I can’t help myself, I gotta tease him, and Alex takes it in stride, rolling his eyes. “Whatever, old man.”
We dig into our plates in silence, a far cry from how things used to be.
I remember Alex used to come bouncing into my room way too early to wake me up. He’d want to pull up a chair and help me with the pancakes.
I let out a sigh I can’t hold back.
He’s getting older.
I just haven’t gotten the memo.
I take a sip of coffee and lean back, watching him scarf down breakfast like he hasn’t eaten in a week. I raised this kid, and despite his torn-up jeans and whatever the people around town like to whisper-
I did a damn good job.
He looks so much like Mom, I can’t help but think as he pushes his messy blonde hair out of his face. She used to complain that she had to carry us for nine months, and we allcame out looking like dad.
But Alex? He’s all mom.
And she never even got to see him.
I like to think she’s watching over us. Seeing what her kids have become. Good people, all of us. I just wish she were here to tell me I made her proud.
I shake away the thought, no use dwelling on what I can’t change.
“You nervous about today?” I ask, setting my coffee cup on the table.
Alex shrugs. “Not really. It’s senior year. I’m coasting.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Relax, Coach. I’m fine.”
I let the quiet settle between us again, because there’s so much I want to say.
About his future. About how fast life moves. About how much I missed at his age, but I don’t. No point in laying that on him.
I don’t regret a thing.
We pull into the school parking lot with the windows down and the radio up, some old country song playing that Alex hates. He’s slouched in the passenger seat, his earbuds in, arms crossed, doing his best impression of a kid way too cool to be seen with his big brother.
“Hey.” I reach over, tapping his arm to get his attention. “You sure you don’t need me to walk you in? Like old times?”
Freshman year, Alex still wanted me to walk him in. I acted all tough, but the truth is, I loved it.
Had a smile on my face all day.
“Shut up, dude.” He grumbles, wrapping his earbudsaround his phone and stuffing it in his bag.
“Can’t believe it’s your last first day of school. You sure I can’t get a picture?” I ask again, expecting the same no I’ve gotten the past two years.
Alex scoffs, the way he always does, but to my surprise, he actually agrees.
“Fine. One picture.”
I pull my phone out from where it’s lodged in my pocket and open the camera, leaning over to snap a selfie of the two of us. I know this probably isn’t the most manly thing ever, but I raised the kid, and I want a damn first day of school photo.
“What?” I ask, when Alex keeps staring at me after I’ve put my phone up.
