To my surprise, Sylvia doesn't react. Ryan's sideways glance at her is telling. He doesn't want to get in trouble, but her non-reaction seems to ease him a little, and he shakes his head.
"And he's a lot bigger than you, isn't he? He's bigger just like you're bigger than Jenny. I want you to think about how that makes her feel the next time you decide to be mean to someone. I don't think Jenny was trying to upset Ian, and as much as I like the fact that you defended him, I don't like that you pushed her."
"I'm sorry," he says. His big gray eyes shine up at me. My heart warms, and for the first time since we started this conversation, I don't feel the slightest bit awkward about disciplining someone else's kid.
"Okay, time for bed." I instruct Ian to take Ryan and get some pajamas on and to go crawl into bed.
Sylvia and I sit in silence at the kitchen table while the boys get ready to go to sleep. Ian tells Ryan he has to brush his teeth, but the kid doesn't have a toothbrush here. I turn away when Ian hands his over and Ryan starts brushing. I think I'm supposed to tell them they shouldn't share or something, but I'd rather they both have clean teeth when they go to bed, so I don't say anything. Thinking about where Ian and I were last year, hell even four months ago, I find myself stunned to silence. I didn't have the luxury of worrying about clean teeth before. I was just lucky he was eating, or he was aware enough that I could talk to him. His night tremors are almost a thing of the past now, and my boy eats like a miniature horse. I was able to get him into the doctor, and he's finally back to normal weight for his height and age. I stood there--in front of the doctor, her nurse, and my boy--and I fucking bawled. I felt such incredible relief and gratitude that he was healthy, I couldn't control my reaction. I didn't even apologize for it, either.
"You're good for them," Sylvia says.
I blink at her, not knowing what to say. Diverting my eyes, I see the boys are already passed out in bed. Unfazed by my response, she just smiles all-knowingly, and I have to admit it's creepy as fuck. Until now, I felt like the woman barely noticed me, but now, as I sit at this table with her, it feels like she's paid a hell of a lot better attention than I thought.
"My son likes you, but he's an idiot. I don't know that he deserves you, but I know damn well that my grandson does. I've never been good about giving Ryan gentle. I guess I wasn't gentle with Jim, either. I let his dad convince me that boys need to be commanded, not coddled."
"I think you can do both," I say quietly.
"I think you can, too. In fact, I'm counting on it. I'm not going to be here forever."
"I'm not . . . trying to be Ryan's mother, but I also can't just watch Jim bully him like that."
"And that's why you're good for them. Not many men stand up to my son, let alone women. Jim needs a woman he respects, and he respects you. I wasn't sure why at first. But I've been watching you, Ruby Buckley. You've done a lot with very little, and I respect that. So does Jim. I'm not here because you're good for Jim. Or Ryan. Even though you are. I'm here because I know that if you give him the chance, he'll be good for you, too. I see you with your boy. You hover--obsess--over him. You're giving Ian what I should have given Jim and never have been able to give Ryan."
"Why are you telling me this?" It's not what I want to say. I want to ask her why she thinks I'm good for Jim or something equally as flattering. I want to know what she sees that I don't.
"Cancer. They're taking my tits."
"I'm sorry." It's not enough, but it's all I have. I've never really been around somebody with cancer before, so I don't know what to say or how to be supportive. Fuck. I suck at this shit.
"I'm not here for sympathy. You know what's happening tonight. Why aren't you at the clubhouse?"
"After this afternoon? Hell no."
"He wanted you there. It's a big day for him." Sylvia leans back and turns toward the boys. A smile finds its way to her lips before it falls. "Ryan was three months old when CPS dropped him off at our house. Jim had to grow up quick, just like I'm sure you did. My grandbaby's never had a mom--until now."
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and focus on the small but inane act with more attention than is necessary.
"Go. I'll watch the boys."
"I shouldn't," I say. I want to. God, I want to. Part of the reason I was so grouchy about having to pick the boys up early is that I wasn't able to help prep the clubhouse for Jim's party. The club's old president just retired to their mother charter in Nevada. Rage went from VP to President last week, and now they've made Jim their new VP. This night was important to him. He talked about it for over a week. And I know he wanted me to be there. But he was high today. And mean. He wasn't just an asshole. Jim was something I've never seen him as before, and it scared me. I want the guy I was getting to know, who treated me like a person, back. I want the guy who I thought was my friend, not the man who showed up today.