I move down the short catwalk to the hall, which branches off. The master suite, which is mine, is to the right. Aaron and my mom’s rooms, along with a bonus room over the two-car garage, are to the left.
I knock on Aaron’s door, waiting for him to answer. Music blares on the other side, but he somehow hears me. In just a moment, the door swings open to reveal a cheerily smiling Aaron, his backpack slung over his shoulder.
He looks nothing like his father, who I can barely recall an image of. I got pregnant with Aaron my sophomore year of college while at MIT, and his father hadn’t stuck around even to the second trimester. I tried to keep him updated as best I could after Aaron was born, but he wasn’t interested in being a dad.
When I got sent to prison, I was terrified his dad would try to come back into the picture, but no… he was happy with my mom having full custody. Even though my heart bleeds over Aaron not having a father who’s interested in him, I’m glad he’s all mine.
Well, me and my mom’s. She’s as much his parent as I am, I suppose.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say, reaching out to tousle his hair. “We need to work out a better system than me yelling up the stairs for you to get a move on and you not hearing me.”
“What do you suggest?” he asks, his eyes dancing.
“Perhaps turn your music down, keep your door open, and your ears on high alert for any important messages from your old mom,” I say sternly.
He just snickers and leans in—yes, he’s as tall as I am—to kiss my cheek. “Sure thing, Mom.”
I completely melt because first… he’s a ten-year-old boy, so I’d expect legitimate sass. At least an eye roll. Hell, I wronged him so horribly by getting sent away to prison. It’d be completely understandable if he disobeyed me and blamed it on his shaky upbringing.
But my kid doesn’t do that. He responds in such an affectionate, easygoing way that I sometimes think he’s the real adult and I’m the child in this relationship. Aaron is such a love bug… he’s the one who ends up treating me with kid gloves because he hates I’ve also suffered.
He moves past me to bound down the steps. I catch up with him in the kitchen just as he’s bending to kiss his grandma on the cheek as well. I should be jealous of their tight relationship, but I can’t be. I’m far too grateful they had each other to lean on in the years I was away. The bond between them was essential to their survival.
“What do you two feel like for dinner tonight?” I ask as I move to the coffee pot to fill up my travel mug. Aaron plops at the table, then starts wolfing down a quick bowl of cereal.
“I can handle dinner,” my mom says as she stands, nabbing her teacup.
I automatically reach for it. “I’ll make you another cup.”
My mom ambles over, her flowered housecoat worn and well-loved. She moves right into me, puts a hand to my face, and says, “Stop trying to do everything, Bebe. You have nothing to prove.”
God, she’s so wrong about that. I have so much to prove, especially that I deserve this second chance at life. I need to be the best mom and daughter, and the best employee for Kynan.
But now is not the time to argue, because we are late. Smiling, I step around her to grab my purse. “Come on, Aaron. We’ve got to go.”
He packs one more huge bite of cereal in his mouth before grabbing the box of Captain Crunch, intent on taking it with us. I’m okay with that, especially because he’s still hungry. Smiling, he dips to give my mom a goodbye kiss.
“Think we can hit the park today?” Aaron asks as we head through the mudroom into the garage.
I wince because it’s hard to get out of work early enough to take him to the park. I’d have to leave no later than four. While Kynan wouldn’t care because I work from home as well—most evenings after everyone goes to bed, actually—I’d still feel guilty about it.
But not as guilty as I’d feel about not taking Aaron. He’s trying out for a recreation football league next week, so he needs as much opportunity as he can to practice.
I’m not good at helping him. He wants to be a quarterback, and he needs someone to throw to. My job is to catch the ball, which I am only able to do about twenty percent of the time. The other eighty I’m running to retrieve it as it bounces away from me. But then I return it and let him toss me another. I’m basically a ball-return girl, but hey… it’s what he wants. Besides, I owe him all the time in the world.