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It might be time to start mapping out a game plan. I have about a week’s worth of stuff to do around my mom’s house and then what? Where do I want to go? What do I want to do?
Jobs always found me after landing in LA. I was spotted by a scout at the beach working out. Boom. I was hired for stunt work. Then by an actor I met on set. We grabbed a few beers and partied together on the regular. He made a few headlines around Hollywood and asked me to cover him. The money was good, but then I was a free agent and scooped up by referral by a visiting dignitary.
I liked working in the private sector with my last boss, but almost getting killed several times over wasn’t fantastic. The thought of just hanging around a bit and working on things that don’t have me sleeping with one eye open sounds nice. I’ll put a few feelers out.
I arrive at my mom’s still hell-bent out of shape over that farewell with Delilah. I dash inside and shake my jacket off just inside the kitchen door. My mom comes around the corner with two towels. “Looks like the rain won this round.”
“I wasn’t in the mood to fight.” With Delilah, but I let it reside as if that response fits her comment.
“Take your shoes off and let them dry out here. I’ll hang your jacket up to drip dry in the bathroom. Go change and bring me these wet clothes. I’m starting a load.”
Toeing off one of my shoes, I look up at her. “You don’t have to wait on me like I’m a kid.”
“You don’t have to be so resistant to help. We all need it every now and again.”
“Is this really about clothes? I have a feeling it’s not.”
She takes my shoes and moves them off to the side of the door. “Everything I say doesn’t have to mean more than the words I choose.”
“Fine.” I strip off my wet shirt and cut through the kitchen to the laundry room to dump it into the washer. “You were actually talking to me about wet clothes.” I strip off my soaked socks and add them in too. I pass back through the kitchen and head for my room.
“Jason? What’s wrong?”
Shutting my door, I strip off the rest of my clothes and pull on some pajama pants and a T-shirt I yank from the closet. When I return to put the rest in the washing machine, I pass my mom as she sips a glass of tea. Her eyes follow me, but she doesn’t say a word.
When I return, I do. “She told me not to come around anymore and shut the door in my face. Is that what you want to hear?”
Her glass is set down, and she angles her head to really look at me—right in the eyes. “No, that makes me sad to hear. I’m sorry.”
Leaning back against the opposite counter, I sigh. “You don’t have to be. I wasn’t planning on staying long. Just long enough to help you out, and then I’ll be out of your hair again. Delilah obviously wants nothing to do with me, so she can go about her life as if I never stopped by at all.”
She crosses the small kitchen and hugs me, resting her head on my shoulder. “I don’t want you out of my hair, Jason. I like you being home. I miss you and wish I saw you more, not less.”
I lean down and look at my mom. She’s always been strong—a single mother since my dad died when I was five—and worked full-time, even if it took two jobs to get the hours. Never missed a Friday night game of mine—whether home or away.
She’s the one person who would be most disappointed to know the depths I’ve sunk during my time away. Somehow, even with mother’s intuition, she hasn’t seen the black of my soul. She’s looked past the dead in my eyes, in my heart, that allowed me to do my job—and do it well.
Detachment was key. When I finally thought I could befriend someone, it put them at risk. Is it safe to attach myself now—to her again, to this town, and the people here with so much unsettled? “I’m not running out the door. Not yet anyway.”
“I’ll take what I can get. Or I’ll bake your favorite cake to tempt you to stay.”
Embracing her again, I say, “I never could resist your chocolate cake.”
“Good. Now that it’s settled, and you’re going to stick around a bit, can I get you something to eat?”
Giving in to her dream is easy when I’m around her. “I’d like that.”
“Head into the living room and find us something to watch tonight.”
I do as I’m told and settle on the couch. As I flip through the stations, my eyes keep shifting to the right, straight to that prom picture. When everyone looks dated and awful, there’s Delilah Noelle looking gorgeous even in her sister’s hand-me-down prom dress. I get up and set the frame facedown and return to the couch. Continuing through the channels, I stop when I reach a Marvel movie.
