Chapter 19 #2
He raises an eyebrow at me as if to say, ‘Really, Mom?’
“Aidan’s brother,” he mumbles. “Ryan or whatever.”
“Riley,” I correct, to probably the tenth round of eye rolling today. “He’s a friend from when I was young. I haven’t seen him in a long time, but now that he’s back in town, we’ve … just … been spending a bit of time together.”
I bite my lip and shrug, not sure what else to say.
“A friend,” he repeats, voice dripping with disbelief.
I let out a long breath and meet my son’s eyes.
“Okay. You’re right. We were more than friends once upon a time.
Before I met your dad, Riley was my boyfriend.
” Alex frowns at the mention of his father, or maybe it’s at the thought of his mother having once dated.
“We were together for over two years in high school,” I continue, “but it didn’t last after he went away to college.
Up until a few months ago, I hadn’t seen him in seventeen years. ”
And that’s as much as I’m prepared to say about that.
Alex stares down at his feet for a long while, his brows pulled together in a deep frown. Eventually, he asks, “What does he want with you now?”
“What makes you think he wants something?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not dumb, and I know how guys think.”
Well, hell, that’s a loaded statement. And one I don’t want to hear or think about coming from my son. But he’s almost fifteen, I have to remind myself. Of course, he’s thinking all kinds of teenage-guy things I’d rather not know about.
“How … guys … think,” I repeat slowly, looking over to find my son avoiding my eyes, his flushed face no doubt the mirror to my own.
We had the broad strokes sex talk when he first hit puberty, but after this conversation, I’m thinking I might need to psych myself up for the more detailed version soon.
“Yeah,” he says forcefully. “I see the way he looks at you.”
Okaaaaay, this is not at all the way I saw this going.
If there’s anything I’ve learned about dealing with teenagers in the last few years, though, it’s that things typically go better when I speak to them as frankly and honestly as possible.
They want to be treated like adults, and while their behavior is not always reflective of that, what with the whole less-than-fully-formed-brains and all, they are generally more receptive to things when I respect and acknowledge they’re no longer little kids either.
So I mentally square my shoulders to get real with my son.
“You’re right. He wants us to try again.”
“Like … to date?” Alex’s face tells me exactly how he feels about that.
Sam and I were never demonstrative, even in the earlier years when we were still sort of trying.
And I’ve remained single since he left, too busy to even think about dating, even casually, so the boys have never had occasion to think of me in that context.
This is likely an uncomfortable idea for Alex on more levels than one, suddenly being forced to see me as a woman and not just his mother.
I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“Well … are you going to?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
He continues to avoid my eyes, picking furiously at a hangnail on his thumb. “Why?”
“It’s just been a long time. And there’s history. I’m not sure I want to go back there. I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” I tell him as truthfully as I can. “There are other things to think about, too. You. Your brother.”
He rears back, looking at me finally. “Me?”
“Yes, you. I’ve never dated before. It would be a big change. And I’d never want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable or upset.”
“Oh,” he bites his lip contemplatively, staring down at where the cheerleaders have now taken the field for half-time.
People all around us are getting to their feet, either wanting to stretch their legs, in need of a bathroom break, or heading to the small concession cart the school rents for the bigger games.
He’s quiet for so long, I think he’s done with this topic of conversation until he asks, “But … you loved him?”
I suck in a deep breath and blow it out slowly through my nose.
“Once,” I admit softly.
“And he loved you?”
I dip my chin. “Mm-hmm.”
He’s silent for another long moment, and then he says, “I see Izzy over there. Think I’m gonna go say ‘Hi’.”
The girl he’d done the computer project with, the one from the library who had been making doe eyes at Riley, along with her friend.
“Sure.”
I smile at the memory of their obvious crush, but as I watch Alex approach the group of girls, I can’t help but notice the way Izzy’s eyes light up, and I wonder if maybe the real crush is on my son.
Yep, better move that sex talk up the priority list.
Alone during the second half—Priya and Alex both having ditched me to remain with their friends—I watch my eldest son out on the field.
I admire his obvious skill. His speed, the way he handles the ball.
His height and the broad shoulders he’s only just starting to grow into.
There’s no mistaking the familiar athletic build.
So like his father.
The thought flits through my mind before I shove it quickly away.
I’ve traveled far enough down memory lane tonight, thank you very much.
The Eagles win! Though it was a real nail-biter of a game, with the teams still tied at the end of the fourth quarter.
Luckily, our boys pulled it off in overtime with Matty making an impressive catch—call me a biased mom if you must—and passing it off to his buddy Wilder, who ran it in for the winning touchdown.
Alex and I hang around long enough to congratulate him, waiting by the door to the changing rooms until he comes out, freshly showered and grinning from ear to ear.
I’m so proud of that boy. Both of my boys, but especially Matty, tonight, for training so hard and giving it his all.
Since it’s a Friday, his curfew isn’t until midnight, so he heads out with Priya and his friends for a couple of hours of celebratory fun.
Alex is quiet on the drive home, but as we go to part ways in the entry—me to my room for a long bath and he to his, no doubt for some video gaming—he surprises me by touching my shoulder.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?” I turn to face him questioningly.
“I don’t love the idea of you and that guy.” His mouth twists in distaste as he adds, “Riley.”
“Okay …”
He sighs heavily. “But I want you to be happy. And … I don’t like thinking of you being lonely. If he makes you happy, I’ll get over it, or whatever.”
I’m at once touched and amused. Maybe a little scared, too, that I’m being given the go-ahead when I don’t even know what I want.
“You’ll get over it?”
He shrugs. “I’ll get used to it.”
“Thanks, bud,” I smile. “But I’m not sure if he can make me happy.
” I pause, unsure of whether I should say the rest, but I decide to continue being honest with my son.
“I’m starting to think I might like to find out, though.
Are you sure you’d be okay with that? Just— just us spending some time together. Maybe.”
“Okay is a stretch right now,” Alex grimaces. “But yeah. I will be. You deserve it, Mom. That is, if this guy treats you right. He better.”
I move in for a hug, wrapping my arms tightly around my boy and pressing my nose into his shoulder, again marveling at how tall he’s gotten.
“Love you,” I whisper into his shirt.
He grunts, then succumbs to my mothering, raising his arms to hug me back. “Love you too, Mom.”
We break apart, and he moves down the hallway towards his room.
“I’ll let you know, alright?” I call to his retreating form. “If … if it becomes something more than friendship.”
He gives a wave of acknowledgement over his shoulder, clearly ready to move on from this topic.
“Goodnight,” I add. “Don’t stay up too late.”
He snorts. He’ll likely sleep half the day away tomorrow, but all he says in response is “Night.”