Page 13 of Carver’s Craving

Oh shit. Mom’s swearing. That’s not good. “Hey Ma, how’s it going?” I could brazen it out.

“I talked your father into waiting one more day before calling the RCMP. Why haven’t you returned my calls and texts?”

Because I wasn’t ready to deal with this crap? “Sorry. Honestly, we were busy traveling. But I’m stopped now and—”

“What if you’d died in an accident? What if no one ever found you? What if you—” She sobbed.

I rolled my eyes. Her dramatics. I was totally accustomed—and immune—to them. “Well, I wasn’t in an accident and I’m not dead. Plus, for the record, we drove the TransCanada highway. RCMP patrol that strip of road all the time. They would’ve contacted you and—”

“Not if your van went off the road and rolled down a rocky mountain.”

This time I didn’t roll my eyes—but came damn close to it. “Seriously? There are barriers and shit—”

“Do not swear, young man. I’m still your mother.” She sniffed, let out a breath, and hiccupped. “Where are you?”

Nope. Not going there. “This little town close to Vancouver.” I nearly told her about the van breaking down, but that would’ve brought an entire world of hurt I wasn’t prepared to deal with. “Baxter and me? We’re taking a break and seeing the sights.”

“What town? How big? Have you done your laundry? Have you been brushing your teeth?”

“Yes, to both, Ma. And I don’t know how big. I mean, the main street is just a few blocks.” As we’d driven to Carver’s place, though, I’d seen tons of houses. So bigger than my impression of First Avenue had led me to believe.

“Your father just landed another massive contract.”

And here we go. I can’t believe we went an entire five minutes before you started in on me. That had to be a new record. Maybe she had really been worried about my well-being. I might be the baby in the family, but certain expectations had been placed upon me. No question about that. “That’s great. Good for him.” And it doesn’t affect me. Don’t bother to try to—

“He’s hiring another entire crew. Plenty of work for a strong, young man. You’d have to start from the bottom, but with Barry in charge…” She droned on.

Right. Barry. My eldest brother. Why he hadn’t been named Steven was beyond me. I always had the sense my mother held out hope for a girl she planned to name Stephanie. I’d come along—the third son and final child—and she’d give up that hope. She still blames me for being a difficult pregnancy. As if I had anything to do with it. The doctors put their feet down and said I was to be the last. Otherwise, another pregnancy would endanger her life. She wanted a daughter, but not that badly.

“Did you hear me?” Her shrill voice was on full display.

“Yep. You want me to come home, work in Dad’s construction company, and have Barry as my crew chief.”

For a moment, silence carried.

“Well?” A little less shrill.

“Well, nothing. I’m not coming home. I’m not working construction. We’ve been at this since I turned sixteen.” And was nearly kicked out of high school—but we’re not going there.

“You could be high up on the chain by now. Both Barry and Donnie are doing extremely well. Oh, did I tell you that Jenny painted the porch? I think she’s nesting.”

I squinted. “Isn’t nesting when a pregnant woman is about to give birth?” Because I might be gay, but I’d paid attention when my mother went on and on about pregnant women. How wonderful they were. How children were a blessing. How, if I was really gay, I’d miss out on those things.

Yes, I wouldn’t have a pregnant wife. But gays can marry. Hell, they can have surrogates or adopt. If I wanted children, I could find a way to have a child in my life. I didn’t.

She sniffed. “That’s technically true. But if she’s newly pregnant—and it’s her first child—”

“How about we wait for Jenny and Barry to tell us if they’re having a baby before we launch into overenthusiastic grandparent mode? Just a thought.”

She sighed. “I just want you all to be happy.”

My version of happiness isn’t the same as yours. “I have to go, Ma.”

“Why? What could possibly be more important than speaking with your mother? Your father is at the worksite today, but when he comes home—”

“There’s a dog that needs me. Talk to you soon.”

I cut the call.