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I was laying back in the bed when I heard her racing through the Emergency Room. I fought a grin when I heard her asking for her baby boy.
Her voice neared, as did another. I recognized it as the doctor who had been talking with me on and off since I arrived.
“…a concussion. He’ll have some bruising but otherwise he’s fine, Mrs. Prescott.”
The curtain swung open, first revealing the doc but next my mom, who shuddered when she saw me. “God, Porter.” Her hand went up to her mouth and she stood there for a moment before stepping into the curtained off room.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I tried reassuring her.
“Oh, thank God.” She moved to my side, dragging one of those hard and uncomfortable plastic chairs with her. She sat and took my hand in both of hers and I turned my head on the pillow to look at her.
“I’m sorry. Dad’s going to be so pissed at me. I was supposed to take Mo out to dinner and I—”
“Doesn’t matter, Porter. I’m just really glad you’re ok. God, when I got the phone call…”
“It was a case of a little car versus big truck.”
“If you were in your car, who knows—”
“Mom.” I stopped her from her train of thought. I knew what she was thinking. I had thought it a time or two myself. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, baby.” She lifted my hand to her lips and I felt terrible at seeing the tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the currently quiet room.
“Good God, Porter, what for?”
I looked away from her, studying the wrinkles in the curtain wall. Mom gave me the silence I sought, not pressing.
“For being a disappointment,” I finally answered. I was now more than sure she wished she stopped having kids after Avery. There was no way she could be happy about the shit I kept putting the family through.
Carefully, as this wasn’t the first concussion she dealt with, Mom took my chin and turned my head back toward her. “You, Porter Prescott, are not a disappointment.”
She waited for me to challenge her, but I stayed quiet. “Am I upset that you took Dad’s truck without asking? Yes. Is Dad mad? He is, yes. But we are not disappointed in you or who you are. We’ll be having discussions about some of the choices you’ve made this last year, but right now we’re just thankful you’re ok.”
I stayed quiet, my eyes staying locked with Mom’s. I’m sure she felt that way right now, but after everything I put them through? Sure, yeah, most of it was my being dumb and not giving a shit, but then there were days like today.
This had to be fucking karma.
I did things without asking, tried to do things on the DL so my parents wouldn’t find out, and bam! An accident that thank goodness wasn’t going to take me out of the hockey season.
Shit.
“Did they say how long I’d be out?”
Mom knew me well enough to not have to elaborate. “Concussion precautions for the week, Porter.”
I pinched my lips together. Damn.
I could live without television and for the most part, without my phone, but the not being active, not lifting, not skating? That was what was going to kill me.
“Can you text Mo for me?”
“Were you going to see her?” Mom asked, taking her phone out of her purse.
Apparently she hadn’t caught that part of my confession. “Yeah. I was taking her to dinner.”
My mom was the type of mom who any of my friends could go to with questions or even to just talk to. It was no surprise to me that she had Mo’s number in her phone.
