Page 90 of His Choice

“Was this your plan? Torment me to get my mind off my troubles?” I asked.

“Is it working?”

“No,” I assured her. “And I just bought you that Escalade last year. How can you already be looking for a new car? Mine is three years old and I have no plans of replacing it for a long time. I’m trying…”

“Not to be extravagant,” she finished, rolling her eyes. “I heard you the last one hundred times you told me. And I’m teasing. I wouldn’t have let you buy me a convertible. I just asked for it so my follow-up request for that beautiful Gucci bag would seem reasonable. Thank you again for that, by the way.”

I leaned back in the chair. “You’re welcome. But…that was excessive, too. Maybe we need to cut back. There are people starving.”

To my surprise, my mother seemed to contemplate that. “Okay. Though, sweetheart, you could be spending so much more. You give away lots. You’re not Jesus. I don’t think people expect you to donate everything you work for. But if you believe we’re buying things that go over a line that you’re comfortable with, then let’s adjust.”

“Just like that?” I asked. “You’re not going to fight me?”

“It’s your money, Cliff,” she replied. “And don’t make it sound like I can’t conceive of scaling back. Do I need to remind you how much I scraped by when I raised you?”

It was moments like this that reminded me why I loved her so much, even if she was impossible. “You don’t need to. And, Mom, you never let me feel deprived. I appreciate how you found a way to make my Christmas and birthday celebrations special, and you came up with the money for me to play sports or join clubs. I’ve often thought about how you drove that shitty Dodge for most of my childhood and never made me feel guilty about the sacrifices you made.”

Her expression softened. “I’d do everything the same. Your smile meant more to me than new shoes or whatever else I wished for. Maybe now that there’s cash, I’ve gone a little overboard, making up for lost time. I don’t know. But I can cut back.”

I shook my head. “Yet here I’m tempted to buy you that convertible after thinking about the Dodge. God, do you remember there were times it broke down on the highway and we’d need to wait forever for someone to come help us?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes. And it seemed to happen whenever it was below freezing or approaching one hundred degrees!”

“Of course.” I chuckled. “But I don’t remember those times being bad.”

My mother touched my arm. “Because they weren’t. I used to play a game with you about who could spot the most out-of-state license plates, or we’d talk about things that were going on in your life.”

“Yeah.” I bit my lip. “I’d miss you if I moved away, Mom.”

She seemed surprised by the change of subject, but she was quiet for a moment. “Are you thinking about moving away, Cliff?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” She waited, this time not saying anything so that I’d elaborate. “Brighton would have been my choice. His daughter changed her plans about studying here in Vermont, though. Seems it dawned on the ex-wife that there was a real chance I’d choose Brighton, and she feared a family being formed that didn’t include her.”

“And he’s not willing to move here if his daughter stays in London?”

“Nope.” I purposely banged my head against the back of the chair. “And Mikey was a strong possibility, but I’m becoming more convinced that Aaron isn’t as straight as he likes to believe. And I think everyone was right that Mikey would jump at the chance to be with him if he knew. I’ve decided that I don’t want to be someone’s second choice.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she answered. “You’re wonderful, Cliff. Put the constructive criticism of a mother aside. You are a good man! And you’re incredibly handsome, kind, smart, and loved—even though you’re too thick-headed to believe it sometimes. I’m sure there are hundreds, maybe thousands of men who’ve been watching the show who wish they could be one of the contestants.”

I shrugged. “But they weren’t. You were right, Mom. Maybe this was my chance…and now it’s gone.” I looked away from her. “And you were also correct that I’m jealous of my friends. They all have something I want more than any of this.” I waved my hand around the room to explain what I meant. “I wish someone would love me.” She was about to object, and I held up a hand. “Besides you. No offense.”

My mother wiped a tear from her eye. I hadn’t seen her cry since I was a boy and would sometimes catch her when she had thought I was asleep or outside playing.

“Your friends love you, too,” she said.

I scrunched my face. “Not the way I mean, Mom.”

We were quiet for a couple of minutes before she cleared her throat. I looked her way, and she no longer appeared sad. She seemed determined instead. “So, you like Brighton. I mean, you think there’s a chance he could be the one?”

“Not if it’s long distance,” I admitted. “Those don’t work, Mom. We’re talking different countries… continents.”

“Then you move to England,” she stated matter-of-factly.

I was surprised she’d be willing to see me leave. “But that would mean leaving everyone I care about behind.”

“Yes,” she said. “Cliff, you can’t stay here and die every day inside, wishing you had a man who loves you. I won’t stand for it.”

“There’s no guarantee he’s the one,” I pointed out. “It’s a big risk.”