“Give him some time, he’s like his father in that way. They need time to stew, time to sort it all out in their head. But sooner or later they end up strolling back into the room and sitting down at your side to sort things out.” She is speaking from years and years of experience.
“Even if I was awful and hateful and all he was doing was trying to be there for me?” I know that now. He wasn’t being pushy to force me to talk about what happened, he was genuinely concerned, and I was a bitch.
“Even then,” she says, easing my mind a little.
“Would you like to come over and have a glass of tea?”
“Another time.” I take a breath in attempt to calm myself. “I was supposed to be at work fifteen minutes ago but told them I had to make a quick stop first.”
“You work at your father’s shop, right?”
“I do,” I say nervously. This is the point where she realizes I am a mess of a woman who drives a big manly truck and works on cars and I’m so wrong for her son.
“You’ll have to take me on a ride along with you one day.” She laughs. “My father drove a big rig and I loved those rides as a child. Always made me feel like I was bigger than anyone else and on top of the world.”
“Any time,” I tell her, realizing that I may have misjudged Aaron’s mother. I may have misjudged a lot of people. And in doing so I may have missed out on a lot of things I will never be able to get back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Aaron
“Are you still stewing?”I glance over to see my father flipping through his phone. His lips are pursed, his eyes focused. “Because you’ve been pouting for two days now and I’m starting to think I brought a girl along with me.”
“I’m not pouting but somehow me taking my shitty mood out on you seems unfair. I guess I was wrong.” I look ahead and notice the shift of his body as he turns more in my direction.
He and I are a lot alike. It’s why we butt heads so badly. Why we have our moments, battle of wills so to speak. It can get heated and when it gets like that and people should walk away for a bit and let us get it all out.
But at the end of the day, we shake it off and move on.
Never take the shit from a workday home, he always says.
It was a rule, one he put into place when taking over O’Shay Construction. He never took his bad mood home to his family.
It’s harder than it seems.
“This have to do with that pretty brunette I’ve noticed hanging out at your place?”
“Now Mom’s got you peeking in my windows too?” She doesn’t really peek in my windows, but you can see my place from theirs.
“Red Jeep, parked in the driveway. Showing up late, leaving early.” I glance over to find him watching me.
“Not to mention I was out locking up the garage and heard the two of you screaming at one another a while back. Seemed a little heated.”
I don’t respond.
“But since her Jeep was in the driveway the next morning I assumed the two of you made up.”
“She can be a little difficult at times.”
He chuckles. “What woman can’t. But from what your mother says, us men miss all the important things and are mostly to blame for any wrongs in a relationship. I don’t argue, because we know Mama is always right.”
I smile at his acceptance of that.
I grew up with two loving parents, as in they love one another a little too much at times. At least in front of me that is. But they’ve also shown me a great example of what love should look like between two people. They are always in each other’s corner, always supporting and encouraging. Their love is strong and their friendship is just as solid.
“Is it over?” he asks and my stomach grows tight. Like someone has reached in, grabbed hold, and is twisting everything so tight I can barely breathe.
“Feels like it,” I say and that hurts worse.
