“Oh, you know, I’m sure there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth happening somewhere in the general vicinity.”
“Dubs driving you crazy?”
“God, no! That boy is my precious. Protect him at all costs.”
“Please, never let him hear you say that. His head’s big enough as it is.” We laugh and I take another sip. “Everything else okay? Therapy good?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Of course, of course, that’s all fine. We’re meeting with the doctor next week to talk about the surgery, blah blah blah. Can a mom just call to catch up with her son?”
“Alright,” I snicker. “Let’s talk, Mom.”
The phone nearly topples off her lap as she shifts her weight. Her mouth pinches into a wince when she settles again. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my inside thoughts from becoming outside thoughts. No matter how much Bri and I encourage her to take something stronger for the pain, she refuses.
After a few tense seconds, she finds a comfortable position and her features soften again, eyes gleaming. “Tell me about the girl.”
Add to the list of not-smart things I do that involve Hannah James: introducing her to my family via video chat three days ago when I’ve never done anything of the sort in my previous thirty-one years of life. There’s not a chance in hell I can sidestep this conversation.
I lean back in my chair on a sigh. “Okay, I’m ready. Do your worst.”
It’s no surprise she wants the full story. So, claiming maternal duress, I give it to her. Though I leave out the parking lot assault—not my story to tell. But everything else about how we met five years ago, how I almost bashed her head in with a door last week, and about how she’s been here for Pops without my knowledge the whole time—I lay it all out.
It takes several minutes, but I finally finish the tale of the runaway bride and her soldier. And because Mom is Mom, she reads between the lines. All the lines. Every godforsaken last one.
“Hannah sounds special.”
A flat lift of my eyes to hers behind a conveniently timed swig of beer is answer enough, but I don’t need Mom to feel guilty over something outside of her control.
“She knows I’m leaving soon.” She’s about to push back, to apologize for being the reason I can’t stay. I cut her offwith a deflection before she gets the chance. “Hey, FYI, I think I’m gonna do a memorial service for Pops after all.”
Mercifully, she lets the shift in topics slide. “I’m happy to hear that, sweetheart.”
Headlights cut through the trees beyond the kitchen window. “She’s home, Mom. I gotta go.”
Home. A slip of the tongue. A phrase that’s more muscle memory than anything else. Except, my heart lurches in my chest when I say it.
Mom does her mom-thing again, cutting me with her all-knowing voodoo eyes. I cough into my fist to move past it. “Don’t tell Dubs all that stuff about Hannah. He knows the bare minimum and I’d like to keep it that way for now.” Lord, I’d never hear the end of it if my best friend knew the whole story.
By the time Mom and I say goodbye, Hannah’s walking through the front door looking like she’s done it a million times. She hangs her purse on the coat rack, sets her heels against the wall.
“Hungry?” I ask.
She meets me at the stove with a smirk, swiping my beer to steal the last sip. “He cooks too?”
“Among other things.” I wink.
Hannah pinches my waist as she passes behind me to pull two more bottles from the fridge. “Another beer?”
I crank up the flame under the skillet. “Sure, bottle opener’s in the?—”
“Got it,” she says over the screech of a drawer. I turn toward the sound.
Bottle caps clink on the counter and she tosses the opener back in, slamming it shut with her hip.
Wordlessly, she hands me my bottle, only glancing at me for a beat before she tips hers back with one hand and collects two plates from the cabinet above the toaster with the other. Then gliding seamlessly to another drawer for forks and knives.
She moves through the space like she owns it. Tiny glimpses of her time here with Pops like hidden messages in a bottle washing up on shore.
My mouth goes dry. I take a long pull of my IPA against the realization beating my ribs senseless.