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She wheeled over to me, through the hallway, clearly excited by my unexpected midday visit.
“Wesley!” she said, letting momentum push her forward as her arms extended for a hug. I stopped the chair and returned the hug, handing her the magazines.
“Ooh! And my birthday’s not for another three months.”
She quickly riffled through them. If she already had any of them, she didn’t seem to care.
“What brings you here?”
“Can we go to your room?” I asked. “I’ve got some questions about dad.”
“Oh, you don’t want to talk about him,” she said. “Let’s play a game of backgammon. Or would you prefer a few rounds of gin?”
That was her way of telling me that she didn’t want to talk about him.
“No,” I said, my voice stern. I didn’t want to bring up bad memories that she’d escaped from, but I needed to have answers. More than that, I needed her reassurance. “Please, mom.”
Even if she couldn’t understand what was going on in my head, she heard it in my voice.
“Okay,” she said, “but you owe me a game of each when we’re done.”
“Yeah, sure.” Under normal circumstances, I couldn’t take an hour or so away from the office to play cards. And this was no different, but she drove a hard bargain and I’d find some way to make it work. I could always take care of the paperwork in the after-hours or even at home.
I wheeled her to her bedroom, which was small and dark — just enough so that she could have her own personal space in the shared building. I’d considered moving her to a bigger place, but she didn’t want that. She liked being around everyone else and didn’t value her privacy and alone time the same way I did. All I cared about was her happiness and if this was what she wanted, then I was happy to provide it to her.
There was a small chair for me in the room and I shut the door behind me.
“What’s the matter, baby?” she asked.
“I did something stupid,” I said, “and I’m afraid I’m going to lose my job.”
“What did you do?” she asked.
I might as well come clean in so much as I could have with my mother. “That woman you were asking about,” I said.
“The one who smelled nice?”
“Yes, the one with the perfume,” I said. “I may have acted… inappropriately with her.”
“Inappropriately?” Her interest was piqued as she turned her head.
“We may have acted inappropriately with each other,” I clarified.
She laughed at that. “Oh, that’s not a problem.”
“In a client’s house,” I added.
“Oh,” she said.
“And the client caught us.”
“That is a problem.”
I spelled out the blackmail scheme that Rebecca came up with and the state of the company.
My mom shrugged. “You know what I say. Que sera sera.”
Whatever will be will be.
