Now he’s here, and I wonder if he’ll ever tell me the reason why he doesn’t want to go to college, or at the very least, leave that door open.
Chrissy bumps her hip into mine, making the two cups of coffee on my tray drip over the edges of the old porcelain mugs. “Your boy is here,” she says.
I nod. “I know, thanks Chrissy.” I deliver the decaf coffee (what’s the point?) to two old cowboys in the corner, one of them a dairy farmer with a booth at the market selling buttermilk, and the other a grain harvester. Though I am a Bluebell import, working at Goode’s often makes me feel like a lifer, because I get to know people so much when they sit down to eat.
Rawley, his shoulder slumped, dark hair down, shrouding his face, drags himself toward me. I’d been so surprised he showed up that I hadn’t taken in his outfit—until now.
I grab him by the forearm and tug him back toward the register, where the hostess sits reading her Star Magazine. Apparently, Katy Perry is now an astronaut, and it’s got her focus.
“What are you wearing?” I whisper-hiss, yanking up the hem of his pink hoodie to discover— “you don’t even have a shirt on under this?” I drop the sweatshirt. “This is my hoodie!”
He shrugs. “I don’t have any clean clothes.” Then he just stands there, in cowboy boots and swim trunks, staring at me.
“Did you consider putting clothes in the washing machine? You know that big white metal box that you put soap into? It does all the work, you just have to open the lid and turn the dial.” I wipe sweat from my top lip with the back of my hand, and glance back at the double doors whenthe bell rings. “I’ll be right with you,” the hostess greets, folding her tabloid up in a private huff.
“Yeah. About that. I tried. But I couldn’t find detergent.” His face twists into a concerned rumple, like there’s bad news he is hesitant to deliver.
He leans forward, and sniffs. “You smell like dishes.”
I ignore his comment, despite the fact that, yes, I do smell like dishes because someone replaced my soap with Dawn. “We are not out of detergent. It’s under the sink in the laundry room,” I tell him, running down the list of items I grabbed from the Eat O Rama last week in my mind. Definitely got laundry detergent.
He winces, and shoves his hands in the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie. “I tried your nice soap, you know, the lavender stuff.”
My mind veers back to the tube of body wash, refilled with dish soap.
“I think the soap was too thick because now the machine doesn’t run.”
There’s an aggressive tap on my shoulder. “Clara June, I put two more in your section. They’re ready to order. Burnin’ holes in the back of your head as we speak,” the hostess tells me as she plunks back down in her padded seat, returning to her gossip.
I look at Rawley, and I don’t even think I’ve yet processed the fact that on top of hospital bills and my car repairs, that the washing machine now needs… something. I take a deep breath in, making Rawley whisper, “Oh God.”
“No,” I say after slowly exhaling. “I’m not going to spin out. Not here. Go grab a seat at the bar top, and wait for me, got it?”
He searches my eyes, then slowly says, “Okay.”
“I only have a few minutes on my break, but look, Rawley, we need to talk about this. I know we should’ve talked sooner, and I’m sorry. With Tanner’s injury?—”
Rawley is a good kid, despite lying about the tutor and breaking my washing machine, and the stink bomb he lit in Mrs. Salinger’s backyard two years ago—he’s a good kid. So I’m not very surprised that he opens with an apology.
“I know, mom. I know you’ve been crazy busy with Tanner and the car and all these shifts. And I am sorry for lying to you. But I did try to tell you that I didn’t want to do the tutoring.” He tucks hair behind his ears, and his blue eyes seem so bright against my bright pink breast cancer hoodie.
“You know I only want you to take the SATs in the event you change your mind, right? I understand that you do not feel college is your path, and I respect that. I won’t make you go if you don’t want to. But you can’t know with certainty that you won’t ever want to attend. And you may need that test under your belt for it.” I roll my lips together, talking slowly and calmly amidst the chaos of the after school rush. Backpacks are tossed onto the ground beneath booths, teenagers laugh, shooting paper straw wrappers across tables, and tired farmers shuffle through the chaos to their usual tables. Still, I keep my focus on Rawley.
“Mom, I understand what you’re saying. I just… I know what I want to do. Like, Iknowknow. And I don’t believe I’mever going to change my mind. And part of the reason I didn’t want to be tutored to take the SAT is because it costs a lot, and I’d rather take part in the apprenticeship program at Wrench Kings.” His lips snap together when he’s done, and he watches me, waiting, wondering.
I’ve seen Rawley fix his bike, and his brother’s bike, and he once took apart the coffee pot and put it back together to get the clock to work. He’s great at fixing things, all things considered, and he’s always loved old cars. Hell, I think he loves the old car his dad left behind more than he loves playing music, or his Playstation. Without money, though, fixing it up and restoring it proves challenging. I consider what he’s saying, really trying to think it through in the short time frame I have, because that is mom life. Make crucial choices in the blink of an eye, and hope for the best.
I roll my lips together. “You are good at fixing things.”
He nods. “I love trying to see how things go together, and making them work again.”
I arch a brow. “Except the washing machine.”
He winces a little, then leans in all conspiratorially. “That was actually Archie, but I was trying to be the cool older brother and take responsibility.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “SoArchiereplaced my body wash with Dawn dish soap.”
Rawley slaps his forehead. “Fu—shit, I’m sorry. I told him not to but I was trying to find Tanner’s muscle relaxers and Archie kept slamming his stuffed dog into the side of the machine and I was just?—”
