
An announcer’s voice rises suddenly. “And that’s the winning goal—left defenseman Eli Lewis finally puts it away for the Denver Aspens.”
So involved in my studies, I hadn’t even realized Aiden had switched channels to the end of a Denver Aspens game that’s gone into overtime.
I close my laptop a little harder than necessary. “Alright, kiddo. Extra time’s up. Let’s get ready for bed.”
“Please, can I watch a few more minutes?” He begs.
“Nope. It’s already an hour past your bedtime. Go brush your teeth.” I grab the remote as he shuffles off to the bathroom when I catch a glimpse of the player who made the winning goal on the screen—arms in the air, smile wide—celebrating the win.
My heart stutters and I quickly shut it off and toss the remote onto the cushions. I refused to give the player—and our past—another thought.
Aiden’s recent obsession with hockey, though, drives me crazy. Thanks to his after-school program at the community center, all the kids got to attend the first game of the season last week with free tickets donated by the team.
I’ve always kept sports out of our house—no Little League or soccer at the park.
No jerseys to wash, or weekend tournaments or expensive equipment to buy.
I take advantage of free programs when I can for him, but that’s it.
Anything more just isn’t on this single mom’s budget.
But for a week straight, hockey is all he’s been talking about.
He’s finally ready for bed, but still standing about. “Mom, I can’t find Nuk. I’m positive I left him on my bed this morning,” he shouts.
“We’ll find it.” I move into his bedroom and we search everywhere.
Where is that darn polar bear? Grr. I’m as growly as one, eyes burning, brain lagging with at least three more hours of homework waiting for me once he’s asleep. I seriously question whether finishing my degree is worth it.
Of course, I kneel by his bed and, after digging out the pile of laundry he’d hidden there when he was supposed to throw things in the washer this morning, I find it underneath.
“Here he is. Your precious Nuk-Nuk.” I smile through my exhaustion, too tired to argue about his not doing chores. He smiles at me sheepishly as I drag out the stuffed animal anyway, knowing he got caught.
“I promise I’ll throw the laundry in tomorrow,” he says and hugs Nuk tight.
It was a gift from his father when he was four, and it used to be snowy white. Now it’s gray in the places where he hugs the hardest. It used to go with him everywhere, now, as a third grader, he keeps it only to snuggle at night as he drifts off to sleep.
“Mom, I’ve been thinking about my birthday.” He finally settles in under the covers, Nuk by his side, his fingers fidgeting with a foam hockey puck that was a freebie from the game.
“It’s only October. Your birthday is at Christmas.” The bed sags under my weight as I take a seat beside him and sigh. I reach a hand up to swipe the dark hair out of his eyes; it’s already grown out from his back to school cut.
“But you always say we should plan ahead.”
Oh, no. He’s only eight and using my words against me. I’m not ready for the next ten years to fly by when he’ll be taller than me, and packing an attitude.
“You’re right. I do. So tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Well, all my friends are signing up for hockey skating lessons. They’re going to learn to play hockey and shoot the pucks, and I want that, too.”
So much for the latest superhero robotic action figure he said he wanted last month that I’d been saving for. Numbers start stacking in my head—lessons, rentals, gear—and a mouth guard, definitely, because I don’t need dental bills.
My chest tightens with multiple dollar signs adding up. It seems hardly fair to any child born on Christmas Day to have their birthday compete with Christmas.
Out of my mouth comes my usual saying, “I’ll think about it.”
“But Mom, please. It’s all I want. In fact, you can forget about buying me Christmas presents, and only get me this for my birthday.”
Sly boy. “Me? Buy you presents to unwrap on Christmas morning? Don’t be silly. You know Santa brings them.”
His eyes perform an exaggerated roll. “Right. But I have yet to find proof of the big man from the North Pole visiting our house Christmas Eve, don’t I?”
I hold back a grin at my smart kid and all the things he’s tried for the past two holidays to catch Santa in the act, from hiding under the couch table hoping to surprise him, to setting up a trip wire across the fireplace.
Of course, I humored my child in his experiments, knowing full well he would be asleep long before midnight.
“And um…well…I um...” He chews his cheek and casts his eyes away from me.
“What is it?” He doesn’t budge. “Tell me, or you get the tickle monster.” I have my hands up, fingers poised and ready above his tummy to tackle him.
He giggles, then blurts out. “My friends were all talking about the skating lessons today, and I felt left out, so I sort of told them I’d be having a birthday party at the rink where we can all skate and have fun together.”
My shoulders droop. “What? Aiden Michael Branch. You shouldn’t have done that.” I scowl. Rarely do I need to get mad at him; he’s a pretty good boy, but this stunt of his puts me in a bind. There’s no way I can afford to throw him a party.
“I’m sorry. I’ll take it back. Just please get me hockey skates for my birthday and Christmas. That’s all I want.” Alligator-sized tears form along the brim of his eyes, his bottom lip quivers, and my heart breaks for him. For me. For us.
I thought leaving his father was the right thing.
Some days, watching Aiden want what I can’t give him, I’m not so sure.
He’s the one who has had to suffer without a father and without some things his classmates have, like fancy birthday parties, clothes that don’t come from the thrift store, and fun things to do.
I pull him into my arms and hold him tight, while rubbing slow circles into his back until his breathing eases under my palm. Once he calms down, I reach for the tissues from a box on his side table so I can dab at his eyes and nose.
“It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll figure something out. It’s been a long day, and you need to get to sleep. I love you bunches.” I lean in and give him a peck on the cheek.
“I love you more bunches.” He sniffles and yawns. I read him a story, and before I even have his nightlight turned on, I hear his soft snores. With one last look at my growing boy, I finally leave his room and pad to the dining table, which has become my little office where I do all my schoolwork.
I open my laptop and work on a report that is due to my professor in two days, but all I can think about is how much skates and lessons cost. Search results confirm what I figured—just because my kid wants something badly enough doesn’t mean I can afford it.
Of course, I could call Jerrod and ask him to send more money for his son’s birthday. It’s the least he could do as the sperm donor.
Steps across creaky floorboards announces Mom’s arrival in the kitchen behind me before she speaks. “Staying up late? Need some tea or coffee, honey?”
“Sure. Coffee, thanks,” I say and join her there.
“I heard the two of you talking.” In the tiny two-bedroom apartment we share above her shop, there’s no privacy. “I meant to warn you about how he was jabbering nonstop about his party from the minute he got home.”
“Yeah, a little notice would have been great.” I snap at her, but I’m grateful to her for taking us in a couple of years ago. We live with her, and I basically took over managing her Cozy Corner Craft Shop, but after her hefty expenses and mortgage payment, money is tight for all of us.
I’d get a second job if I could, but between dealing with Mom’s situation, my schoolwork, and caring for my son, I just don’t have the time or energy.
“I hate having to disappoint him,” I lament and put cream in my mug.
“He’ll get over it, Stella. Your father and I disappointed you, and you turned out okay.
I’m going back to bed. ‘Night.” I watch her and her faded purple robe disappear around the corner.
Birthday parties were never her thing. If I remember right, she organized maybe one for me the entire time I was growing up.
Now I’m the petulant child, rolling my eyes behind her back. This living arrangement is only temporary. In another year, I’ll be done with school, then I can try to find an actual job with benefits, some place where I can rebuild a future for Aiden and me.
After a couple of hours, I make headway on my homework.
I stifle a yawn, bring my laptop to the couch—which does double duty as my bed.
I click one more time into the search bar.
I recall overhearing some mothers in the grocery store once talking about a place to get used sports equipment for their kids.
A few clicks later, I find a location in Denver that might have gear for Aiden’s size. The prices are less than buying new, and I breathe a little easier. Perhaps there’s a way “Santa” can afford this after all—
Suddenly, a pop-up message appears in the center of my screen.
“The Wishes Granted Hockey Program?” I read the words on the notice and click it. The organization would provide skates and gear to kids like Aiden, whose families don’t otherwise have the money to do this for their children.
“Worth a shot.” I quickly work through the application, typing hurried answers, dying to get to sleep as soon as possible. Despite my exhaustion, hope stirs in my chest as I click submit. “If only wishes came true.”
I had plenty of dreams that hadn’t. But I also have one thing I never wished for, but am so glad to have been blessed with—Aiden. I’m just his mom who would do anything for him.