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My new natural reaction to this man is a massive eye roll. “Do you ever look at the servers that bring your food?”
“No, I have my stuff delivered, and if I have to go out, like I do tonight, I focus on my clients.”
“You don’t look twice at anyone who isn’t wearing a Rolex and sipping champagne,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Hey, I’m looking at you.” He cocks his head to the side and, okay, that puts me in my place. His face somber slightly. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, honestly. For a quick second, sometimes, I think you might see reality, but then you open your mouth and ruin the moment,” I say. “It’s a shame. You’ve got the looks.”
“You think I’m good-looking?” His chest puffs, standing a little straighter. His eyebrow curves up along with the tip of his lips.
“Then you talk, and I’m reminded how shallow you are. That trumps any good looks.” I throw my hands up with air quotes on his face. Slapping my palms on my bare thighs. “I gotta go.”
“Oh god, how am I supposed to go on with the rest of my day with you thinking I’m an awful person?”
He irritates the hell out of me and what’s worse is—he knows it. It’s taking every ounce of patience and control with him.
“Like a cockroach, you’ll survive and leech off the people to better serve yourself.” I curtsy, dropping my chin toward my chest.
Anger. I’ve never seen someone so furious. It satisfied part of me for causing this break of his cockiness. The other part kind of feels bad. Just kidding. I’m not ashamed of scrapping my way through life. I’m just tired of people assuming that I need more out of life.
“You. Don’t. Know. Me.” His words seethe through his teeth. We stand, squaring our shoulders to each other.
“I know enough to see that money is more important than human connection.” I take a step toward him, closing the distance between us. His breath staggers, and his eyes are full of anger. Silently, I give myself a pat on the back for striking a nerve. “I’m out. I’ve got a date.”
“A date? Who would date you?”
His quick response stalls me for a moment. That comment hits below the belt, but in all fairness, I’ve done the same to him. Well played.
“Lucky it’s none of your business. Now, this conversation is not productive. I’m going to be late.” I dismissively wave him off.
“Hope your date doesn’t show.” He tries again at a below the belt jab.
“Like your eyebrows.” I quickly retort.
A panic stutter is all I hear. Walking away, I look over my shoulder at him, leaning down at his reflection in the window of a car. His fingers touch his forehead and trace down to his ever-present eyebrows. That was way too simple of an insult. No one sees an eyebrow dig coming. That’s what makes it so satisfying.
I climb into my truck and slowly drive to the assisted living facility. It’s visiting hours and I’ll take any time I can get with my mom.
A traumatic brain injury stalled her way of life all those years ago. She’s not all there and needs round-the-clock care. The physical and emotional demands were out of our league. So, we work our asses off to make sure she has proper care. We volunteer when we can just to pay back the amazing staff. It’s also how we met many people. Friends of friends use us to fix their cars or help with other things in exchange for helping take care of my mom.
Pulling into the parking lot, I sit in my car for a little longer, just staring at the front doors of the sterile but musty facility. I am giving myself a mental pep-talk before walking in to get my heart broken. I check the time on the radio and offer one last shoulder shrug.
“Let’s go Collins.”
I walk up to the glass doors, and I’m immediately buzzed through. Stepping through the lobby, I nod to the front desk assistant and pass through the secure doors. I try to say hi to as many people as I can. My feet carry me through the threshold of her door, and I find my mom sitting in a wingback chair by the window. It’s a peaceful view as she stares out the large framed window.
“Hey, mom. It’s Collins.” I knock on her door. The hollow sound vibrates through the cold, sterile room. A small part of me always hopes that she will turn and recognize me. Talk to me. Hug me. Just be present in some form with me.
A small glance toward me and my chest stills. The blank stare reminds me she doesn’t register who I am. A bird flying across the gardens grabs her attention back and just like that, the moment is gone.
She holds a large piece of my heart I will never get back. I sit in front of a person who is alive, but I continue to mourn the past like a fresh wound.
Sucking in a deep breath, I lean back in my chair across from her. I pull out my classic car magazine and, like every other time, I read from the pages and speak mindlessly about anything and everything with her.
“Just so you know, I’m doing everything I can to make Leland and Lawson happy. It’s been so long since they’ve been happy. I wish you could tell me what to do at this moment.”
A wish grazes against my lips, waiting for a response that won’t come.
