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“Home.”
“I thought you could take me to Disneyland.”
“Matty!” I raise my voice. I really should stop being soft with this boy. “You will stay home and do your homework. And I need to do work, too.”
He purses his lips.
Ten minutes out, I spot something. In fact, it’s two people who are too familiar for me to ignore. Isabelle is waiting at a bus stop with a boy who I recognize as Raffi. He’s dribbling a ball, and every now and then, he glances far away, as if trying to see if a bus is coming.
Noticing I’m driving toward them, Matty asks, “Who are they?”
“She’s a friend. And that’s her son.”
Matty smiles at me.
“Be nice, okay?” I don’t know what he has in his mind with that cheeky grin.
I pull over. She instinctively stands in front of Raffi as if someone would get out of this car and snatch her boy away. She may not be able to see me behind the tinted windows, but… Is she that scared of being watched?
As I wind down the passenger window, I observe her. Her beauty never fades, but look at those tired eyes. She wasn’t like that this morning. Perhaps the long day has finally taken a toll on her. When was the last time she slept?
“Hi there,” I call.
“Hey,” Isabelle responds hesitantly. “How’s it going?”
“Yeah. Good. Can I drive you somewhere?”
The wind is picking up, blowing her hair against her face. “No, we’re fine.”
Raffi whispers to her, apparently asking who I am—and she answers discreetly, ‘a friend.’
“I really don’t mind,” I insist. I then look up at the sky. “It may rain soon.”
“Mom…” Raffi looks at her impatiently. I know he’s begging her to accept my offer.
“The bus ain’t coming,” I try to convince her.
“Mom, please…”
“Are you on the way to practice?” I eye the ball in Raffi’s hand.
“Yes,” he answers.
“Come, I’ll drive you. The least I can do.” I send a smile her way, offering my apology. I think she’s still annoyed about this morning.
“Hi, I’m Matthew,” my little brother joins in. Damn, the boy looks so sweet like that. Is he trying to be my wingman?
He doesn’t know it, but my baby brother has had prior experience with that.
“I’m Clayton’s brother,” Matty continues. “Nice to meet you.”
The usual reaction when people hear that statement is apparent on Isabelle’s face. The age gap between us usually makes people think Matty is my son.
As always, though, my baby brother has the answer. “And I’m his real brother, not stepbrother or secret brother.”
Isabelle releases a chuckle. “I guess you got asked that a lot, huh? I’m Isabelle. Nice to meet you too.”
“Come with us,” Matty persuades.
