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“Shan,” he calls out. “Hope you made plenty. We got a guest for dinner.”
Asking Shannon Graham if she made enough food for a meal is like asking if the Pope is Catholic or does a bear shit in the woods. My entire life, my mother has always made enough food to feed an army for every meal. You would think I wasn’t an only child or something. No food ever went to waste, though. If Ma wasn’t dropping food off at the neighbors, she was taking it to the local food bank.
“You know there’s always enough. Who’s here?” Ma has her back to me as I enter the kitchen and wipes her hands on her apron as she spins around.
“Wade Matthew Graham, I think I’m dying. I swear I see our son standing in our kitchen.” She slowly creeps closer, as if she’s a predator stalking its prey, not wanting to scare it away.
My father’s deep laughter fills the silence of the room. “Well, if you’re dying, then I guess I get to annoy you not only in this life but in the afterlife, too, because I see him, too.”
She is now standing right in front of me, so close that I can see the tears shimmering in her eyes, which match mine.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Holy shit,” she shouts and pulls me into her arms and squeezes as if she’ll never let me go. I relish the feeling of being back in my Ma’s arms for a moment, but the peaceful moment quickly passes as her grip tightens, nearly cutting off circulation. I may be taller and stronger than her, but hell hath no fury like a mama and her cub.
“Ma,” I squeak. My voice resembles that of when I went through puberty. Not the greatest time for me back then.
“Jesus, Shannon, let the boy go before he passes out. He just got home, and you’re already trying to send him to the hospital,” my dad jokes, moving to the other side of the kitchen and turning on the sink to wash his hands.
She finally lightens her hold on me, and I dramatically exhale. “Damn, Ma, you’ve got quite the grip,” I say, rubbing at my arm.
“Don’t curse, Cooper. It’s not attractive,” she scolds.
“What?” I shriek. “You just said ‘shit.’”
My father laughs in the background while I stare back at her and raise my eyebrow in question.If that’s not the pot calling the kettle black.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”Playing the innocent card, I see, Mama.I hold back my eye roll to keep from being scolded again like a little boy.
“Now, stand still and let me look at you.” She grips my shoulders just like my father did and tosses me around as if I weigh nothing. She exhales. “Well, I guess even if they don’t give you phones to call home to your parents, a pen and paper to write, or a car to drive home once in a while—” I don’t miss her not-so-subtle digs and lower my head in shame. It wasn’t their fault I stayed away. She releases me and walks back over to the stove. “—it seems they at least fed my boy.”
I take a seat on the barstool at the island beside my father. “Yes, ma’am. They fed me just fine, even though it was never as good as your cookin’, Ma.”
She turns around and bops my nose with the dish towel. “Don’t you know, Cooper, flattery will get you everywhere.”
“And I’m sorry for not keeping in touch. I just thought it was best—”
My father cuts me off with a strangled laugh. “Best for who? You?” he asks sternly.
My mother slams her hands on the counter, and her back stiffens. “Wade! Not tonight. Tonight, let’s just enjoy having our baby boy under our roof or even in the same zip code as us. Tomorrow, we will deal with everything else” She walks around the counter and places her delicate hands on my cheeks. “You will be here tomorrow, right?”
I know I hurt my parents while I was away, but hearing the desperation in her voice to keep me around cuts deeper. It’s time I make all this right—and tonight, I start with my parents.
“Yeah, so, um, about that. I was kind of hoping that I could stay here while I get back on my feet.”
My eyes bounce back and forth between my parents. My father remains silent, but Ma’s eyes once again fill with tears, and they spill over as she pulls me back into her arms, this time not squeezing as tight. “Oh, the dear Lord has finally answered my prayers.”
I rub her back as she cries on my shoulder. When she pulls back, she wipes under her eyes with the bottom of her apron. “Of course, dear. Your room is still exactly the same as you left it.” She glares at my father over my shoulder. “Your father wanted to box it all up, but I never had the heart to. Why don’t you go take your bags up there, and I’ll finish dinner. Should be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“Sure.” I leave my parents whispering in the kitchen, I’m sure mainly about my surprise return and plans to stay.
I grab my bags from the door and make my way up the stairs. When I reach the seventh step, I pause.I wonder if it still does it.The floorboard creaks when I press on it, echoing throughout the confined space. I can hear my father’s voice in my head saying again,“It gives the house character.”
I learned early on that I needed to skip this step in order to sneak out. Of course, I wasn’t sneaking out to go underage drinking or anything. It was usually to go play video games at Tanner’s, play catch in the back field behind my house, or meet up with Riley. Both our schedules back then were intense with practices, rehearsals, games, and performances, but we always found time for each other, even if it was just in passing.
When I finally make it to my old bedroom, I stare at the closed wooden door. Mom said they kept my room exactly the same, so I am aware of what haunts me on the other side—a life I used to live, a person I used to be, the people who made me a better man. Not the man I see when I look in the mirror.
Breath whooshes from my body as I open the door. Posters line the walls, trophies sit on the shelves, and a twin bed sits in the corner, covered with dark blue-and-gray bedding. Oh, if that bed could talk. Hell, if any of those walls could talk, I would definitely be in trouble.
