Seeing them together helps me forget all about the Alec incident last night. And I haven’t decided if I’m going to tell her about that quite yet.
I find my usual seat in the chair next to her bed. Jack continues to go on and on. He tells her all about the TV shows he watched and how I let him cuss and sing that song.
Thanks for that, bud.
I know when she wakes up, she’ll scold me for that but laugh about it afterward.
Jack is fairly quiet, but I swear he saves all of his words for her.
After about thirty straight storytelling minutes from Jack, Angie comes in and offers to take him to get a snack.
This is our usual routine. She does it, so I can have some alone time with my mom. I’m grateful.
Scooting my chair closer, I take her limp, cool hand in mine. “How are you doing, Mom?”
I wait for her to respond, praying to hear her voice again.
Nothing comes.
I sit there in silence for a moment, contemplating what to say. But the only words that come out are, “So, I, uh … I ran into Alec last night.” Hoping that will shock her into consciousness, I give her a moment before continuing, “We didn’t really talk. He recognized me, and I … well, I bolted. I don’t want to see him, Mom, but …” I trail off.
She’s kind of become my diary through all this.
She’s who I bare my soul to.
So, I speak freely, fearlessly. “But seeing him again, Mom … oh God. It was like all these locked-away feelings came back at once. It was overbearing. I should hate him, right? I should hate him for leaving me, for leaving Jack. I mean, I do … to a certain extent. But I feel like I should hate him more, you know? Anyway, I guess it’s not that important because I won’t be seeing him again.”
I ramble on for what feels like hours. I fill her in on all of my classes and anything and everything from the last week. After a while, I snuggle into her shoulder. My body aches from the desire of wanting to be held by her.
After I finish talking, we just lie there in silence. My eyes drift. Being as close to my mom’s embrace as I can get feels a lot like coming home.
Taking some deep breaths, I try to get any scent of her I can. But after months in the hospital, it’s almost gone, replaced by the stale air from this place.
The door creaks softly, forcing my eyes open. Jack comes skipping in with chocolate on his lips.
Angie smiles at me, but I can see the pity in her eyes.
I sit up and grab my bag, ready to head home. I wish I could take her with me. “You ready, buddy?”
He smiles that too-big-for-his-face smile, showing chocolate bits on his teeth.
Oh goodness, what am I going to do with him?
“Yeah, can we stop for ice cream?”
I shake my head at him, suppressing a laugh. “You just had chocolate—or at least what made it into your mouth.” I scoot him toward the door.
He halts, slamming his foot on the ground. Twisting around, he juts a finger at me. “There is no such thing as too much chocolate, Mom. Come on!”
Well, I’ll give myself some credit. I surely raised him right. “Okay, fine. One scoop each and then home.”
With the win in his pocket, he turns back around, chin high, and heads to the elevator.
Angie walks with us, a heaviness in the air between us. She’s the first to speak. “It was good to see you guys. Next Sunday?”
I don’t meet her eyes. “Yeah, next Sunday. Let me know if there are any changes.”
She rests her hand on my shoulder. “Of course.” Turning her attention to Jack, she says, “You be good for your mom, okay?”
