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“I miss having you around during the football season,” she says softly, leaning forward to squeeze my hand. “But I’m so darn proud of you. Following your dream and making it come true, just like I knew you would.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I beam. It feels good to have a reason to smile. I’ve been sort of moping around ever since my last conversation with Nadia landed me in an emotional ditch. Talking to my mother always has a way of getting me back on track.
I should probably be on my way to the Paragons workout facility to burn off all these emotions I’m feeling. But I sort of needed to see a friendly face. And I don’t care who calls me a momma’s boy, but sometimes I just need a heart-to-heart with the lovely lady who gave birth to me.
“And, you’ve become quite the role model here for all our young, aspiring athletes. Can I count on you to come back later in the year for one of our upcoming career assemblies?”
I glance around the noisy cafeteria and see more than a few kids staring over at me in awe. I remember being in their shoes. Being ten years old and looking up to all the pros like they were demi-gods. I have a long way to go in my football career, but it does feel nice sometimes to have people looking up to me.
“You know I’ll be here,” I promise her. “I love helping these kids however I can. I even signed a few autographs on my way through the halls earlier. I’m sure some teachers are going to be a little confused when they see my name scribbled on some kids' homework, though.”
Mom laughs and shakes her head. “What am I going to do with you?”
“So, how are you doing?” I ask, after I down two pizzas and a mini milk box. I’m really going to pay for this in the gym later.
She fills me in on what’s going on here at school, her eyes twinkling happily the whole time.
Then, her smile grows even brighter. “By the way, I got my invitation to the children’s charity gala last night. Did you get yours?”
“Oh, right. I saw it in my inbox. Didn’t open it yet. But don’t worry—I’ll mark my calendar and get my tux ready,” I grin at her. “You know it’s my pleasure to escort the most beautiful woman in Honey Hill to all those fancy black-tie events.”
I was Mom’s date to the event last year. She had to go for work. We had fun—for a stuffy black tie event, I mean. I wouldn’t mind taking her again this year. I know she doesn’t like going to these things alone.
A bashful look comes over her beautiful face. “Actually…I already have a date this year. Arealdate.”
“Oh?” My eyebrows jerk up. “Troy?”
She nods, a tinge of guilt in her expression. But there’s nothing to feel guilty about.
My parents have been divorced for a decade and a half. Of course Mom has every right to have a boyfriend. She’s been dating Troy for a while now. They were even talking about moving in together at one point.
My mother has moved on with her life. And 9-year-old Harry—with his #TeamMomAndDad poster—needs to go sit in a corner somewhere.
“Are you mad?” She gives me a pleading look. “Don’t be mad. I don’t mean to ditch you just because I’m dating someone now.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Are you sure?” She grabs my hand. “You know what? You can sit with us. I’m sure Troy won’t mind.”
I angle my head to the side and scoff. “I’m not going to be the third wheel on my mother’s hot date.”
“Why not?” she frowns.
“Because I’m territorial. If he tries to get handsy with you under the table, then I’ll have to stab him in the thigh with my steak knife. And then I’ll get blood all over the table cloth. And you’ll be pissed at me and you’ll ban me from coming back here. And you know what that means? No more school pizzas for me.” I take a big bite out of my doughy slice of carbs and shake my skull back and forth. “Not worth it…”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ve always been the dramatic one.”
The other teachers around us have all finished and left by now, leaving us some privacy.
“So things with you and Troy are going well?” I ask, trying to remain casual.
It’s hella weird—painful even—to be asking my mother about her love life, but more than anything I want her to be happy.
It sucks that Dad broke her heart. After five kids and decades of marriage, she deserved better. Theybothdeserved a better love story. And a part of me always held out hope that they’d end up back together. But I need to be realistic. They’ve been done for—what? 15, 16 years? Plus, Mom seems to be sort of happy. I should try to be supportive of her.
So I smile and I nod and I listen as she tells me about this guy she’s dating.
“I’ve decided—he and I are moving in together.” Mom purses her lips, watching intently for my reaction.
