Page 25 of Midlife Crisis

“Breaking in?” I’m groggy, but I’m slowly detecting the whispered panic in her voice.

“No, as in one of my boys.” It takes me a second to register she means one of her kids and not a collection of men waiting for a turn with her. I bristle at the thought of others touching this sweetness. Pressing over me, Midge pushes off the bed and grabs a robe from her bathroom.

I hear her patter down the stairs and wonder what I’m supposed to do. I’m sprawled out, naked as the day I was born on her bed, so I decide to dress. The only problem is my shirt is still downstairs. Her kid meeting me like this would be super awkward, but seeing as I plan to meet her kids, I slowly tiptoe down the steps.

“Elston, what are you doing here?” Midge asks her oldest son.

“Dad and I had a fight. I don’t want to stay on the boat with him.” Midge told me earlier how her husband decided he didn’t want to be a husband one day and went to live on a friend’s boat for a bit. The bit turned permanent, and the boys visit him there.

“Does Dad know you’re here?” I don’t hear a response from her son, but she adds, “I’m not getting involved. You need to call him. Let him know where you are and that you’re safe.” I didn’t have a mother I remember, so the sound of Midge’s concerned tone pinches at my chest. I don’t have a child to worry about like she does, and that wrenches the pressure tighter.

“I’m not talking to him,” Midge stresses, but suddenly, she speaks cheerfully. “Yes, Paul, he came home.” Pause. “No, I’m not getting into this with you. I’ll talk to him and talk to you tomorrow.” Pause.

Her son snorts, and it sounds strangely like the noise she made earlier tonight. I shake my head at her thought process. Where did she come up with the hot dog in a hallway thing?

“Good night, Paul. I’m hanging up now,” she says, and I suddenly think I have an idea of where her insecurities come from.

“What happened?” She redirects, her voice lowering, and I feel guilty for eavesdropping.

“He thinks I’m seven instead of seventeen. Everything is football even though the season is over. USC this and USC that. He hates how I want to go to school back home.”

“This is home.”

“No, Illinois is.” Silence follows, and a stool scrapes the wood floor. I picture the layout of her kitchen in my head.

“Honey, you need to talk to him. Work this out with him.”

“Why? You didn’t.”

“Elston.” His name mixed with a sharp intake of breath makes me not care for this kid, and he’s about to meet me, like it or not. I creep down to the bottom step when he continues.

“That’s not what I mean. I just mean, you eventually let him go, so why can’t I?”

“Sweetheart, it’s different. He’s your dad. He was beyond loving me, but he’ll never give up on loving you.”

Silence follows. A stool scrapes again. “Head to bed, honey. Get some sleep.”

This is my cue to crawl back up the stairs like a dirty little secret, especially if the kid comes upstairs first.

“Hey, who’s shirt is this?”

Shit.

“Oh, that’s where that went,” Midge says, her voice too high. “I was trying it on and set it on the stool. It must have slipped to the floor.”

“This is a guy’s shirt.” Silence.

“New fashion statement. Get some sleep, babe.”

“Mom?” her son teases. “You’re turning pink.” I want to smile until I hear her response.

“It’s nothing, honey. Now, get to bed.”

And that’s exactly where I return, feeling like what she said—nothing.

Sitting on the edge of her bed with my elbows on my knees, I wait for her. Old feelings having nothing to do with her return like a blow to the head. She turns the corner, enters her room, and closes the door.

“You’re dressed,” she whispers.