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“No,” she said. “I came here to kick your ass.” He loved how blunt she could be but hated when it was directed toward him. “You’re living like a hermit. You look like one too.”
“I’m working,” he argued.
“Please. You’re pasty white and probably haven’t seen the sun in weeks. When you opened your fridge, I didn’t see much in there but takeout containers that you most likely have delivered.”
Guilty. “I don’t like to cook,” he said.
“There was over a case of empty water and sport drink bottles in a box in your office. Some on the floor.”
He had a fridge in his office that he reached in to get drinks so he didn’t have to walk to the kitchen. Lazy he knew, but he got lost in his work a lot.
“Sometimes I miss the box when I toss them across the room.”
“And you can’t bring them out to the recycling bin?” she asked.
“It’s full,” he said. “I missed the pickup the last two weeks.”
Which was stupid because it was the same day as trash, but he’d missed that too. Guess he was turning into a slob as much as a hermit.
“What day is the pickup?” his mother asked.
“Thursday,” he said.
“Today is Wednesday.” She put the cup down and walked to his garbage.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking out the trash and your recycling now. I’m putting it out to the curb so you know it’s picked up. It’s time you got your life back on track. It’s been eight months, Brent. Rob would be pissed off if he saw you like this. If he saw this place.”
He didn’t need that thrown in his face. That his best friend and old roommate was gone and would never come back.
That there was a second hole in his heart and he wasn’t sure he could survive another.
“I can do it myself,” he said, putting his cup down that he hadn’t even taken a sip of. It was more a prop in his hand at this point.
“Then let’s do it now so I know it’s done,” she said, moving past him to get a trash bag and hand it over. “I’m getting those bottles out of your office.”
He sighed, knowing there was no use arguing with her. There never was.
It took about an hour and his trash and empty bottles were out on the curb. His mother was cleaning his kitchen and he was more embarrassed about that than anything. He didn’t think he was that much of a pig.
“Are you done now?” he asked when she put the Lysol away. His house smelled lemon fresh and he had to admit it was nice.
“Yes. Now get a damn haircut. Not only are you living like a hermit but you also look like one. When was the last time you got a haircut?”
He had to think. “No clue. Sometime in White Plains.”
“You haven’t been to White Plains in over seven months,” she said. “No wonder you look like you do. It’s probably been that long since you’ve shaved on top of it.”
He ran his hand over his lush beard. It was long, but he didn’t see anyone and didn’t care. “Not that long or I’d be braiding it by now.”
“Please, God, no,” she said, moving closer to him, kissing him on the cheek and then walking to the door. “Haircut first, then shave. Or maybe shave first. I don’t care but do something. Get out of this funk and start living again. I want you at the house for dinner on Sunday too. Be there or your father and I are coming here and sitting in your house all day to pepper you with questions.”
He smiled. “You’d do that too,” he said.
“You know we would. We worry. We’ve done enough worrying in our life over our children.”
“I’m sorry for that,” he said.
