Page 19 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“No worries. You go back to your friends—”

“Tell me.” There’s a second pause while my blood redistributes and the tension sears across my shoulder blades.

“I found out today from my friend at the bank in St. Francisville that the mortgage on our house is …” She stops talking and I strain to hear what I think is a soft sob.

“What, Momma, tell me?” My heart pounds against my ribs now and I hold my breath.

“The mortgage is double what I thought it was. Your father took out a second mortgage last year and…” I close my eyes and wait for the punch line I know is coming. “I can’t afford to make the payments. Not even with the generous monthly payments he promised me. Not if I want electricity and food. And you know how I love to cook.” She laughs, but it’s small and forced.

“Did you talk to a lawyer?”

“No. Of course not. We made our arrangements—”

“Did you sign anything, Mom?”

“Yes, we filed—”

“Shit.” I run one hand through my hair. “You need to get a lawyer.”

“I can hardly afford a lawyer. What I need to get is a job.” Now she laughs for real because her prospects of finding a job that pays decent money are laughable. I don’t remember my mom ever having a job besides homemaker. That’s what she was raised to do and she excelled at it. Hell, maybe there is money in homemaking, or at least baking, if she could open her own bakery. But that’s a someday thing. Right now she needs money and it’s up to me to get it for her.

Because one thing’s for damn sure, I’m not calling my father for it. He’s the one that got her into this mess and then claims he’s giving her a so-called generous settlement.

“I’ll take care of it, Mom. Don’t worry about paying the mortgage on the house.”

“Don’t you worry, Dylan. You go to school and play ball. I’m going to have to sell the house… I shouldn’t have said anything.” The idea of her selling our family home cracks my heart in two, but I push past it.

“I am playing football and that’s why I can take care of this. Don’t worry.” Wishing I could take my own advice, my mind spins out of control and I have to ask. “”What about the Vermont house?”

“I’m all set here. For now…” She’s not telling me something. Fuck. There’s more to this problem.

“What? Tell me. Everything.” She pauses again and I can hear the deep gathering breath, see her gathering her shoulders, standing stately and tall.

“The house in Vermont was a long-term lease. And the term ends in four months. I’ll have to move after the holidays because I can’t afford the new rental terms.” Fuck.

“Can you stay with Aunt Viola?” My mind is spinning and my gut is clenching, but I manage to keep my voice sure and calm, like when I’m in a huddle and we’re down by two scores with less than five minutes to go in the game. Exactly like a football game, except this is real life.

“I could, but only temporarily. She has her family and I don’t want to be a burden. I’m not her responsibility.” No, you’re my responsibility.

“I’ll take care of you, Mom, as soon as I sign an NFL contract.” Maybe sooner. But I can’t tell her that until I look into the details and know if a deal is possible.

At the end of last season Coach invited a few players—me, Jasper and Shelby—to a meeting about the new NCAA rules allowing sponsorships. He told us there might be few alums who would be interested in select opportunities and to see him about it if we were interested. But he said there were strings attached. There’s always strings attached, so be cautious. No such thing as a free lunch and no shortage of sharks wanting to take advantage of young talent.

“You’re so good, sha. You deserve the world. But truly, don’t worry about me. Go back to your party and your friends.” I tell her Shelby wants another one of her special King cakes because I know it’ll thrill her, then we end the call.

When I sit back down Dooley has command of the table, teasing Randy about Amanda’s ball-busting, and Randy eats it up because he’s a douche. Probably insecure.

“I think she digs me for real,” he says.

“You’re out of your mind,” Shelby says. “You have about as much chance with her as Dooley has with Coach Radz.” We all laugh and Dooley acts shocked and pretends to punch Shelby’s arm, but physical strength isn’t his thing. He’s an actor and an academic, a truly weird combination that makes him one of the most entertaining people to be around. He’s demonstrating his specialty of stirring the pot right now.

“You’re fucking wrong,” Randy says. “In fact, I’m going to make it my goal to fuck her until she can’t walk before the end of the season—”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole.” I shoot off my chair, lean across the table and grab his shirt front, almost spilling water on the churros and not caring.

“What the hell is with you? I’m—”

“You need to have some respect. She’s a coach, moron.”