Marsha Ferguson.
Put together in her crisp cream slacks like she came in with the intention of working the day in the office, yet casual (for her) in a navy blue half zip sweater. Her hair was pulled tight in a low ponytail at her nape, not a hair out of place. Big designer sunglasses covered her slender face hiding her deep brown eyes. Still, the weight of them as they settled on us, peering from one son to another, was felt even if it wasn’t seen.
“Boys, don’t go blaming your brother for merely doing what I asked,” she said as she stopped in front of the door and placed her hands on her hips.
Leaning back in my seat, I couldn’t help but flick my eyes over to Clay and say in a hushed tone, “Doing what she asked him to.”
Clay immediately shook his head, like he’d already thought the same thing. Out loud he just repeated, “Like she fucking asked him to.”
Because of course he did exactly what she asked him to do. Clint has always done what Mom asked of him to the detriment of him and anyone else who got caught in the crossfire too. Most extremely, our sister having to marry that prick of an old man and Clint standing by and not doing a damn thing about it. But that almost felt like another lifetime ago. And while Clint was still just as loyal to Mom, he no longer gave her that loyalty untried. If he didn’t like something, he spoke up about it. The problem with that was, Clint didn’t care much about much.
Today, his job was obviously just to get us in here. The true organizer was this tall slender woman standing in front of us. Which is why sitting across from us, Clint barely flicked his eyes up except to land them on our mom in an acknowledging nod before continuing to tap along his keyboard. Mom strutted her way further into the room, pushing her sunglasses up to the top of her head as she dropped a kiss on Clay’s, leaving me with a little pat on my shoulder.
While her gestures were loving enough, her words were stern. “You two stop it. At least he has the decency to pick up the phone when I call. I don’t have to trap him to talk to his mother.”
“Sorry, Mom,” I said at the same time Clay said, “Sorry, Ma.”
She didn't accept our apology, just walking deeper into the room, moving to stand in front of Clay and me. The next look I shared with Clay was one that communicated warning signs. It wasn't just her general presence that was sounding the alarm bells. It was the simple fact that she was here.
Mom had retired in name mostly, but she was still fairly active on the back end of the business. While she trusted Clint with most, if not all, the business decisions, she couldn’t seem to fully step away. She’d been in control over this immense responsibility for essentially all of her life. And unlike us, she had to do it all on her own. No siblings around to help shoulder the heavy burden of a thriving legacy. A lonely empire that she was left in charge of. So it was safe to say it was hard for her to let go.
“Save your sorries, I didn’t come here for that,” she said, and on a sharp pivot she clasped her hands in front of herself and let them fall into her lap. “I came here to check on my boys since they don’t check in with me.”
“I thought that’s what your little helper was for,” Clay said.
“Bigger than you,” the little helper in question grumbled from behind his desk, not looking up from his computer.
“By like an inch,” Clay retorted.
“Children, please,” I said, mostly because the two of them could go back and forth for hours if someone let them. “You’re both small, can we move on?”
“Shut up, Baby Giant,” they grumbled together, using the nickname they gave me back in middle school when I’d grown an entire foot in one summer.
I smiled but couldn’t fully commit to it. Not when the woman in front of me was standing there quietly with her arms crossed over her middle as she watched us, the strangest look on her face. Unconsciously, my head lulled to the side. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever seen that look before. It looked like a mix between content and perturbed.
“Something wrong, Mom?” I asked.
Around me, my brothers continued their bickering, but at the sound of my question, their attention snapped up to our mother. With the laser attention of all of her sons the woman didn’t balk or cower, just smiled another weird looking smile and shook her head. “Just happy you boys still haven’t changed.”
Dark eyes caught light ones as my brothers and I shared confused looks. It wasn’t just me. They thought she was being weird too.
“You’re scaring us, Ma,” Clay said. “Is Papa okay?”
“Nothing has to be wrong for me to come see you. Stop acting like that,” she said. “Matter of fact, come here.”
We did, rising from our seats, we went to stand with her. She was tall, just shy of Tiney who was above average height for a girl, and just as thin as her. Reaching out with both her hands, she snagged either one of ours and held them tight in her grasp. Then looking from me to Clay she sighed.
“When are the two of you going to start getting more serious about your careers, hmm?” she asked, and it wasn't my imagination that we both bristled on the spot. Mom noticed it too, and she just held on tighter. Alternating hard looks between the both of us through her chocolate brown eyes. “It’s high time that you two stepped up. I'm an old woman now. I don’t have the strength to chase you kids around with a wagging fist anymore, and since everything happened with your sister, I… I just want to make sure all my children are going to be okay.”
“If you’re worried about your kids, you should start with the robot behind you. I'm not sure he’s blinked in five years, Ma. It’s concerning,” Clay said, and although he was joking, he wasn't necessarily wrong. Apart from Tiney and her hurdles, Clint should be the most worrisome of all of us. I'm pretty sure he didn’t have one friend, woman, or hobby outside of work.
Mom just waved that off though, saying, “Your brother is focused on his career, which is perfectly fine. As none of you are married or even entertaining the thought, I don’t see what else there is to be focused on anyway.”
“How about a life, Ma? Some of us have one and don’t want it to end just to get hitched or get another high-rise downtown,” Clay said.
She tsked, giving him a side eye. “Always so dramatic. I don’t know who you get that from.”
I swallowed my snort. But, as mothers do, she noticed it and turned her assessing gaze over to me. “Something to say, Connor?”