“He did all his homework and fell asleep to cartoons. There’s a permission slip for you to sign on the kitchen table.”
The purple piece of paper is lying next to the salt and pepper shakers when we reach the kitchen. “Did he eat dinner?”
“I made spaghetti, so of course. It’s his favorite. There’s some in the fridge if you’re hungry.” She takes a step back and eyes me carefully in the way only a mother can. “What’s going on with you, Ali?”
Turning my back to her, I run some water from the tap and take a long draw of the cool liquid, hoping it calms my reddened cheeks and stops me from blushing further.
“Nothing,” I say, leaning against the fridge.
She taps her lips with her fingertip, something she’s done my whole life. “You look flushed. Are you feeling well?”
I can’t help but laugh. I’d love to tell her that I’m feeling particularly amazing, that I haven’t felt this good, this woman-like, in years. But I don’t because she’d get all hyped up, wanting details, and I’ve learned my lesson in that department. Besides, this thing, whatever it may be, will end with dinner in the best case scenario. And, if so, that’ll be that. Nothing more.
“I’m fine, Mom. Stop.”
“Stop what? Being a mom?” she sighs. “You know I worry about you. You run yourself ragged. Between work at the restaurant, catering, school, taking care of Huxley . . .” She shakes her head and grabs her purse off the chair.
“I have a lot going on. I know. But it’s all a means to an end.”
“I know, sweetheart. But I fear you’re going to burn out.”
“Not happening,” I say, giving her a reassuring smile for the millionth time about this. “I’m not dipping into my savings to pay for school. That money is a rainy day fund, something I can build on for Huxley. Catering has to pay for school and school has to pay for my life someday so I can quit waitressing.”
“I’d rather you use the savings for school and then—”
“I know. I know you would, and I appreciate your concern. But I have a plan. I’m setting myself up like I should’ve when I was younger. I need to do these things on my own so no one can take them away from me.”
Her face sours at the reference to my ex-husband, her lips pressed tightly together. If anyone hates Hayden more than me, it’s my parents. It was hard on them to see me humiliated and broken-hearted, but they helped me pick up the pieces of my broken life.
Not that there were many pieces to reconstruct. We had clothes and personal affects when we left New Mexico and a little money. And most of that was eaten up in attorney’s fees after defending myself in Hayden’s debauchery, finding a new home and new job. I had no nest egg, no safe place, no career or degree to fall back on. Hayden took everything from me. No one will take it from me again.
“Let’s not go there, Mom. What’s done is done.”
“What’s done is done,” she repeats, tossing her purse on her shoulder. “If you’re good, I’m going to head out now. It’s late.”
“Go. Tell Daddy I said hi.”
She kisses my cheek and leaves me standing in the middle of the kitchen.
The house is quiet. I dread this part of the day, the moment I get in from work or school and Huxley is asleep and my mother is waiting on me to get home like I’m a teenager. It’s the time of day when I’m forced to look in the proverbial mirror and see myself and my situation. I’m not happy with what I see but it’s getting better.
My stomach growls, reminding me that it’s empty. Even so, I don’t feel hungry. I’m completely warm and fuzzy from head-to-toe, like I’ve taken a few swigs of cinnamon whiskey. But I haven’t. I’m buzzed on a sexy politician.
Grabbing a pen and signing Huxley’s permission slip, I pad down the hallway to his little bedroom. It’s across the hall from mine and decked out in a baseball theme.
He’s in his bed. The light from the moon shines in the windows, making his blonde hair look like it has a halo. I bend forward and listen to the slow breathing, the precious sound that never ceases to amaze me. I used to stand in his bedroom over his crib at night and just watch him sleep. After we left Hayden, I would sneak into his room late at night and try to convince myself things would be okay. That what he’d gone through at the hands of his own father wasn’t going to ruin him forever.
“Mommy?” Huxley’s tear-filled eyes met mine, both hope and misery swimming together. “Where’s Daddy?” His little voice cracked, the words leaving his mouth on a sob half-repressed, only a moment away from being a wail. “He’s coming back, right?”
I pulled him to me, wrapping my arms protectively around his shoulders. I intentionally buried his face in my stomach so he couldn’t see the river of tears cascading down my cheeks and prayed he couldn’t feel my heart breaking.