He rubbed at his chest. Why didn’t he feel better? There was only one place he ever went when he needed guidance, but Mrs. Mo wouldn’t be home from teaching at school yet. Maybe he could find a reason to stop by and chat with her. Or maybe he’d call her and leave a voicemail.
His pocket vibrated as he walked to his car. Despite being disgruntled that Finn wasn’t “Team Will” for a change, Will had sent a message to check in. Finn paused, leaning against the roof of his car to read his texts.
Will:How’d it go?
Finn:I barely noticed she’d stuck something into me.
Will:That’s what she said.
Finn:Ha. We both know they always notice when I stick something in them. It’s hard to miss.
Will:I see what you did there.
Finn:I’m here all day.
Will:Wanna grab lunch?
Finn’s stomach growled in response.
Finn:I could eat.
Twenty minutes later, Finn slid into a booth across from Will in Applebee’s with a sigh.
“Why do we always end up here?” Will sipped on his ice water.
“I’ve never met an Applebee’s I didn’t like.”
Will shook his head and perused the menu like he wouldn’t get something bland and boring like grilled chicken and veggies.
“Hey guys!” Sabrina appeared next to them at the table. “What can I get for you?”
They ordered and Will studied Finn’s face like the answer to world hunger might be etched across it somewhere.
“What?”
He shook his head. “I’m worried about you. You’re having a tough month.”
“I’m good.”
Will arched an eyebrow. “Have you told your mo—anyone else about having the test done?”
Finn shook his head. “I didn’t want the extra pressure, y’know? She’d be all hopeful and shit. And when I get the results… she says she wouldn’t pressure me, but even if she didn’t say anything, there’d be pressure. There’s always pressure.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Will played with a sugar packet. The door to the restaurant opened and a group of retirees walked in, laughing and joking as they passed Finn and Will.
“I was thinking of telling Mom.” Finn paused and scratched his chin. “Your mom, I mean. Just so I had adult supervision for my decision, or input, guidance, whatever.”
“You don’t have to correct yourself. Mom’s been your mom since the day you came to our house and ate every last bit of her watermelon salad.”
Finn chuckled at the memory. “I love that salad.”
“That’s not changing now that your birth mom might be coming back into the picture. Not for Mom, not for you. You’re family, Finn. You’re stuck with us.”
Finn nodded and pulled out his phone. “I’m going to text her.”
Finn:Hey Mom, I took the kidney compatibility test today. Haven’t decided what to do yet, but I needed all the information before I made a decision.
Something ceramic smashed behind the bar and Finn jumped. Will shoveled chicken and veggies into his face like he’d never been fed, but Finn couldn’t eat while waiting for Mom to read his text. Mercifully, she replied right away.
