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He scrubs a hand across his cheek. “It’s not that,” he says as he pushes himself to his feet, taking a seat next to me.
Please open up, little man.
“The other kids were making cards for their moms today.”
Oh, my damn heart just cracked and broke into a thousand pieces.
With a deep breath, I lean into the sofa, the weight of his confession knocking me back. He follows, pushing his body close to mine. I wrap a comforting arm around him, hugging him because what else can I do? I can’t bring his mother back. I can’t prevent him from getting sad when his teacher has the stupid idea to make cards for mothers when there’s a kid in the class without one.
It’s not even Mother’s Day.
Fuck you, teacher.
“You know, you can still make the card and bring it to the cemetery. I think your mom would like that. And you could give one to your grandma. I bet that would make her day. I know your mom isn’t here buddy, and it sucks, and nothing will ever replace her, but you’ve got so many women in your life that love you like a mom loves a son. Sharon and April too.” I can only see the top of his head when he nods. Tossing his mop of hair, I lightly squeeze his arm. “You know, I had a woman in my life growing up. She’s my best friend’s mother. And every year, when it’s Mother’s Day, I buy her a card because even though she’s not my mom, she looked out for me and loved me like a mother does.” A tight lump forms in my throat because, truth is, without Kate, I don’t know where I would be now.
“Does your friend still give her cards, too?”
I close my eyes, fighting tears and the tightness in my chest. “He can’t right now.”
He looks at me, his blue orbs glistening. “Why not?”
It’s an innocent question, it is, but I don’t want to load more on him. His grief is already heavy enough.
“He’s far away right now. But I’m sure he would love to.”
We stay silent for a long moment. The light from cartoons on the television is the only light illuminating the room.
He looks up again. “Don’t worry, Claire. Just because your friend is far away doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her. My mom is far away too, and I love her.”
He smiles, and I swear, he knows. But when the grin finally reaches his eyes for the first time tonight, I feel better. He squeezes my hand, and the tiny cracks this sad conversation caused begin to heal. The shadows retreat until all that’s left is his smile.
It’s dark in here, but he lights it up.
“Want to watch a movie? I can make some popcorn.” I’m not sure who needs it more.
His head bobs enthusiastically. “Sure.” When he stands, his eyes narrow on me, and his nose wrinkles. He looks like his father again. “Claire, you’ve got paint all over you.”
I don’t know why, but I blush, and he rolls his eyes.
Who’s the kid here?
“I better wash up first. Read some of your book, and when I get back, we can watch the movie.”
***
Music is playing through the speakers and popcorn is popping in the microwave when Jay-Jay saunters into the kitchen, his feet dragging against the tiles.
It took me ages to get the paint out of my hair, and now the rain is pelting against the window. It’s so dark, I only see my reflection when I look at the glass. He pulls himself onto a high stool at the breakfast counter, dropping his face in his hands as he watches me with a pout.
I wish I could wash all that sadness away from his face. I can almost see his heavy heart weighing him down when I notice his fingers tapping to the beat of the music.
Interesting.
What’s better than dancing like a crazy person to lift your spirits?
Absolutely nothing.
I should know. I started bopping around my bedroom as a child, and I never stopped.
