More questions are shouted, but my throat is squeezed tight. Saying her name throws me off my game, my stomach rumbling with worry. Graham picks up on my wobble and comes on stage and takes charge, letting them know I have work to do for the election.
I exit through the door off the side and look around. The hallway is empty. I’m not sure why, but I feel incredibly lonely.
Like I just struck out.
Alison
A PLATTER OF PANCAKES AND bacon is placed in front of me, Hux’s eyes lighting up when he sees his chocolate chip stack.
The server fills our drinks and scurries away to check on her other tables.
The diner is busy, the witching hour that straddles the breakfast and lunch rushes in full effect. We made it just in time for the first meal of the day, even though it’s approaching lunch.
“This looks good,” I say, drizzling syrup over my pancakes. I sound way more excited about this gooey pile of starch than I really am. My stomach churns with a mix of sadness and nerves, my head still not completely recovered from the day yesterday and staying up all night thinking. Regardless of the hundreds of times I rolled everything around, I’m still not sold on what to do.
I miss him. I miss him so damn much. My heart tells me to go back to him, to stop everything and go straight to the Farm. My brain tells me to take it slow, to think it all through, to remember reality. That I’ll know when I know.
But I don’t know.
Everyone is chattering about the election, their buttons pinned to their chests, stickers declaring they’ve exercised their constitutional right to vote displayed proudly. I wonder how Barrett’s holding up, how he’s doing, but I don’t know whether I should call.
Hux takes a bite of his breakfast “How do you feel today, Mom?”
“Good!” I say as brightly as I can. “What do you want to do today?”
His fork hits the side of the plate and he looks at me. “Do you want the truth?”
“Of course I want the truth.”
“I want to go home.”
I watch the tentativeness in his eyes, the hesitation as he watches my reaction. Forcing a swallow, I take a hasty sip of my water.
“I know you think we need a break or whatever,” Huxley says, “and I know that photographer thing made you nervous, but I really just want to go home.”
“Well . . .”
“Why did we leave, Mom? For real.” He waits for an answer but I’m not sure what to say. “I’m not a baby. I’m almost eleven. I can take it.”
“Hux, it’s complicated.”
“Is it because of Barrett?”
Laughing, I take a bite of my pancake. “I’m not discussing Barrett with you.”
“You’re my mom,” he says thoughtfully. “So you know that I pick you every time. But if Barrett made you mad or messed up, you should give him a second chance.”
“What do you know about second chances, you little squirt?” I laugh.
“I know that I broke the vase you had in the living room with my baseball and you didn’t ban me from bringing them in the house. You gave me another try. And I know when Grandma got mad at Grandpa for forgetting to renew the license plates on her car, she gave him another chance. And I gave you another chance when you forgot to sign me up for summer baseball last year, remember?”
“Those things are different than Barrett, Hux.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. But he makes you smile a lot. And he makes me . . . he makes me feel like we aren’t alone and I really like that. And I know that he’s kind of popular or whatever and I know the picture guy was because of Barrett, but who cares, Mom? You tell me not to give in to bullies and here we are, letting the bullies win.”
Tears hit me hard and fast, and I can’t get a napkin fast enough. Hux watches the wetness slip down my face and his little eyes grow wide.
“I mean, if you want it to just be me and you, that’s okay. We don’t really need anyone else. But . . .”