Turning my back on the impossible advice and its giver, I walk to Dad’s chair and sit down, raking my hair as I stare at our old coffee table. “How?! You’re over here living with these ghosts, alone and staring at her picture. One day you seem like you’re fine. Then tonight you left a voicemail that scared the hell out of me!”
I’d hardly recognized her voice. It was good that Lexi offered to give me space because the second I dropped her at home I listened to a message that had me breaking speed limits before I hung up.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry, Gage! I didn’t mean to scare you!” She hurries over to kneel in front of me, searching my eyes. “You listen to me right now! You’re all I have left and I’m all you’ve got, too. I will never take my own life and leave you here all alone. I will never do that to you! Do you hear me? I promise!” She walks to her favorite chair, sitting down and closing her eyes. “I’m grieving. That’s all. It’s just this day. The anniversary. It was too much.”
My jaw is clenched, teeth grating until I finally decide to do something useful, rising and walking to her wine glass. “Here Ma.”
Her eyes squint open, “Oh, thank you,” and she rests it on her stomach, closing them again. Her irises stood out to me — especially bloodshot — because of what Lexi said about the crocodile shade of green. It’s an accurate description. One I’d never thought of.
To see Mom better since hers and Dad’s favorite chairs are beside each other, I take a seat on the couch opposite, moving multiple pillows I’ve never seen the point of. Two is fine, but eight? I glance over and catch her watching me with a smile.
“You always fight those.”
“I’m outnumbered.”
Ma chuckles, and takes a small sip. “I’ve been nursing this for almost three hours.”
“It’s half full.”
“My optimist.” That earns a laugh from me, and she smiles, peering at the glass “It was all the way full when I started in on it.”
“Nice to know you’re not a lush.”
“Wish I could be sometimes. Would be nice to disappear, wouldn’t it?”
“Works for some. Not for most.”
She stares at me, thoughtful. “Where were you tonight? You look dressed up. And dusty.”
I drag my hand down my face, “I was on a date.”
“Tonight?”
Swiping warehouse-dust from my lap, I mutter, “Yeah.”
Mom whispers, “Oh,” and it’s undeniably disapproving.
Meeting her eyes, I explain, “I almost didn’t make plans tonight, but then I did.”
“I see.”
“Can I be honest with you?”
Her expression clears. “Of course! You know I’ve always taught you to be honest.”
“You may not want to hear it.”
“I don’t always like to, but I want to.”
“Fine.” Moving to the couch’s edge, I lean on my forearms. “I don’t want to remember this day every year.” Mom’s face scrunches with shock. “Don’t want to relive it again and again. It doesn’t feel right. I just think it’s better to celebrate her birthday instead. The day she came to be, not the one she left us on.”
Mom’s facial muscles take five whole seconds to calm down. Feels much longer, as time does when you’re waiting for a reaction you can’t predict, but that matters to you.
She lifts her glass, but decides not to sip, lowering it again. “That sounds awfully healthy.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy your chardonnay,” I smile, trying to add a little levity. “Don’t have to get too healthy.”
Her eyebrows rise. “You know what this is?”
“Of course I do.”
“But you drink beer.”
“Craft beer, to be specific. But what’s that got to do with it? The only wine you’ve ever had probably since before I was born is chardonnay.”
A smile dances in her eyes. “I didn’t think you noticed.”
Leaning back, legs spread, I admit, “Not until I was in high school but I noticed.”
Mom shakes her head. “Children are so self-absorbed when they’re growing, they barely pay attention to you.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe!” She sips the wine. “Who are you dating?”
I stand up and swipe at my pants to get them back in place. Less dusty, too. “Nobody.”
“Are you leaving?”
“I was thinking I might crash in my old room. Have coffee with you in the morning before I go to work.”
“Oh Gage!” She flies up from her chair. “Really?”
A grin flashes and I head for the stairs. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She hurries to follow, standing by the bannister as she calls up, “It must be someone special to get you all dressed up like this.”
“Nope.”
“And avoiding the subject!”
She looks so much smaller from up here, but just as nosey. “Trust me, Ma,” I smirk, “Don’t get excited. It’s nothing.”
“Maybe it’s something!”
“No, it isn’t.” Walking to my old room, I mutter under my breath, “It’s just casual.”
Chapter Twenty
GAGE
C an’t sleep.
That conversation — every bit of it — is running through my head.
Plus, it’s too early for bed.
Not by much.
But enough.
Dropped her off just after ten.
Came straight here.
It’s only…
What time is it?
Eleven-thirty.
Half hour to go before my inner clock says punch the time-card. Work over.
But it wasn’t all work.
No.
It sure wasn’t.
Rolling over, I reach for my phone on the nightstand, and squint at a screen made brighter by darkness’s contrast. Paid for black-out curtains when I was a teen. They sure work.
“Gage?” comes her smiling voice with no sign of grogginess.
“Hey Cherry,” I relax back on the pillow. “Guess I didn’t wake you.”
“It’s still early.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“What’re you doing? Are you watching a movie… or reading a book?”
I throw one arm behind my head to get comfortable. “Are they my only options?”
“They’re what people normally do when they can’t sleep.”
“What about phone scrolling?”
With a smirk in her tone she accurately guesses, “You don’t seem the type.”
“That obvious, huh?” I chuckle.
