“I do.” He shrugged, purposely keeping his eyes on the screen before him.
Her heart tugged. Ever since James was a child, he’d taken it upon himself to try to not bother her. That meant he often downplayed things that affected him negatively. That practice had only gotten worse as problems escalated between her and her ex-husband that would eventually lead to their divorce.
Now, her almost-grown baby boy sat here trying to convince her he wasn’t fazed by any of this. But a mother always knew when things weren’t right. His hyper-focus on that tablet was sign number one.
“James, you love the arts. Dance, fashion, they both mean the world to you.”
He lazily swiped his finger across the screen, still refusing to look at her.
“Well, maybe if I hadn’t loved them so much, Dad would still be here.”
His words pressed heavily on her heart like a rolling boulder crushing everything in its path. She could see that old wound she’d hoped had been permanently closed slowly open back up.
Damn you, Marques Sanders.
Although she and her ex-husband Marq had found a way to co-parent, that hadn’t always been the case. His toxic masculinity, his constant need to impose his ideas of manhood onto their son, had torn a hole so big in their relationship, in their family, they’d never been able to repair the damage.
“James, your father didn’t leave because you love to dance or design clothes. He left because he and I weren’t healthy as a couple. The best thing we could do for you as your parents was separate so we could focus on being there for you instead of wasting our energy constantly fighting.”
James’ weary glance melted, giving her hope he’d somehow found truth in her words. Before she could ascertain whether he believed her or not, his eyes dropped to his screen and went back to playing with his tablet.
“Ma, you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me. I know Dad didn’t think fashion design or dance was manly. I know I was a disappointment to him.”
An angry simmer began to bubble up inside of her. She was pissed at her ex for putting this nonsense into her kid’s head. And she was doubly pissed at the high school principal who was taking away the one thing that made her kid happy.
She took the tablet out of James’ hand, placing a single finger under his chin, and tipping it upward.
“You could never be a disappointment to me or your dad. Your father may have some antiquated ideas about masculinity, but that’s not the same thing as him being disappointed in you. You are the absolute best thing that’s ever happened to us. You hear me?”
She saw some of his natural spark flash in his eyes, and her heart thumped just a little bit harder in her chest.
“Don’t you worry about the arts program. I’m gonna talk to your principal today to find out what’s going on. I’m the PTA president; this is something I should’ve been told before the notice went out to you kids. Let me handle it.”
He nodded and smiled, a real smile that reached his large, brown eyes, pouring concentrated joy directly into her veins.
“Now, would you like some sausage or bacon with those eggs?”
He tilted his head, giving her the “Ma, please” face he always used when he was begging her for something or another.
“Can I have both?”
“I swear you’re gonna eat me out of house and home.”
She gave him a wink and headed to the fridge to grab supplies. She was gonna feed her baby good, drop him off to school, then have a little talk with the principal. Because nobody, absolutely nobody, was going to snatch away something that had been so pivotal to her son’s development without hearing a strong word or two from her, especially when this program was one of a few feeder programs to the New York School of Performing and Fashion Arts.
After everything she’d sacrificed to free herself and her son from her ex’s direct influence, there was no way she could allow the one reward her son deserved to be taken away.
“Anything for my son-shine.”
Chapter 2
“Look at my baby.”
Adam stepped into the kitchen of his childhood home with the same bright smile his mother’s enthusiastic greeting always drew from him.
One footstep in and the smell of country sausage and buttery grits made him moan in anticipation. Not just because it smelled divine, it most certainly did. But because every morning of his formative years and adolescence, he’d awakened to his mother preparing this same meal. Her ritual of starting him off for a good day with a full belly and an even fuller heart.
“Morning, Mama.”
