Except I can’t seem to do anything with it. Every time I work up the courage to sit down at a computer for a quick Google search, my fingers freeze just before making contact with the keyboard.
I dunno what it is, but all of a sudden, the thought of pursuing a lead behind Zan’s back feels…wrong.
Oddly enough, I also can’t bring myself to loop him in.
He’s constantly on my mind now. Even invades my dreams. In fact, I’m slowly waking from one where he’s standing in front of me without clothing when he opens his mouth to speak and “Ricoooooo!” comes out in a voice that doesn’t really sound like his own.
It’s weird.
“Uhh…Macklin?”
He bends at the knee and leaps into the air. Comes down on top of me and knocks all the breath out of my body.
Eyes are open now.
Jax is climbing off me and running around the end of the bed to climb up and jump on me again.
“Ricoooooo!” he shouts. And then he leaps.
Oooof!
It’s still dark outside.
“Jaxy, what the hell?” I toss him to the floor.
He hops up, unfazed. Climbs back to his starting position but begins jumping on my bed with me in it. “You said hell!”
“SO did YOU, dimWIT.” Gah! “PLEASE stop JUMping ON my BED now!”
It’s like he doesn’t even hear me. “You were talking about Zan-Zan in your sleep.”
Oh boy. “What?”
“Is he your boyfriend now?”
“No!” I roll over so he won’t see the mortification all over my face.
“I bet you were having wet dreams about him.”
Umm…I sit up. “What the heck do you know about wet dreams?”
He hops off the bed and rolls his eyes. “They’re dreams where you’re doing it with somebody, duh. Mason’s big brother has them all the time and he pees out sticky stuff in the bed, so that’s why they’re called wet.”
Heaven help me. I don’t even know how to respond to that.
He grabs my arm and pulls. “Come on. Get up! We have to make the special French toast for Mommy before she wakes up!”
“Huh?”
“The. French. TOAST. For Mommy!”
Oh crap. “What day is it?”
“Friday!” He throws his hands up like I’m the biggest idiot to ever exist.
“No, knucklehead. What date?”
“Two twenty-twooooooo!”
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
It’s Mama’s birthday.
I totally forgot about it.
Jax can see it all over my face too. His little jaw slowly unhinges. “You forgot?”
And shit.
I jump up and scramble to pull my sweatpants back on (apparently kicked them off in the night when I was dreaming about Zan-Zan…ugh). “What are you waiting for?” I say to Jax. “Go get the eggs and milk”—Do we even have eggs and milk?! God, I am a terrible daughter!—“mixed up!”
He dashes off, and I try to figure out what to do. I’ve gotten Mama a birthday gift—and given it to her with breakfast—every year since before Jax was even born. Last year, she was dealing with some psoriasis on her hands, so Mr. Z helped me get this cream from Jordan that had Dead Sea minerals in it. Year before that, I got insoles for her shoes. When I come into the dining room empty-handed, it’ll be dead obvious I forgot.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Jax and I get the apple-cinnamon French toast whipped up, and I toss together an onion and cheese omelet and some bacon. (When/where did we get bacon? It’s like eight dollars a pack! This is why I do the shopping….) Then we set the table and both run off to get dressed.
When we get back, Mama is sitting in her spot, beaming. Jax has his gift in hand, and as he rushes over to her, I feel like the most imbecilic douche-jackass in history. Have I really gotten so wrapped up in this ticket hunt (and fine, in the irritating but admittedly hot rich boy hunting with me) that I forgot my friggin’ mother’s birthday?!
“Get over here, Rico,” Mama says.
Time to face the music. “I, umm…I didn’t really get you—”
“I have a surprise for you guys!” She cuts me off with a minute shake of the head.
Okay then…
“Ooh! A surprise!” Jax says. “What is it?”
She pinches his nose. “No school for you loves today because WE are going on a trip.”
Um. “A trip?”
“That’s right. As soon as we eat this delicious breakfast, we’re hitting the road.” She smiles up at me.
I’ve got so many emotions swirling right now, my face goes numb. Shock, confusion, disbelief…
Yet also a little bit of anticipation?
Hell, Jax looks like he’s about to explode into a pile of Legos.
But then my focus shifts to the unsightly crack in the table. The hole in the upholstery of the one unoccupied chair. The grungy carpet beneath us and yellowed linoleum in the kitchen.
And the questions begin to roll: Where the hell are we going?How are we getting there?Who’s paying?What about work (mine and hers)?How many extra hours am I gonna have to pick up when we get back to make up what we’ll miss?Why is she so inconsiderate?Doesn’t she realize I can’t just up and take off if I want to keep this job?That we NEED this income?What if things get super bad again?I bet she bought that bacon….Why is she so hell-bent on spending money we don’t freakin’ have?
And now I’m mad.
I part my lips to pour my anger all over the table, thick and sticky like spilled maple syrup—
“Rico?” Her shoulders slump. “Is everything okay?”
I just blink. Gape-mouthed like a startled fish. Her eyes are…open. Guard down. Not sure I’ve seen her like this since the day she came into the shelter, knelt in front of me with tears in her eyes, and told me we were moving to our own apartment in a new town.
The fury drops off me in sheets.
Today’s her thirty-eighth birthday.
And I forgot about it.
So I sit. I stuff my face (and feelings) with French toast.
“Get ready for the weekend of your young lives!” she says, her face glowing like she’s bioluminescent.