“All over. Hey, that’s a nice bike.” She walked over to check it out, and I followed. I glanced uneasily at the door.
“Mom, does Pop know you’re here?”
“Nope. Should he?”
It wouldn’t be good. Their current relationship was non-existent at best, contentious at worst. I knew—I was often in the middle. Although Pop had mellowed a bit over the years, I still didn’t think he’d want to get a surprise visit from his ex-wife.
“I think he’d be fucking shocked to see you, if I’m being honest,” I said, trying to catch her eye. “Is that why you called the other day? Are you back home?”
“I got your text a couple weeks back. About being in the city again. Thought I’d swing by for a visit. Hey, does the diner on the corner still have that sludge coffee I loved?” she asked.
“Rick’s?” I asked. “That place closed forever ago. Back when I was in high school.”
She clapped me on the shoulder again. She only came up to mid-chest on me, but with her big gray hair and loud laughter, she’d always been the center of attention, the spotlight. The firework as my dad’s family had called her. I never thought they had the best relationship, but I hadn’t known until Pop mentioned it that my grandmother had begged him not to marry her. Usually I just remembered her dominating every space and making everything fun. When she was around, that is.
“The Westway, then?” she said. She gave that famous smile of hers, and I softened. Rubbed the back of my neck and wondered if Fiona had been right. That she was in town for good news and maybe wanted to be more in our lives.
I nodded toward the subway station. “Come on. I’ll take ya. But I can’t stay for long since I’ve got stuff to do. I’m planning a benefit concert for The Red Room in a few days.”
“Holy shit, what’s up with your dad’s place?” She did look concerned.
I patted her arm and picked up my helmet. “It’s a long story if you’ve got the time.”
An hour later, Mom and I were devouring pastrami sandwiches at the diner, and my new irritation had faded away. It was hard to be mad when she was making me laugh with tales from the road and the weird-as-fuck people she met. Chuck, the cook, came out to see her with a surprised shout and a giant bear-hug.
“It’s always a good day when Barb comes home,” he said, grinning widely as my mom smiled up at him. A trio of people I didn’t know called out for her from the back of the restaurant, then swarmed her for more hugs. I picked at my fries and watched the reunion, her big hand gestures and contagious laughter. She wasn’t everyone’s cup of fucking tea, but people remembered my mom. The times we’d meet up on the road somewhere often happened at diners and dive bars just like this one, where everyone seemed to adore her.
I sent a secret text to Pop, letting him know, hoping the heads-up would smooth away any tensions while she was here. He could be civil, as long as it wasn’t a surprise.
Besides, he said he and Angela were spending the day together anyway.
“So where were you the past few months though?” I asked when she finally sat back down. “You never said.”
“North Carolina?” She didn’t sound sure. “Tallahassee for a bit before then. Hard to remember sometimes the older I get. Frank and I broke up.”
I wasn’t shocked, but it still sucked. “I’m sorry, Mom. What happened?”
“Same thing as always.” She added more sugar to her coffee, stirred it. “He wanted to stay in Tallahassee because he liked it there. Thought it was time we settled for a bit. I said no siree.”
I leaned back in the booth and propped my arm across the back. “You really liked Frank though, right?”
My mother had never re-married but had plenty of boyfriends over the years. None ever stuck around long, so I sometimes forgot which guy she was talking about.
“Yeah, of course. But he wanted more forever type things. I was stressed out just talking about it. It was easier to bail before he did something stupid like propose.”
“Always independent, huh?” I said.
This conversation was making me miss Fiona.
“I’m having fun, Max,” she said. “I miss you though. Happy you got to help your dad with this money stuff. I can’t believe he’s still living in the same place, working the same joint.”
“That place was our home, Mom.” It came out harsher than I meant, but she didn’t notice.
“For you, maybe,” she said. “Felt like a prison to me, always. You’ve got itchy feet like me.”
She wasn’t fucking wrong. I twirled my coffee cup between my fingers. “So I’ve got some good news.”
She shoved at my hand. “Tell me.”
I smiled. “I got a job at Rusty’s. In L.A.”
She leaned forward, eyes wide. “Holy fucking shit. You’re joking?”
“Nope. I’ll be doing custom builds. Working with celebrities and rich people to design their motorcycles.”
“Maybe you could take a look at my bike before you go? It hasn’t had a tune-up in ages.”
“Sure, of course,” I said. “Maybe, depending on where you go next, you could come visit out in California?”
She brightened. “I would like that. It’s been years since I was out there. Probably left a few too many broken hearts, if you know what I mean.”
I shoved my plate over so she could more easily eat my fries. Thought about her string of broken hearts and compared it to waking up hugging Fiona against my chest, breathing in the scent of her hair as the sun rose outside. I know I didn’t usually feel this way, but I’d let myself go deeper with Fiona, and the complications were what made it better.
“I’m seeing someone,” I said, trying to track her reaction. It was total shock.
“You are?”
“Fiona Quinn,” I said, smiling as I said her name because I was clearly so fucking gone for her. “You remember Lou and Sandy, right? The Hand Grenades?”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. She’s from that whole crowd at The Red Room?”
“Kind of. Her parents are in a band. You could say they’re minor celebrities.”
“Those people there never leave this town,” she said. “They’ll be a hundred years old going to the same place and seeing the same people. Your girl’s not like that, right?”
“Mom,” I said, looking behind me to see who was around. “Those people keep Pop’s business open. Those people made sure I had dinner and did my homework when Pop couldn’t find someone to watch me for the night.”
These words came out sharp, and I meant it. Pop made digs at Mom all the time. So did Mateo and Rafael. All of it usually rubbed me the wrong fucking way.
I’d forgotten Mom did it too. Had forgotten—or maybe allowed myself to forget—the very real fact that a lot of kids with divorced or separated parents don’t have one that straight-up leaves them to fend for themselves.
“Okay, jeez,” she said, rolling her eyes cartoonishly. “When did you get so fucking serious? I’m just saying… I didn’t expect you to be dating someone from back home. Dating in general, honestly. I was a little surprised. But if you like her, that’s great. Really. Do you want me to meet her?”