I gave a lock of her raven hair a tweak. She stuck her tongue out at me.
“Is that so?” Dazia laughed, then discreetly removed one of the table settings I’d put down. “Your mom isn’t coming down for dinner tonight, darling. She’s a bit tired today.”
“Oh.”
The light moment crashed to the ground like an anvil. My father stared at Mom’s empty chair, his eyes heavy. Amelia retreated behind her hair with her phone.
That’s some math for you: We were a family of four. Subtract one mom, and what did you have left?
I don’t know who we’ll be when she’s gone…
“I’ll go up and say hello,” I said.
“Good boy,” Dazia said. “She will love that.”
I strode through our big house quickly and took the stairs up two at a time. Not because I was in a hurry to further witness what cancer had done to my beautiful mother, but to prove I wasn’t as scared as I felt.
I knocked on the master bedroom door softly. “Mom? It’s me.”
“Come in, love,” came the faint reply.
The shades were up and the window open to let in the fresh air and golden twilight. Mom lay in the center of the king-sized bed, looking small and frail, swimming in man-style silk pajamas. A scarf covered her head and she set down the book she was reading to smile at me.
She’s still beautiful, I thought fiercely. Fuck cancer.
“Hey, Mom.” I kissed her on the forehead. “How do you feel?”
Not that I’d get a real answer. She’d finished a course of chemo and targeted radiation last week that left her weak, nauseated, and exhausted. But she never complained. Not once.
I wish I were as brave.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a little tired today.” She reached up to cup my cheek as I sat down on the edge of the bed. “You look tired too. How was practice?”
“Fine. Same as yesterday. Coach is aiming for another championship.”
“I’m sure he is. What about you? What are you aiming for this year? Your senior year.”
To somehow survive if you don’t.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Look good in front of the scouts. Get into Alabama, I guess.”
“And make your father proud.” Mom pursed her lips. “I’ve been thinking a lot about his football dreams and yours. Sometimes I get the feeling they’re not the same.”
It should’ve been so easy to tell her the truth, but I’d been boxing up my emotions and putting them away for years. Stuffing them in the attic where they were growing dust, so that Dad could be happy. He’d been a star quarterback for Alabama, almost assuredly a first-round draft pick to the NFL. Until disaster.
I still remember watching the replay. Once. One viewing was all my stomach could handle. Dad dropped back to pass, his O-line fell apart and two defenders took him down in a pile. Then the guys jumped up and frantically waved over the medics, because my father’s leg was bent at a sickening angle no human leg was meant to bend.
Career over.
“He wants it so badly for you,” Mom said. “Mostly because his dream is unfinished. He sees the potential for you to have everything he couldn’t. But do you want it for you? Sometimes, I’m not so sure.”
The truth was waiting to be released. Like setting down a thousand-pound weight. Or unpacking all those boxes I’d carefully stored out of sight. But if I told Mom the truth, she’d insist Dad know too. It’d crush him and then he’d have to deal with me and losing the love of his life. It was too much.
I was too late.
“Nah, I’m good,” I said. “Just tired. Lots of practice. But forget that boring shit. What about you? Can I bring you anything? Dazia’s making spaghetti…”
Mom’s clear blue eyes narrowed. She knew I wasn’t saying everything, but she let it go. For now. “That woman is a whirlwind, isn’t she? I’m so glad she came.”
“Me too. But she has to go back to DC soon, right?”
“In a bit, but she promises to come back as soon as she can.” Mom’s thin hand squeezed my strong one. “It’s been easier having her here, I know. Not that anything about this is easy.”
“Least of all for you,” I said, my throat thick.
Mom smiled. “I’m sick, but I’m still your mom, even if I can’t take care of you the way I want to. I never want to be a burden—”
“Impossible,” I said fiercely. “You’re not a burden.”
“And you’re a sweet boy growing into a good man.” She pulled out an envelope from today’s mail. “I’ve signed myself up for the Medical Center’s Patient Care Program. Twice a week, a promising student from your school will spend the afternoon here, helping around the house and taking care of things for me.”
I flipped opened the letter. “Violet McNamara? She’s going to be your patient care…person?”
“Volunteer. Do you know her?”
“She’s been hanging around our crowd lately. She’s very pretty. Smart. In fact…” I cleared my throat. “I was thinking about getting to know her a little better. Maybe ask her out.”
Mom’s eyebrow ridges rose. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I…I like her.”
Jesus, I sounded like a terrible actor giving the world’s worst line reading.
My mother regarded me closely, as if seeing right through me. I wished she could. Maybe she could tell me what she saw because when I pictured myself on a date, I couldn’t see who with. Only a nameless, faceless girl who made me laugh, whom I could tell all my shit to and she’d understand. No judgement. Only connection.
And maybe not a girl at all.
I quickly boxed that thought up with the rest and tucked it away.
“I’m happy to hear that you like her,” Mom said. “I can’t remember the last time you mentioned being interested in someone.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Football takes up so much time. But yeah, Violet is…nice.”
Christ.
“Well, I’m looking forward to meeting her. Now go on downstairs and eat before your dinner gets cold.”
I practically jumped off the bed, eager to get away from this convo. “Can I bring you anything?”
“Maybe a Hot Pocket later?”
I rolled my eyes, laughing. “You and your Hot Pockets.”
She grinned. “Nutrition at its finest.”
But the fact she was willing to eat at all was a win in my book.
I went back downstairs to a quiet dinner with the tension of perpetual worry strung between Dad, Amelia, and myself like wires, pulling us tight, ready to snap.
The air was different now in the house, every second tainted because each one brought us closer to a time when Mom wasn’t going to be here. Dad left dinner early to seek refuge in the den with his football highlights. Amelia took her phone and went to her room while I cleaned up so that Dazia could sit with Mom.
After the dishes were done and the kitchen dark, I went to my room, stripped down to my boxer-briefs, and tried to get some sleep for yet another early practice. But my body was wide awake and exhausted from the strain of repressing my deepest longings at the same time. I’d been playing a role, lying to myself for so long that I had no idea who I was.