She gestures to Vance with her pencil. “What about you, hon?”
“I’ll have a large order of pancakes with extra butter, a side order of bacon and sausage, and one of those glazed doughnuts in the glass case… and a Coke. Please.”
“You got it.” The waitress picks up the menus, her glance darting between us. “You two are awfully cute together,” she comments as she walks off toward the kitchen.
“We’re not together,” I yell out, and from the way Vance’s face twists I think I might have offended him. “No offense,” I quickly add. “I just don’t like people making incorrect assumptions about me.”
He grimaces, heaving his arms over his chest. “You mean much like you did with me?”
“Right.” I bow my head, both in apology and to hide my red cheeks. “I’m sorry about that.”
“I’m just razzing you. Take it easy there, Mickey.”
“Oh.” I lift up and he shoots me a half-smile. The waitress shows up with our drinks and I wait until she walks away. “So you were asking about your mom?”
“Yeah.” His expression shifts, now stamped with severity and he leans against the booth.
I do the opposite and edge forward, placing my elbows on the table. “I don’t know. I reacted, I guess. I saw her struggling with the memory and wanted to take away her pain in that moment. I wanted to make it happy for her.”
Vance nods. Of course he understands. “I just… I haven’t been able to make her smile like that in so long.” His chin lowers. “Sometimes… a lot of times, I don’t know what to say or do. It’s… I never know what the right thing is… and I used to know. Before she got sick. I always knew.”
Something inside of me demands I reach out for him—his hand, his finger, anything. But I know he doesn’t want that so I keep my body parts to myself. I won’t deny it’s a struggle for me, though. I’m an artist and a sculptor. Touch is as natural to me as breathing.
“I understand. But Vance, she’s not my mother.” I lock my fingers together and squeeze, trying to ease my frustration. “I’m not as close to the situation as you are. It’s easier when you’re on the outside. I’m not sure I could do it if it was my own mother. I’m not sure I’m strong enough.”
“I guess.” He pinches a sugar packet, flicking it with his finger while disappearing into his head. I feel the need to find him.
“I loved the poetry. Do you read to her a lot?”
“I do.” He lets out a sad laugh. “She was always the one to read to me, and now the roles are reversed.”
“It’s a beautiful thing.”
His eyes flick to mine and linger to the point of making me shift in my seat. “You’re right. It is.”
The waitress chooses that moment to return to the table with our food, smirking as if she interrupted something. “Okay, loveys. We’re a little busy tonight. Food is served and apologies for the delay.”
“Thank you,” Vance and I utter at the same time.
“Jinx,” I hurry and say to him.
“I don’t do that shit.” He grins, pouring half the maple syrup bottle onto his pancakes.
My mouth gapes open. “Are you kidding me? You could swim in that.”
Again he grins, this time around a mouthful of pancake. “Yup.”
I cringe as if I’m disgusted, even though I’m smiling. “Yuck.”
He stabs a piece of pancake and holds it up, the syrup dripping onto the table. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
I block him with one hand, lifting my turkey burger with the other. “No thanks.”
“You’re missing out,” he counters, making a big show of swirling his pancake in gobs of butter and syrup.
My face contorts in a crazy way and he chuckles as he continues to eat. Without thinking, I tell him, “I like it when you laugh.”
He stops chewing, his grin long gone and I think I might have ruined the rare carefree moment we were having. In fact, I know I did when he replies, “It’s not okay for me.”
I set my burger down, giving him my full attention. “What do you mean?”
“To be happy. Not when my mother is rotting away in there.”
A crushing vulnerability shades his eyes and it resonates in my core. I realize that nobody has ever made it okay for him—to carry on, to live, to breathe. My hand goes to my chest, trying to push back the swell of emotion that wants to escape. For reasons I don’t fully understand, I suddenly want to make it okay for him. “Oh, Vance. You’ve got it all wrong. That woman in there, the one that I saw… she would want you to be happy.” I watch him as he tosses my words around in his head, trying to see if they make sense. And then, because I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut, I add, “Well, I like your laugh. And your smile, too. If I’m honest. Which,” I wink, “I always am.”
He attempts to smother a smile, but it’s like a beam of light across his face.
“You see. Now I’m two for two.”