Page 9 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

2

KEITH

UNMOORED OR UNFETTERED?

“So, how’s it going here?” I asked, aiming for nonchalant and landing somewhere around the realm of an apathetic mama’s boy. I grimaced, but my mother was far too kind to point it out. I was thirty-seven and way too old to have separation anxiety because my mother had decided to move into a senior community two years ago, gifting me the house that she said was too big for her to keep up with and that I had lived in my entire life, then actually pulled off the move a year ago.

“Oh, it’s wonderful!” she said with such sincerity that the brightness of it nearly had a physical warmth to it. “I learned how to play mahjong with some of the Asian grannies, and I’m teaching them how to crush in chess. Next week, I’m supposed to start up with the informal badminton intramurals they have here, and I’ve already signed up for some water aerobics classes this summer.”

“Sounds like you have a packed schedule,” I said with a smile, pleased that I sounded more authentic. Even though I missed having my mom around all the time and the house felt far too empty without her, I really was truly happy that she was having a good time. Life hadn’t exactly been easy for us, so now that I earned enough money and she had enough savings to live comfortably in such a fun environment, it felt like a bit of a gold star. “Don’t overdo it, okay?”

“Keith, darling, I spent the last thirty years grafted to the grindstone. I’m surprised I still have a nose left! Now that I don’t have a whole house to keep, or property taxes, or anything else of that matter, I’m going to have all the fun I can from the moment I wake up until my head hits the pillow at night.”

I chuckled, because my mom’s cheer was infectious, and I decided not to rain on her parade by worrying over her. A hard habit to break.

After all, it wasn’t like my mother was irresponsible. No, she was the complete opposite. She had raised me all on her own and had been my rock. It’s always been the two of us against the world, so it was a bit strange to see her living her best second life while I was struggling with knowing what I was supposed to do with mine.

Was it a midlife crisis? It felt a bit too soon for that. But still, I couldn’t deny feeling directionless most of the time, like a cog in the machine that had suddenly been marked redundant. Who knew that not struggling to meet my bills would free up way too much of my brain processing to channel it into... malaise.

“All right, all right, but you’re making me jealous now,” I said.

Although she wore such thick glasses that her spectacles could set a room ablaze if left in direct sunlight for too long and needed a cane to walk, Angela Insrym was still quite a capable woman and would have zero problems reminding me of that if I started acting like she was too old and feeble.

“Did you want me to refill that wineglass for you?”

She reached over and patted my large hand. For a moment, I was struck that the woman who had raised me and seemed like a mighty warrior stemming the tide of a very scary world now looked so small.

Small, but still mighty, of course.

“I’m fine, dear. We’ve talked plenty about me now, tell me about you! Living your own life? Going on your own adventures?”

She said it lightly, warmly, but we both knew the subtext. When she first brought up moving into a retirement home, I had been adamantly against the idea. But after a lot of prodding and a lot of discussion, my mother had explained that she’d leaned on me far too much as I grew up, and she was worried that our codependency and my accidental parentification had caused me not to progress like I should have.

At first, I’d disagreed. After all, I had a great career. I’d made a name for myself with specialty woodworking and custom furniture, and I had quite a bit packed away in savings. But then she pointed out not only did I not have a partner or date in general, but I also didn’t really have any friends. No social life. No hobbies that involved other people. I pretty much worked and stayed around the house.

But then I realized how right she was. And maybe that was why I felt so unmoored and listless now. I wanted to branch out. I wanted my days to have more meaning, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what that meaning could be.

“What about those classes you’ve been teaching? Had any fun adventures there?”

I shook my head, which I knew disappointed my mother, but we couldn’t all have high-flying adventures creating a mutiny against a particularly strict head nurse, something my mother had done in her first six months at the facility before she started getting involved in less... revolutionary endeavors.

“The last class wrapped up a month ago. It was good. My new one starts this Monday, and I think I’ve really polished up the introduction section to give my students more confidence as we go into plotting their projects.”

“Really? That’s so wonderful! You’ve always had such a knack for teaching. I don’t know where you got your patience from, because it certainly wasn’t from me.” With that, she reached over and gently patted my cheek, although what she got was mostly beard. While I kept it trimmed somewhat short so it wouldn’t get caught in any sort of machinery, it was still thick and wiry. Great for keeping my face warm in the winter, not so comfortable for the approaching summer.

“Do I?” I did enjoy the short-term woodworking courses I offered for continuing education or beginners, but I’d never thought I was particularly good at teaching. This would be my second year holding the workshop and only my fourth group, so I was sure I still had a lot to learn.

“Of course. Remember when you had to teach me how to text? And use emojis? I’m basically a techno genius here, and it’s all thanks to you.”

I grinned at that, remembering a time when my mother didn’t want to move on from her flip phone and was flabbergasted at the idea that her entire Rolodex of numbers could be condensed into a handheld device that also kept her full calendar and all the pictures she could ever want to take. “And here I thought you would choose that time I had to teach you how to properly CC someone on an e-mail for your work.”

She laughed and gently joshed my arm, those deep wrinkles in the corners of her eyes creasing even further. I loved those lines. They were a testament to so many smiles and laughs that may have been lost to time but not to her loving expression.

“I maintain that doing anything like that is more work than it’s worth.” She drained the rest of her wine, then picked up the paintbrush she had been neglecting and added a few more strokes to the canvas. I was sure she was painting an abstract still life of the bowl of fruit on the table in front of us, except she’d chosen to inverse all the colors and only use geometric shapes. I’d never known my mother to be that artistic, but she was exploring that side of herself now that she had leisure time. At least I finally knew where I got it from.

“Do you think you’ll start doing an intermediate or expert class?” she asked, one eye closed as she held her thumb up and looked past it. I wasn’t quite sure if she knew what that technique was for, but I didn’t ask.

“Um, maybe?”