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“Mom.” I sit and pull the comforter down to see her.
She lies on her side, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her temples are tinged with gray. Her skin is pale as if she’s been locked in this room for a long time.
“Fuck.” I close my eyes and let this sink in. Let it all sink in. I reach into my pocket for my cigarettes and light up, inhaling deeply as I look at her. She pulls herself into a tight fetal position.
Her movement doesn’t change, and she remains staring at that spot. “So, here’s the deal, Mom. It’s Christmas and I came to see Janet because Gia, you remember her, the Brat…” I inhale again. “Yeah, the Brat fucking showed up and rocked my world, just tore it up. I wasn’t gonna come see you because I knew this is what I’d find.” I lean forward, my thumbs touching together, and decide to keep going and voice it all. She’s not hearing me anyway.
“So, you’ll be shocked to know that Janet hates me. Well, maybe not hates, but certainly doesn’t want me with Gia. And I was sitting in her fucking crazy house as she told her daughter what scum I was, and all I thought was I don’t belong here.”
I look over at her. She blinks but there’s no other response. “Yeah, it sucked. It hurt, and all of a sudden, I wanted you.” I take another inhale because no matter what, I do want her.
“I knew you’d be like this. But that’s okay, Mom. Because there’s one thing about you. No matter what I do, how bad I fuck up, I know that you’ll understand.” I look out her window. It has bars on it, but the shades are slightly open.
“And that’s good. Because it’s a crazy fucking world out there.” I nod as I look down at my hands. One holds the cigarette; the other reaches out to touch her hand, which hangs at her side.
“I’d have liked to talk to you sometime.” My chest is tight, as if I have the flu and I can’t get a good breath.
“I’d have liked to tell you things. Instead, I left you. And look at you. You’re alone in this room staring at that goddamn spot again.” My vision is blurry. “I wish I was a better son. I wish you had been a better mother, but I get it… because every day I live with the fear that one day I’m gonna wake up and be staring at a spot, not wanting to move.” Something wet is on my jeans. I can’t be fucking crying. I don’t cry, ever. And I certainly don’t cry over her.
“Fuck. I’ll see you around, Mom.” I go to take my hand away, but she holds it.
I freeze.
“Mom?” I let the tears come. I let all of it come. Like a raging storm it pours out of me, and I weep for the first time since I turned six.
I weep for her, me, Gia, because deep down Janet is right. I am my mother’s son.
“I’m sorry.” I lean down to kiss her cold cheek as she keeps staring at her spot. If my hand wasn’t warm from hers, I’d think I imagined her giving me that.
I turn and she stands in the doorway, her eyes a mess, her mascara and tears running down her face, her lips red and puffy. This is when I should make her stay with her mom. Fuck, everyone is right. She is light and doesn’t need all my shit.
“Gia.”
She moves toward me. Her hands, which always seem to take my pain away, touch my face.
This is when I walk away from her. Her hands reach for my cheek, trailing down to touch my lips as if she knows I’m going to speak something she can’t hear.
“I’m not good.” I’m raw. This room is like a death chamber, sucking the life out of me, yet I can’t seem to move.
One of her hands goes to touch my hair. She stands on her toes to look me in the eyes.
Hunger.
It crawls through me as I lean into her touch.
“You’re good and kind. You’re the one, Rhys Granger.” Her eyes look like giant pools of green water as her hands soothe me.
“Fuck.” I pull her tight, nuzzling her neck as I give in to my famine.
I’m not good.
My brain is at war with my heart. But there is no war with the heart. It’s strong, and powerful.
And mine beats for her.
GIA
Past – Eighteen years old
San Francisco, California
My eyes blink open and for a second, I’m confused as to where I am. I reach for him, but he’s not there. Sitting up on my elbows, I look around. Yet another hotel room. This time, we’re in San Francisco.
“Rhys?” I yell. “How long have I been sleeping?” The room is silent. I flop back onto the pillows and wipe my hands up and down my face, then lean over and grab the pack of cigarettes and light up.
