“Honey, there’s some sandwiches in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”
“Mrrraamph,” I said into the mattress. I felt the bed shift slightly as she sat next to me. “Mrrraamph,” I repeated. I felt her hand on my foot. I brought my leg toward me, which left me looking like a splayed-out frog on its belly.
“Zeus, what’s wrong, sweetie?”
“Errrmm,” I replied. She placed her hand on my foot again. Short of dislocating my hip, I’d run out of room, so I begrudgingly received her consolation.
“You haven’t left your room since you got home yesterday.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Zeus, can you at least look at me?”
I slowly removed the pillow from my head and rolled over. Mom reached out and gently brushed the hair from my forehead with her fingertips. Instantly, her touch reminded me of being sick when I was younger, when she’d magically appear in the middle of the night to soothe me and lie with me until I fell back asleep. The sixteen-year-old part of me wanted to swat her hand away. The six-year-old part of me wanted to curl up in her lap.
I felt my eyes tickle and burn as my brain sent signals to my tear ducts to activate. I didn’t want to cry in front of my mom, I really didn’t. Why’d she have to go and touch me? Dammit.
“It’s okay,” she said. And suddenly, it was. She put her arms around me and held me tight. We both cried—me out of self-pity for being an asshole; her, I assumed, for seeing me suffer.
After regaining my composure, I told her everything. I told her how miserable I’d been after moving to Buffalo Falls, how lonely and out of place I’d felt. And then how I’d met Rose, how she’d made everything better and more fun when I was with her. I told her about the polka dancing, the movie at Hilltop, the psychic—all of it—and how they’d been the best days of my life. And then I told her about the Open Mic and Rose’s scholarship news, and how I’d screwed it all up, and how Rose told me to leave, and how she probably never wanted to see me again.
Mom sat cross-legged at the end of my bed listening to the whole thing, nodding when appropriate, and making soft mmms and mm-hmms when needed.
When I reached the end, she let everything sink in before speaking.
“Opening your heart to people can sometimes be painful. But it’s a beautiful thing, Zeus, it really is.”
“It doesn’t feel beautiful.”
“Not always, no. But it means you have a heart, son. And that you care about someone enough for it to hurt. I’m sure Rose is feeling the same way you are right now. Worse, maybe.”
I remembered the look on Rose’s face when she told me she wasn’t getting into the conservatory. She’d felt bad enough receiving the news, then on top of it, I’d showed up and acted like a complete jerk. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid. What was I thinking?
“Now, are you ready for some tough love?”
I wasn’t.
“Sure,” I said.
“You’ve been a little self-involved this summer.”
I felt my stomach sink. “Really?”
“And it’s okay—you’re sixteen. You’re a teenager. You’re supposed to go out and make mistakes and have fun. These are all little life lessons; you learn from them or you don’t. But if you choose to learn from them, you become a better person, which will make you a better man.”
I looked at my mom and realized how little I’d seen of her lately. We’d always been close—after all, it was just the two of us those first eight years before Grub came along. I saw the crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes, and the gray that now highlighted her brown hair. Where had the time gone? Had I been a jerk to her, too? God, I have, haven’t I?
“How have you been?” I asked, trying to summarize my thoughts.
Mom looked surprised by the question, which was enough to let me know it had been too long since I’d asked.
“If we’re being honest here, I’m a bit worried,” she said.
“About what?”
“Well, about you, for one. About your brother. About other things.”
“Like what, the café?”
Mom paused, then nodded.
I’d feared this news for a while, though I’d tried to ignore the signs. “Is it bad?” I asked.
“Hard to say at this point. When I was waitressing, as much as I disliked it, the money was steady. Still, I thought: my own business, small town, cheaper rent, lower cost of living, no problem. But it’s been a lot harder converting people from cheeseburgers to tofu than I thought it would be. May have to rethink things.”
I felt my stomach drop again. “Rethink things? What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure. It could mean changing the menu. It could mean shutting down and finding a new job here. Or it could mean moving back to Chicago and taking my old job back.”
Moving back to Chicago. The words I’d once longed to hear now echoed in my head like a death sentence . . . the death of my relationship with Rose, or whatever was left of it.
Mom continued. “And I haven’t even begun to start paying back the money your aunt Willow loaned me. I’m not sure how I ever will at this point.”
I watched the ceiling fan spin for a minute before responding. “Is that why we haven’t been up to see her?” Every summer for as long as I could remember, we spent a week at Aunt Willow’s cottage in Wisconsin. I’d been so preoccupied with Rose, I’d nearly forgotten about it.
Mom sighed. “No, of course not. You know your aunt, she’s been nothing but supportive. We’ll try to make it up there later this summer. Manny’s been asking about it, too. I just can’t afford to close the café right now. I need every customer I can get.” She saw the look on my face. “Don’t worry, sweetie, there’s still time to turn this ship around.”
I changed the subject slightly. “You said you’re worried about me.”
“That’s my job, I’m your mom. All I want is for you to be happy and healthy. Right now, you’re neither. You’re depressed, heartbroken, and malnourished. Have a sandwich. Take a shower. You smell.” She winked.
I laughed. “It gets worse,” I said. “I have a spiritual blockage.”
“Yes, I heard. That’s unfortunate.”
“I need to surround myself in white light to keep the bad spirits away.” I did the lasso motion above my head, like Mo had.
“Well, save some white light for the rest of us.” She lay down next to me. We listened to the rattle of the ceiling fan until I fell asleep. When I woke, she was gone.
Our apartment was only a few blocks from the river, so that night the three of us ventured out to watch the fireworks. We found a spot with a clear view, sitting on some old train tracks away from the crowd.
“One last little piece of advice,” Mom said, turning to me. “You should apologize to Rose. It will mean a lot. Whatever ends up happening—and who knows what will happen—it’s the right thing to do.”
She was right. I’d apologize tomorrow. “I will,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” said Grub, sliding a foot back and forth through the gravel. “Blackjack has a plan.”