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Her tired eyes do help a little, however. I know that she’s struggled. I know that her decision wasn’t an easy one, but I’m also livid about the things I’ve lost, namely time with my son.
When Alex steps away, watching his mom drive off, I can still feel miles of distance between the two of us despite him being only a few yards away.
I push it down, plant a smile on my face, and walk toward my truck.
“Are you thinking burgers, pizza, tacos?” I ask as he climbs inside, not missing his eyes roaming all over the dash and to the leather seats.
His attitude seems to shift once again, his lackluster enthusiasm about being with me beginning to turn into regret. I don’t think he hates the truck, but it’s more than just a vehicle. My transportation, to him, is just another form of proof that things have been better for me than they have been for Tinley and him.
If buying her a brand-new SUV would help me win him over, I’d park the thing in her driveway by morning, but I get the feeling that gifts of any form wouldn’t go over well. He’s lived some of the same life I have. Nothing is given for free, and this kid doesn’t want to owe me a damn thing.
“Maybe you should just take me home,” he answers, his eyes focused out the side window as I crank the truck.
“Don’t make me decide, but I’ll admit that pizza would hit the spot.” Pizza also takes a little longer to make than a drive-thru burger, and I want as much time with him as he’ll allow.
Silence fills the cab as I wait for him to snap at me to carry him home.
“That place down on 8th that has great garlic bread,” he offers instead.
“Tony’s?” I ask, getting a nod from him. “Sounds great.”
I’m familiar with Tony’s. The Italian restaurant wasn’t something I could afford as a kid, but it’s been around for decades. Another great thing about the place is it’s sit-down only with no drive-thru, so it gives me more time to try to get him to open up to me than I was initially expecting. This day just keeps getting better and better.
***
I only thought things were shifting between us.
Alex hasn’t said a word since we sat down. I don’t know how the framed landscape art on the wall is so enthralling for a twelve-year-old boy, but he can’t seem to look away.
“Here we are,” the waitress says as she approaches with our plates. “Be careful. The plates are hot. The chicken pesto linguini for you, and Tony’s Trio for you.”
I don’t bother hiding my smile when Alex’s eyes practically bulge at the sight of his food as she places it on the table in front of him. He did exactly what I would’ve done if I were his age, ordering the most expensive thing on the menu, not including the wine selection. Not only has he probably not had the chance to enjoy such a meal, it’s a passive-aggressive way to jab at me by hitting me in the wallet. What this young man doesn’t know is I’d spend a hundred dollars every day on dinner if it meant we could spend time together.
“I was wondering what size shoes you wear.”
He gawks at me while shoveling chicken parmesan into his mouth.
“What?”
“Your cleats look a little worn.” I shrug as if my offer means nothing. “Figured I could grab you some new ones. I found a couple awesome pairs online and figured—”
“I don’t need your fucking pity gifts,” he snaps, his mouth still full of food.
I stop short of chastising him for his language, still unsure of how to approach this without ruining my chance of him ever accepting my offer for dinner again.
“Not a pity gift, but okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Something I can’t decipher flashes in his eyes, but instead of arguing, he changes the subject.
“Why do you hate my mom?”
Fuck, I wish he’d give me more shit about the damn cleats rather than have this conversation.
“I don’t hate your mom.”
“You pushed her away.”
“I did.”
“Because you hated her.”
“Because I love—because I loved her.” I do my best to ignore the slip and wait for his response. God, that woman has the ability to tangle me up despite the lies and years between us.
“That makes no damn sense.”
“Alex, we were young. We both had stars in our eyes, and I knew if I asked her to stay, she’d never leave. She’d be stuck in this life, miserable and struggling.”
“You mean the same life we have now?”
My heart clenches with his words. He’s in pain. He knows how bad things are. He’s dealing drugs for Cedric Ramirez for fuck’s sake. At only twelve, he’s well aware of the struggles most kids shouldn’t ever get a glimpse of. He’s seen things, done things, experienced things meant only for dramatic movies, not real life. I hate myself a little more knowing what my response to Tinley that night caused.
