With that, she stormed out the front door.
Leon’s face scrunched, then he let out a mighty wail. I got busy with the hush, hush, rock, rock. When that didn’t work, I hollered for Ellis. He didn’t come. I remembered finding Natalie singing to him on the day of the baptism. She’d looked every bit the goddess, and a natural. I’d stood in the doorway, imagined her singing to our baby, and that thought had damn near killed me.
Leon continued to cry. When Ellis finally came out from the locker room, showered and dressed, he found me, ass to the floor, crying right along with his son.
There were no words for the loss we both suffered. Regardless, I confessed. “I’m so fucking tired of hating them.”
Ellis took his son. I couldn’t look him in the eye, but I clapped his shoulder and made my way upstairs.
Under the heavy spray of hot water, I cussed and screamed and yelled. Then, I fell to my knees and gave every vile, hateful thought to God because I wasn’t strong enough to hold them anymore.
“You’re coming by later, right?” Ellis asked, his voice hopeful but unsteady over the phone.
What Ellis asked seemed impossible, but I wanted nothing more than to get away from the barrage of condolences. How are you holding up, son? I’m sorry for your loss. Holidays are always the hardest.
I’d heard them all fucking day.
“I’m not sure.”
He released a breath. “Listen. Got a bottle of whiskey from Dad. Cards are ready.”
That was the kicker. Thanksgiving tradition dictated we ended our evenings with Cubans, whiskey, and a game of poker. Me, Ellis, and Martin. For the past six years.
I stuck my fork into my second slice of apple pie.
As if reading my mind, he said, “C’mon, man. Don’t make me do this alone.”
“Yeah. Right. Sorry. I’ll be there.”
I finished my dessert, then made my way to the kitchen, kissed Mom on the cheek, and snatched the dirty platter from her fingers. “I’ll finish up here. Go join the others.”
“You wash, I’ll dry.” She moved away, shaking her head, and pulled a towel out of the drawer. “I can’t listen to another one of your uncle’s dirty holiday jokes. Who’re you hiding from?”
Everyone. “If I have to hear about Auntie Dot’s diverticulitis again, I might shoot myself.”
Mom bent over in laughter. “I know. I know. Bless her heart.”
God, that smile. Precious. After Cadence passed, Dad and I feared we’d never see her face light up again. We survived that death. I could survive another.
Sharing small talk, we finished the dishes. When the last of the holiday china was put away, she pulled me into a tight embrace. “You did good tonight.”
I hated every second. “I wash a mean pan.”
“Sweetie.” Mom pushed away but held my arms in a firm grip. “This is your first holiday after the accident. I know it has to be hard.”
Defenses up, I snapped, “You didn’t even like Victoria, Mom.”
Her eyes glistened, but she mirrored my glare. “I loved her because you loved her.”
“But you didn’t like her.”
“Honey.” Mom backed away and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”
“I need to talk about it.” I needed Mom’s grace.
She nodded. Sniffed. Straightened her spine. “Your dad and I never thought she was the right fit. There isn’t much more to it than that.”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay, fine.” With a huff, she turned to ready the Keurig. “You doted over her. Gave her everything she wanted. You were always trying to please her, and that’s a wonderful quality, sweetheart. It is, but…” Silence. A deep inhale.
“But what?” I stood at her side, snagged two holiday mugs off the high shelf.
“Do you remember what you told me when you first met Victoria?”
“No.”
“You told me you’d tried to turn down her advances, let her down gently, but then she’d told you about her abuse. Do you remember?”
Fuck. I remembered. First her uncle, then her last two boyfriends before me.
Mom continued. “After that, you never left her side.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Your girlfriend before Vic, what was her name?” Mom lifted a finger to her mouth, stared out the window, and then said, “Jocelyn.”
Jocelyn Garcia. We’d lasted nine months before she’d dumped me with no explanation. “I don’t understand where you’re going with this, Mom.”
She rolled her gorgeous eyes, grabbed a mug out of my hand, smirked. “She’d lost her mother a week before you met her, right?”
“Yes.” I headed to the fridge to grab creamer.
“And the girlfriend before her?”
“Had a broken leg when we met,” I answered, my nerves shot. “Are you saying I’m attracted to damaged women?” I shut the door too hard, bottles and jars clinking.
“Oh, God, no.” She waved her hand in the air, then rested it over her heart. “You wanted to save them.” She dropped her gaze to the tile floor, swallowed, met my eyes again. “You couldn’t save your sister, honey. You tried to make up for that loss by helping those women.”
Mom wasn’t entirely off the mark. Wasn’t easy to admit, though. I was about to tell her so, but she continued.
“You rarely smiled or laughed with Victoria. You were always so serious and focused. Too worried about keeping her happy.”
“That a bad thing?”
“No.” Mom reached up to cup my face. “You’ve got a beautiful spirit, my boy, and a smile that brightens everyone’s day. And it killed me to watch that brilliant light of yours dim.”
Mom
