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Jimbob’s eyes, coupled with Abra-ham’s cute face, have me sitting on the sofa and relaxing for a little bit, but there’s always that feeling in the back of my mind that I can’t stay. That I need to check on my mom.
But for a little while, I let myself get lost in the comfort that is Jimbob.
I stayed a lot longer than I should have, but that just seems par for the course when I’m with this guy. I lose track of time, lose track of my sanity. Hours later, I found myself snuggled up against him, his big arm wrapped around me. I dozed off slightly, engulfed in him, the mini pig snoring on my lap.
I only woke when he gently shook me and told me how late it was.
And fuck, I nearly scrambled out of there. I didn’t even kiss him goodbye, not that I needed to, but I wasn’t even thinking.
I stayed far past what was reasonable, and I left my mom alone for too long. Who knows what the hell she’s gotten up to without me there to watch her?
When my car slides into the driveway of our place, I’m relieved to see that her car is still parked next to the house. My stomach rolls as I exit the driver’s side, jogging up to the front door, wondering what she’s going to be like tonight. I never quite know what I’m walking into.
Don’t get me wrong, my mom has her good days. There were times growing up when I was her world and she was happy. Days where she hugged me and told me that I was the best thing that had ever happened to her. But as the years go by, those days havegotten fewer and farther between. The older I get, the more she talks about how I’m going to leave her soon, just like my father did, how soon, she won’t have anyone left.
And god, how I want to leave this gross, rotting place. Every part of my being screams to get the hell out of this house, but then the guilt sets in. Everyone has heard of mom guilt, but they don’t talk about kid guilt very often. About parents relying on their children to make them happy, to make them feel alive. It’s such a cumbersome burden, such a fucking thing to live with day in and day out.
Even as I walk into the house, I feel like shit thinking about it.
I glance around, one of the cats coming to rub at my ankle. I can smell the scent of their dirty litter box, and I quickly go and scoop it clean while making sure to replace their food and water. When I don’t see my mom right away, I walk down the short hall. It’s late so she could be asleep but suddenly, the bathroom door swings open and my mom breezes out. My lips turn down because I can see that she’s all dolled up. Her hair has been dyed, teased, and curled, all of it sprayed to high heaven. I can smell the hairspray from here, and I know exactly what this means.
My eyes swivel down to the high heels she’s wearing, and I honestly worry she’s going to topple over and break her neck. The dress she’s squeezed into is far too short, and I shudder at the vision she creates. My mom is beautiful, she really is. But it’s almost like a curse. She was the small-town cheerleader everyone wanted to be or wanted to date, and my dad was the jackass quarterback who used her and tossed her away when she was far too innocent to deal with that kind of life. She became a tired single mom far too young.
The problem is, everyone has always told her how beautiful she is, but no one’s ever told her she was worth more than that. That she’s strong, courageous, and smart. No, they’vedownplayed her worth, and now she thinks it’s the only thing she has going for her.
As soon as I lay eyes on her, I know what’s going to come out of her grinning mouth.
“Oh Braxton, you’re finally home. I wasn’t sure you’d be here before I left for my date.”
I bite back the groan that threatens to escape me and give her a clipped nod. “Date.” It’s not really a question, but she takes it that way.
Almost giddy, she brushes past me and into the living room, grabbing her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. It’s so different than how she was yesterday or the day before. Those days she was sullen, sitting outside chain-smoking while she scrolled on her phone.
I hate that her happiness is so dependent on a man’s attention.
But then I think of Jimbob and wonder if maybe I’m just like her, if I’m deriving happiness from a man.
“Yes. Oh my god, Braxton. He’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.” She fluffs her hair and sighs, looking out into space, almost love-struck.
I hold back a scoff. The men she meets are always perfect at this stage, the first date, the first kiss. Always the fucking perfect firsts. Only to be let down later.
“He’s a real gentleman. Tipped the hell out of me for a club sandwich and an iced tea. Can you believe it? It was so unexpected. He was even wearing a suit when he came into the diner. And let me tell you, I did not look my best. I didn’t even have my hair colored.”
Shit. Here we go again.
She turns around to look at me, fiddling with the hem of her dress, her eyes wide and pleading. She knows. She fucking knows and she’s silently asking me to go along with this littlefacade. To tell her that I think he’ll for sure be the one. Because the last fifty weren’t. They were losers, the ones who made her cry. But it doesn’t matter. This random guy is definitely the one for her, her prince charming.
I try not to roll my eyes at the thought.
“You have your phone at least?”
This wouldn’t be the first time she forgot it. One time, years ago, she lost her whole purse and I had to pick her up at a bar two towns away. She’d borrowed some random guy’s cellphone and called me. I was fifteen, didn’t even have my driver’s license yet, but still hopped in the car and saved her ass. Like always.
Maybe she doesn’t need a prince charming. Seems I’m doing a fine job at the moment.
When they all inevitably break her heart, she tells me that I’m the one man she can depend on. Have been since long before I even considered myself one. For years, I was just a boy taking care of his mother.
Simple. That’s all it’s been. It’s all I’ve known.
