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“You thinkyouhave something to do with my run-in with the law?” If his higher-pitched tone is any indication, Adam isn’t buying what I’m selling.
“Yes.” TheduhI tack on in my head doesn’t add to the conversation, but yeah…Duh.
“I’m grown.”
“Not that grown,” I counter.
Obviously.
“Grown enough to know what I’m doing.” Adam gestures to himself as if that somehow changes the facts.
Grown, as in hit puberty, sure. Grown, as in mature, not so much. He has a long way to go in that department.
Not buying hismaturity, I tap my mouth with a finger. “Hmmm… and yet, you still end up in trouble. Stupid, childish, trouble.”
Taken aback by my words, my son’s expression screws into an awful glower. “You seriously think teaching me how to code and work systems makes my choices your fault?” he growls much like I’d expect Gunz to. It’s odd hearing it come from him.
“The fruit grows from somewhere,” I throw out.
His cheeks redden, his jaw working overtime as I’ve struck a nerve. “What the fuck does that mean?” He speaks slowly, his head cocking to the side, assessing.
“It has to be planted first before it can grow,” Bink illuminates for me.
I nod. “Exactly. I planted the seed. I tended it.”
“This is a dumb analogy.” His blues roll, but he plays along anyhow. “Sure, you took care of me. If I’m the fruit, I had to fall from the tree… and what I do with my seeds,” he taps the side of his skull, “is no longer about the tree. It’s about the fruit.”
“But the health of the fruit is because of the tree,” I, again, attempt to explain.
“Wrong. The health of the fruit is about nourishment from the tree. What happens to the fruit after it’s been nourished enough to ripen is no longer the responsibility of the tree. You took care of me.”
I did my best, and sometimes, that wasn’t enough.
“Your father left,” I note.
“No, he didn’t. He’s here.” Adam looks around Gunz’s living room, his brows raised in a cocky spectacle of his oh-really-Mom attitude.
It’s my turn to deliver an eye roll. “I’m not talking about Gunz.” Gunz is new. He wasn’t there when Adam was a child. He didn’t play daddy. This kid of mine knows exactly what I’m referring to.
“I am. Do you think, had I been Jeremy’s, that we’d be happy? That I’d be less of what I am?”
“Yes.” No contest.
Adam’s head shakes. “Wrong. I hated him. Even before I knew he wasn’t my real dad, I didn’t like him. He was an asshole. I was happy, Mom. Fucking ecstatic to find out he wasn’t my biological father. Jeremy is better off living his new life as an insurance salesman with his new family. We’re better off how we are now. That’s the truth. Blame yourself all you want, but now I’m happier I’m not stuck with him as a parent, stuck in that life.”
Okay.
This is news. Maybe we’re getting somewhere.
I stare at him pointedly. “Then why the rebelliousness? If it’s not acting out, it’s something.” I’m calm. Far calmer on the outside than in.
“Have you looked in the mirror? Have you met you? Have you met Gunz?” he asks.
What’s that supposed to mean? Didn’t hejustargue his actions are not a reflection of my parenting? Which, as we both know, I do not agree with. Now he’s circling back around to say… what? Look in the mirror. As if he’s a reflection of me. That’s what I’ve been saying all along. Isn’t it? Now I’m confused, and my brain hurts.
I massage my temple.
Wait… maybe he’s trying to say I’m a “bad girl”? That I’m a…
