I've been called many things the past couple of weeks.
A "chicken" should be one of them because I was leaning against the side of the school building trying to work up the nerve to walk by Summer and get to my bike.
She's seated on one of the benches across from the parking lot. Her backpack rested in her lap, helping her prop up the book she was reading. The sun was pelting down on her, but she doesn't seem to mind. I guess when you're named Summer, you naturally liked the sun.
I could easily slide right by her. Maybe she wouldn't notice if she's super into that book as I thought she was.
I sighed deeply, mentally cursing. All this overthinking because I was scared of a little conversation and clearly terrible at avoidance. Okay, it the universe's fault for that last one. I saw her everywhere I went, and I was going crazy.
With any luck, her mom would pick her up soon, and I could go about my business. I waited five minutes. Then it turned into ten until I realized I was borderline stalkerish. I told myself I was looking out for her, not that there's much danger on school grounds, let alone this quiet town.
But having that knowledge didn't make it any easier to leave her. Then again, I think I was making excuses. I spent nearly three months without seeing her face, and now, I couldn't get enough of it. I found myself living for those little glimpses she's thrown my way during class and the short encounters we've had.
Oh, man. If I thought I was confused on how to handle this situation before, I was dead wrong. Implementing my plan sucked, and it was backfiring on me.
I knew Summer was stubborn, but damn. I didn't think I could chase her off only to have her do the opposite of what I told her. I saw the look in her eyes when she scurried to class after our little chat. She was determined. She wanted to learn the truth, and I knew there would be nothing I could do to change her mind.
I'd be lying if I said that personality trait wasn't hot. Her persistence was one of the reasons I fell for her. But I couldn't think about that now. When I made my decision months ago, I hadn't known that it would impact our relationship.
It shouldn't have, but it was out of my hands. So all of this was for the best.
AGH. No matter how many times I repeated those five words, they still wouldn't sink into my brain properly.
I palmed my forehead repeatedly.
A few seconds later, I saw a car pull up in front of Summer, and she jumped to her feet. I recognized her mom's face as she rolled the windows down and said, "Hey, sorry. I'm late."
"It's okay," Summer replied, opening the car door and sliding in.
I waited until they drove off before slipping out of my hiding spot and jogging to my bike.
By the time five o'clock rolled around, I had dinner prepared for mom and I. Nothing special, just a simple taco casserole and homemade lemonade.
"You cooked?" mom said, closing her eyes to take a big whiff of the aroma. She was holding a flower arrangement in her hands, and they weren't from me. When she had walked in with the biggest smile on her face, I thought it might have been the smell of my food. I was wrong. Mom was smiling because of the person who gave her those flowers.
I pointed at the sunflowers. "Who are those from?" I had a suspect in mind. "They look awfully familiar to the flowers growing in Mr. Arnold's garden." I quirked a brow, giving her a knowing smile.
Mom's cheeks actually turned red.
"Busted," I teased.
She raised the flowers like she would hit me with them, but they didn't go flying. Instead, I got one of those stern finger waggles. "Don't tease your mother!" She tried to put on that hard tone, but I was too busy grinning at how funny it was to see my mom smile like a school kid with a crush.
"You like him," I sang the words, earning myself a death glare that said I should sleep with one eye open tonight. After all, she was my mother. She could do that whole put me in the world and then take me out, thing.
Knowing that didn't stop me from digging myself deeper into a hole. "Aw, my mom has a crush on the neighbor next door. This sounds like a Nicholas Sparks love story waiting to happen. But, of course, the fact that you're a single mom in a small quiet town makes it even more convincing."
Mom picked up the nearest utensil and waved it in front of my face. Growing up, I used to wonder if all the kids had a mother like mine who playfully threatened bodily harm when my jokes got out of hand. I realized rather quickly that it was just me.
"Are you really going to go after your only son with that? Haven't I suffered enough?"
She wasn't letting up.
"What are you going to do when you're childless?" I threw that out there.
Mom stopped to consider my words. She shrugged, "I'm still young. I could make more of you." She smirked with narrowed eyes.
My mouth fell open, but I recovered enough to reply, "With Mr. Arnold." Then, I bolted out of the room like I was on hockey skates and needed to get the puck in the opposing team's net.
Nobody moves faster than a man speeding along to avoid getting slammed into the barrier or, in this case, whacked by a wooden spoon.
I dived behind the couch in the living room. "Remember when I said I loved you!" I shouted from my safe place. I didn't hear movement from the other side. "Mom?" I called out when it was entirely too quiet.
This could be a trap. Maybe mom wanted me to go out and investigate. She knows, I used to fall for that as a kid. That was what happened when you spent your childhood playing games like laser tag, paintball, etc., with your mom. These games had slowly weaved their way into our everyday life. Take this moment, for example. I was waiting to be potentially ambushed. I wouldn't be surprised if she brought out a water gun.
And yes, we've had water gun fights in the house, and no, we're not a typical family by any means.
It took me another minute or two before I peeped around the sofa then rose to my feet. Walking back to the kitchen, I had no idea what was waiting for me.
Mom was staring at the same flowers in her hand with a distant and sad look.
"Hey, mom," I said, breaking her out of her trance. "What's up?"
She shook her head, "Nothing." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She rolled her eye at herself then changed her answer to "Everything!" She slammed the flowers onto the counter, eyeing them guiltily afterward. "This is crazy, right? Me trying to date again when I'm so dang horrible at it."
I opened my mouth to speak, but Mom wasn't finished.
"I have the worst luck, and when I think I've finally found the one to complete our family, I get played. I'm 38 years old. I should have my love life together by now. But here I am going off on a rant to my teenage son about how my insecurities are holding me back from admitting my feelings to Tyler."
Over the years, mom's had her fair share of boyfriends. Some I liked, others I threatened if they hurt her.
Maybe there was bad luck on mom's part, but there's also something more significant than that holding her back. It's been nearly two decades, and part of her is still back at that place where her heart shattered into a million pieces. My biological father, or should I say "sperm donor," did that to her. His memory resides in the darkest part of her mind. She'd rather lick bird poop off the sidewalk than forgive him. And I'm riding that same boat with her.
But I didn't want his grave errors to determine mom's life.
"Since when were you two on a first-name basis?" I asked, virtually bypassing all the other details of this conversation.
Mom belted out a nervous laugh, smoothing her hair back. "It's been a long summer."
I nodded. "Was that code for something?" I threw up my hands. "Never mind, I don't want to know."
"Oh, hush! All I was saying is that it's scary to think that I could still make mistakes in the romance department at this age. But I'm tired, and I feel like I should accept dying alone at this point. I lived a good life and birthed a handsome, loyal son who will pay for all my elderly needs like one of those high-tech wheelchairs."
I imagined that by the time mom needed a wheelchair, scientists would have hovering wheelchairs like the one I saw in Spy kids. Now that would be cool.
"Yeah yeah." I flicked my wrist. "Anyway, I think you should go for it." I encouraged.
Mom gave me a blank stare. "So, what did you make for dinner?" She walked around the counter to admire the casserole.
Can we talk about the whiplash she just gave me? I stood there blinking repeatedly.
"Mom," I said softly.
"I don't want to talk about it anymore." She reached for two dishes from the cabinet.
"Fine," I mumbled, not wanting to push it.
Another day perhaps.