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I should get out of this house.
I hear footsteps coming down the stairs and I look up to find Justin back in my vicinity. Instantly, I feel lightheaded. It’s absolutely crazy how my body reacts to him this way.
“So, I have some bad news,” Justin tells me, wringing his hands together.
I look over to him, confused. “Is something wrong with the room?”
“No, the house is perfect,” he tells me. “It’s, uh, Paul. He just called. He won’t be able to make it, actually. Work emergency.”
I can’t wrap my head around what he is saying to me.
I booked this beach house… for a week… for me and my son to spend time together.
And now he’s just not coming?
I grab my phone and see that I have missed a call from Paul.
“Let me go give him a call real quick,” I say. “Just… hang on one second.”
I grab my phone and walk outside to call my son.
“Hey Mom,” Paul answers in a gloomy voice.
He is faking it for my benefit. I know he wanted to be here, but I also know how much he loves work. He loves being needed. He loves those late night phone calls asking him to head back into the office.
He’s young.
He’s professional.
He is eating this whole corporate life up.
“So, I hear you are bailing on my vacation?” I say. My tone is accusatory.
I don’t want to be that kind of mom. The one who nags. But, it really hurts that he can brush me off like this so easily.
“I know, Mom. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he tells me. “But you have the next best thing. Justin will be there to keep you company. So, you won’t be alone.”
I bite at my nail.
Shit.
How am I going to explain this one?
I can’t ask Justin to leave when my son has already demanded that he stay.
“I’m okay being alone,” I tell Paul, trying a different tactic. “Really, if Justin needs to leave to go back to work, that is fine with me.”
“No,” Paul says adamantly. “Justin is staying. It’s his vacation, too. And I’m not going to mess that up just because I can’t be there.”
I keep biting my nails, feeling the anxiety creeping into my whole body.
“Well, maybe if you get things cleared up at work, you can come back to us,” I tell him, trying to cling to whatever shred of hope still exists.
Paul pauses, then says, “I don’t see that happening, but if there is a window, I promise to take it.”
I nod, even though he can’t see it. “Well, I’ll miss you.”
“I will miss you too, Mom. I love you,” he says.
