I didn’t think humans were capable of such compassion and commitment.
Bonnie and Cupcake, put out with the lack of attention they were getting, pined loudly and jumped and scratched at my back.
If it wasn’t so cold out here, and I wasn’t so bleeding sore, I would run a few laps of the lawn with them to wear them out, but it was taking everything I had in me to stay upright, so I decided against it.
I took the time to give all three a belly rub, stopping to give one extra ear rub to Sookie before standing up and heading inside.
The suitcase just inside the back door alerted me to that fact that my mother was home.
If I hadn't seen the case, I would've figured it out by the unmistakable aroma of beef stew wafting through the air.
With my stomach grumbling in agreement, I sailed through the utility room, following the delicious smell into the kitchen.
I found my mother standing at the stove.
She had her back to me and she was dressed in one of those pants suits she wore for work. Her blonde hair was pulled back from her face with a fancy looking clip, and she looked like home.
At the sight of her, I felt a weight shift off my shoulders.
My mother worked for some fashion consultancy firm based in London.
She was constantly traveling for work and I'd missed her these past three weeks she'd been away.
Hadn't realized how much until now.
"Hey, Ma," I mumbled, making my presence known. "How's it going?"
"Johnny!" Swinging around with a wooden spoon clutched in her hand, Mam beamed at me. "You're home." Dropping the spoon on the counter, she wiped her hands on her apron and then made a beeline for me. "Come here and let me squeeze you."
I moved in for a quick hug that turned into a full, thirty second hug.
"Ma," I chuckled, freeing myself from her death grip. "I'm still here. Relax."
"I missed you so much." Reluctantly, she released me and took a step back, eyes trailing over me with that weird maternal look she always gave me. "Jaysus, you've grown another foot."
I cocked a brow. "In three weeks?"
Mam returned my sarcasm with a scowl. "Don’t be smart."
"I'm always smart." I pressed a kiss to her cheek and then sidestepped her, my sights set on that pot of stew. "I'm starving."
"Have you been eating?"
"Of course."
"Properly?"
"Always."
"How's school?"
"It's school."
She didn’t ask about rugby. It was always questions about things like school, my friends, my homework, my day, and god love me, my feelings.
But never rugby.
It wasn’t that Mam didn’t care about my passion. She just always made it a point of hers to let me know that she cared about the rest of me, first and most.
"And Gerard?" My mother always used Gibsie's first name. "How's he doing?"
"He's the same as always," I replied, heaping stew into a bowl before moving to the island. "Is Da back from Dublin yet?"
My father was a barrister, a fairly prolific one at that, and spent a huge portion of his time rotating between Cork and his HQ in Dublin. It all depended on the client he was defending and the seriousness of the case. But it basically went like this; the bigger the crime, the bigger the commute.
My parents' work commitments and schedules meant that I spent a lot of time on my own when they were traveling, and that was exactly how I liked it.
Up until I was about fourteen, they would have our neighbor, Maura Reilly, come stay with me, but that was mostly just to drive me to school and training. I was mature enough to stay on my own and fairly self-sufficient.
Maura still stopped by when my mother was away on business, but that was more to clean up and cook a batch of meals.
After so many years living this way, not to mention endless freedom, I didn’t think I would cope with having them around me 24/7.
"He won't be back from Dublin until the middle of March at the earliest," Mam replied, coming to join me at the island. "I flew into Dublin this morning and had lunch with him before driving down," she explained before taking the stool opposite mine.
"Why'd you do that?" I asked between mouthfuls of stew. "You could've stayed above with him for a few days."
"Why'd you think?" Mam rested her elbows on the counter and smiled. "Because I wanted to see my baby."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a baby, Ma."
"You're my baby," she countered. "And you always will be. I don’t care if you grow to seven feet tall. You'll still be my little Johnny."
Jaysus.
What could you do with a woman like that?
Shaking my head, I gave up on my spoon and lifted the bowl to my mouth, draining the last drop of soup at the bottom before slapping the bowl down and sighing in contentment.
No one cooked like my mother.
Not the chefs at the academy or the takeout restaurants in town.
The woman had birthed me and she had a direct line to my stomach.
"I see your manners haven't improved," Mam quipped, giving me a disapproving frown.
"Can't help myself, Ma," I shot back with a wink. "I'm a growing boy."
Moving for seconds, I filled my bowl and just stood over the stove to eat.
There was no point in sitting down when I had plans on cleaning out the pot.
"How did your checkup go last week?" she asked. "Is Dr. Murphy happy with how you're healing?"
Wouldn’t know, because I didn’t go…
I grunted a blasé response, too busy inhaling my food.
"What about the doctors at The Academy?" she pushed. "I know they weren't keen on you returning so soon?"
Again, I grunted my response because getting into this with my mother was a discussion I could do without tonight.
If I lied, she'd see through me.
If I told her the truth, she'd panic.
Either way this discussion went, my mother would insist on seeing my injury – aka: my cock and balls.
And either way this discussion went, I would lose my shit and tell her no.
Then she would overreact and get on the phone to my father and cry about how I wouldn’t show her my 'private parts' and how he needed to come home to deal with me because I was probably dying from 'gangrene of the penis' or some other horrific and overdramatic illness.
Distraction and avoidance was key to a tear-free Mam and a trauma-free me.
"Delighted you're home, Ma, but I'm going to head up to my room and start on my homework," I decided on saying instead. "Fifth year is kicking my ass. I'm actually thinking about getting some grinds for Irish." I added that last bit in for extra affect. I didn’t need grinds for anything. I hadn't scored less than a B on any test or exam since third year.
In fact, I could be the one giving the fucking grinds. I sure as hell spent enough time helping the lads in my business and accounting classes.
But my distraction worked, steering my mother's concerns away from my ailments and onto my education.
"Oh, pet, that's okay," she quickly announced, tone comforting. "I'm proud of you for being brave enough to admit when you're having a problem. I'll make a few calls in the morning to see what's available."
"Yeah, that might be a good idea," I agreed with a solemn nod. Stretching my arms over my head, I forced a yawn.
"You look shattered, love," my mother assessed, her brown eyes laced with empathy. "Why don’t you get an early night and I'll write you a note for your homework?"
"Thanks, Ma, I'm wrecked."
I walked over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then hightailed it out of the kitchen before she had a chance to remember her earlier question.
"Oh, and before I forget," she called out, stopping me in my tracks. "I booked your car into the garage for a service. The closest date I could get was Monday fortnight, so I'll give you a lift to school and we can pick your car up afterwards."
"Ah, shite," I grumbled, turning in the doorway to face her.
"What?"
"I've sessions booked with the P.T in The Academy every evening for the next month." Exhaling a frustrated breath, I rubbed my forehead. "I need my car, Ma." I looked at her with a hopeful expression before adding, "Unless you want to drop me off and pick me up at the clinic – or loan me the jeep?"