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“Well, it’s real easy to promise when you’re not facing down two or three assholes saying shit about you. You know?”
I do know. That’s the thing. That’s what makes me feel like a huge hypocrite. I have no business tearing him a new one when I would’ve done the same thing. Hell, I did pretty recently, didn’t I? Right in front of the whole team.
“Listen. What happened back there is what happened back there. When you’re out here with me, I need you to knock that shit off. You got it? No fighting, no getting into trouble. You’re going to be on your best behavior. Got it?”
“Got it,” he mumbles. The sound of it softens me up a little. He’s still just a kid, and he just got shoved onto a plane so somebody else can handle him. I know when I was his age, what I needed more than anything was to feel like somebody cared.
“I guess it won’t be a surprise when I tell you I’m not really set up for a long-term guest. We can stop over at Target, pick up some sheets and whatever clothes you need. Whatever it is, you’ve got it.” I slap his leg with the back of my hand. “And then we can go for some In-N-Out Burger.”
“I am starving,” he admits with the beginnings of a grin.
“Maybe we’ll do that first. It’s a little early, but it’s sort of a special occasion, right?”
I’m nobody’s idea of an ideal parental figure, but then I don’t have much of a choice, do I?
27
RYDER
With our stomachs full, we head into the store. I grab a cart while my head spins. I still can’t get used to this idea. No, it’s not going to be forever. It can’t be. I’m not raising this kid, even if he is almost eighteen and not a child anymore. It still feels the same, like I have to provide for all of his needs and give him guidance and all sorts of stuff I’m not prepared for.
“So, what did you bring?” There couldn’t have been much room in the duffel bag still in my trunk.
“A few things. Just some clothes.”
Now isn’t the time to get resentful about the way this is all playing out. Erin assumed I would take care of all of his needs once he got here. I guess it’s one less thing for her to worry about.
“No problem. I’ve got you covered.” Because none of this is his fault. Well, maybe the trouble he got in, since he’s the one who decided to get physical with the kid. But otherwise, life handed him a shitty hand from the beginning. He’s doing the best he can to get through it.
“You really have this kind of money?” he asks once we’re in the bedding section and I grab a few sheet sets for the double bed in the guest room. I’ve never had a reason to get the room set up beyond the very basics. No guests.
“I get paid well.”
“Shit. Maybe I should’ve started playing hockey when I was younger.”
“It’s not like you’re free to print your own cash or whatever.” I’m starting to think I should’ve gotten a cart for him, too, since next we have to head to the men’s department and buy him some clothes. I guess not everything has to be picked up right away. We could come back another day for the rest of it.
What am I supposed to do with him? What’s he going to do during the day while I’m at the arena? Letting him hang around the house and do nothing isn’t exactly a plan. The more free time he has, the more chance he will get into trouble.
“I don’t need all that much.” It’s like he’s reading my mind as he stares down a wall of folded jeans in all sizes and styles. “Just a couple pairs of pants, a few t-shirts.”
“You need more than that.” All he does is frown at the wall of denim. “You deserve more than the basics,” I tell him in a quieter voice. That’s the thing about growing up the way we did. It wasn’t all bad, but when you’ve bounced from one house to another from a young age, and it seems like nobody actually wants you long-term, you sort of get the idea about yourself that you’re not worth much of anything. At least, I did. I’m thinking he did, too.
It takes a little time, but he starts getting into it. “Grab some sweatshirts, too. It’s warmer here, but it gets colder at night.” I have to make sure he picks up socks and even underwear, because he’s still a teenage boy who doesn’t think about things like that.
Next is the shoe department, since the sneakers he’s wearing look like they’re about to fall to pieces before we even leave the store. “This is too much,” he decides after finding a pair that fits well.
“No, it’s not. What did I just say? You deserve more than the minimum.”
“Shit, at this rate, I’ll need to buy a big suitcase to pack everything up when I go back.” His voice fails a little, though, and he sort of trails off. He’s uncertain again, the way I am. When will he go back? What will he be returning to? He’ll age out of the system before much longer.
The situation is starting to look more enormous every minute we spend together.
All I can do is focus on right now. Today, maybe tomorrow. If I try to look at the whole mess at once, I’ll go out of my mind. I guess there’s a reason people in recovery are supposed to take things one day at a time.
Our last stop is the toiletry section, which spans aisle after aisle. He seems fairly clueless on what to get beyond body wash, so I talk him through the finer points of grooming as I add items to the cart. It’s so heavy, I’m surprised I can still push it. “You need razors. Shaving cream.” I study his skin for a moment and am glad to see it’s smooth and clear. “We can keep it simple.”
“What, do you do a skin care routine or something? Is that what living in California has done to you?”
