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I shouldn’t have researched online about his behaviors because now I’m worried my young son is depressed.
“It’s a cardboard box,” he mutters as he carries his plate to the living room.
“But we now have twenty dollars we didn’t have.” I wave the two tens in my hand, hoping he’ll be excited by the cash.
“But we no longer have a kitchen table or chairs.”
I frown when he turns his back to me.
“The house in Texas is fully furnished. Do you want to see the kitchen table we’ll have there? We’ll have six chairs.”
“No,” he says, not in a disrespectful tone, but he really just doesn’t care.
As each day passes, he’s less interactive. He answers when I speak to him, but you’d think each day he wakes up that his vocabulary is cut in half.
“A lady is coming by this afternoon to pick up the couch,” I tell him, so he doesn’t throw a fit when the knock comes.
He shrugs.
We leave for Texas the day after tomorrow, and of course I have my last shift at work tonight. I didn’t want to give up any shifts, and I didn’t want our routine to change any more than it had to. Harley will stay with Mrs. Greene one last time, and although I could see it in her eyes when I told her our plans, she hasn’t opened her mouth to tell me it’s a bad idea.
“When you’re done eating, I need you to finish packing.”
“I don’t have much left. You already shipped more than half of my things.” I never knew a child could sound so bitter.
“They should be waiting for us when we get there,” I remind him.
I’ve done as much as I can in the short time period Robbie gave us in the last week, shipping what I could. It’s been easier only having to send personal things and clothes since the house is furnished, but the stress level is still through the roof. Things are easy to relocate. It’s leaving people that kills me.
We won’t know anyone but Robbie. I won’t have a Mrs. Greene to rely on if I need help. I can’t even think about Micah without my eyes burning.
“I’m going to pack a few things in my room,” I tell Harley, leaving my own lunch plate on the counter.
Once I’m in my room, I close the door softly. Being strong for him is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Each time he gets upset, or I catch him with tears in his eyes, I want to draw him to my chest and cry with him. I want to tell him things will be okay, but I can’t guarantee that they will.
Leaving feels so wrong. It feels like the biggest mistake I could ever make. Wrong for me. Wrong for him. Hell, it feels wrong for Robbie, too. As the days have passed, I’ve gotten the distinct feeling that Robbie doesn’t want us to go to Texas. He hasn’t said as much, but his initial speech about taking care of Harley and medical and dental and retirement started to shift, taking on more of a this is a lot of responsibility tone than one of being ready to face the world he started with.
Harley hasn’t mentioned Micah again, but I didn’t miss the way his ears perked up when he heard a motorcycle ride by yesterday or the way his eyes got wet when it drove by without stopping.
I press my forehead to the back of my closed door, taking long deep breaths, willing myself not to cry because I know if I start, I won’t be able to stop. I’ve had to be strong for Harley for so long it’s become second nature, but I’m starting to wonder if I’ve used all of that up and the supplies aren’t replenishable.
I shouldn’t text him. I know I shouldn’t, but I just can’t resist. We’re leaving tomorrow. That train is set in motion, and nothing will stop it, but I can’t leave town without seeing him one last time. I just want to touch his face, to press my lips to his one last time. I just want him to hold me in his arms, to feel what it’s like to have been loved one more time.
I fire off the text I may end up regretting, asking if I can swing by the clubhouse before my shift. He doesn’t respond, and I don’t even know why I was expecting him to. I walked away from him. I told him there was no chance for us. I knew if Robbie were going to leave town, Harley and I would have to leave too. With my son so angry with me, it seems like a stupid choice now, but things have to get better because they really can’t get much worse.
