Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“No, I don’t. I like it this way.” It wasn’t that he had a full beard but he knew it would be too scruffy for her. He’d just jumped in his car and driven up from Southern California at her insistence that he come. Was it that big a deal that he hadn’t taken the time to shave?
“You look messy,” she replied.
“Lay off, Mother. Please,” Van replied as he stepped inside. The second he did, it was as though someone shot ice water into his veins. What the fuck was he doing back there? Why had he let her talk him into coming back?
He took a step inside, then another. The house used to always smell like cleaner. His mom would scrub daily, because his dad always prided himself on a clean home. Now? Now it smelled like old food and cigarette smoke. “Who’s been smoking in the house, Mom?” he asked.
“Me. I used to smoke before your father, but I stopped because he didn’t like it, and when you love someone you make sacrifices for them. You wouldn’t know anything about that though, would you?”
Because he’d moved away? Lived his own life?
Van’s feet rooted to the floor. His body, which had just felt frozen a moment before scorched with angered-heat. Van turned to her, feeling the tightness in his jaw. “The way you made sacrifices for me?” he asked.
He could have sworn he saw her flinch. Was it guilt, he wondered, or surprise because she didn’t expect him to stand up to her? Because he never would have dared when his father was alive. He’d always gone along with whatever was expected of him, but he wasn’t that person anymore.
“I don’t want to do this with you right now, Max. You don’t understand. I….”
He shook his head, not wanting to hear an excuse. He’d put the past behind him. Van didn’t want to dredge it up any more than she did. “What’s going on, Mother?” he asked.
She sighed and he noticed the curve in her spine for the first time. The bags under her eyes. She never let herself look tired. Always stood up straight because if you commanded respect, you received it. His father had made sure they both lived that way.
She started moving again, making her way into the kitchen. Van followed. The blinds were closed, not letting any natural light into the large space, which wasn’t like her. They’d obviously remodelled since he left. It was upgraded with stainless steel and dark tones that made the space seem even more dreary without natural light.
“There’s coffee. Do you want coffee?” she asked. He noticed her hand shook as she reached for the pot.
“Mom,” he said before reaching out and grabbing her hand. “What’s wrong?” The ache in his chest now was completely different than the one he’d had when he pulled up. Then, it was nothing except the fact that he didn’t want to be here. Now, he was filled with worry.
“I…” she started and then pulled her hand away and wiped the tears he hadn’t noticed were in her eyes. “What is wrong with me? I don’t cry. Why can’t I stop crying?”
Because you lost someone you love. Because you lost the only person you’ve ever really loved, even if it meant choosing him over your own son’s well-being.
“You’re in pain.” But why hadn’t she cared that much about him?
“And showing that to everyone helps me how?” she asked.
Jesus, he’d forgotten what it was like in that house. Forgotten how they steeled their emotions, and put on a façade for the world to see. “It’s not everyone. It’s your son.”
“The son I haven’t seen in twelve years? The son who I don’t even know anymore?”
He couldn’t let himself feel guilt for that. He’d done what he’d had to do. She had made her choices and Van had made his. “What’s wrong?” he asked her again. There had never been a time in his life when he looked at either of his parents to see that they didn’t have the answers. It was who they were. Even when they were completely wrong, they didn’t see it.
“Your father died, Maxwell. That’s what’s wrong.”
He flinched at his real name. And she was right. His father had died and he couldn’t find it in himself to be heartbroken about it.
“I know that.”
“Then why aren’t you acting like it?”
“Did you call me back here to give me a hard time for taking care of myself?” Because that was what he’d done.
“No. I called you back here because I’m your mother, Max, whether you like it or not.”
Why hadn’t she been a mother to him back then? When he’d needed her?
But there was a silent part of him who still wanted her love. He wondered if the two of them could have a relationship. If they could find common ground without his father dictating who they should be.