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“Thanks for giving me a ride, Coach. And I’d just like to apologize on behalf of my mom for her behavior over the last week. She’s not usually that weird.”
I chuckle at Owen sounding like the adult in the relationship, turning in my seat to face him.
“You don’t have to apologize. That’s all on me. I… did something that hurt her a while ago, and I deserve her weirdness.”
Owen’s eyes suddenly narrow on me.
“You hurt her?”
“I did.” I nod, not wanting to say too much, but also not wanting to lie to him.
“Kevin hurts her all the time, and she won’t let me do anything about it.”
I can practically feel the anger radiating off of him from two feet away. Gone is the shy teenager trying to keep a lid on his excitement, and in its place is a pissed off young man who’s tired of seeing his mom hurt.
“Kevin’s your dad, right?”
“Sure. If you want to call him that.” Owen shrugs. “I usually call him douchebag, asshole, or sperm donor.”
“Unfortunately, any man can be a father, but it doesn’t mean he should be.”
Owen snorts. “No shit. She won’t let me do anything about him, but if you hurt her again, I will make you pay.”
In any other situation, sitting in an idling golf cart being threatened by a fourteen-year-old who barely weighs more than a hundred pounds would be hilarious, but this isn’t funny. Not in the least. The fact that Wren has been hurt so much that her son is more than willing to try to kick my ass when I could easily hold both his arms behind his back with one hand makes my heart break right in half. He shouldn’t have to defend his mother like this. No one should have to defend her like this, because no one should have ever had the chance to hurt her that badly in the first place. Myself included.
“Understood.” I nod at Owen seriously. “Believe me, I’m doing everything I can to make up for being a jerk before. And I promise you right now, Owen, I will never, ever do anything to hurt her again. If I do, you have my permission to kick my ass.”
He stares at me quietly for a few minutes, and I don’t know what he’s looking for. I can only hope he hears the sincerity in my words and sees it on my face.
“I might have a way you can suck up to her” are the first words he says to me, letting me know I’m temporarily forgiven.
“Lay it on me.”
“So, people are always asking her to do stuff, because they don’t have time,” he starts to explain. “Like she has the time, but whatever. My mom’s too nice to ever say no to anyone. Our living room is currently filled with boxes of candy she needs to stuff into goodie bags for the baseball boosters, new printer ink and reams of paper for flyers that need to be made for the spaghetti dinner to raise money for our uniforms next year, the concession stand schedule for all the parents with kids on the team who have to volunteer needs to be made, and like, ten other things I’m sure I’m forgetting.”
“What are you asking me, kid?”
Owen pauses for a beat before replying. “How good are you with a glue gun?”
“Will there be glitter and Lisa Frank stickers involved?” I naturally ask.
“I don’t know who Lisa Frank is, but I’m pretty sure my mom won’t let me have a girl over when she’s not home.”
With a laugh, I turn off the golf cart and get out with Owen.
“You’re in luck. I freaking love glitter and stickers.”“I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this. Peace out. I’m going home!”
“Nice try, Owen, but you live here. If you want me to order pizza, hand me the scissors and the glitter.”
“Please… not the glitter again.”“Whose house are you in? Why is my baby brother so sparkly?”
“Savannah, focus! I FaceTimed you, because you need to see these felt pennants I’m making for each member of the team with their last name and jersey number. Pinterest has failed me. Why do these look bad?”
“Those are hideous. Did you use iron-on decals? You need a Cricut.”
“Owen, does your mom have a Cricut in the house?”
“My mom would freak out if there were bugs in the house.”“There’s glitter in the bathtub. Why is there glitter in the bathtub? We weren’t even in the bathroom!”
“We’ll get that out later. Does this font say ‘This spaghetti dinner will be a blast!’ or ‘This spaghetti dinner will end in bloodshed!’? Does it need a border? More stickers?”
“Why is there glitter in my socks?”“Will you stop yelling at me and just google it? I’m sure trace amounts are fine, Owen.”
“And I’m sure we don’t need Google to tell us that trace amounts of glitter in three dozen cookies for the welcome bags for the opposing team for tomorrow night’s game is not fine.”
