I was the good boy, and I still am. After a while, the traits we pride ourselves on become a part of us. They bleed into us, until they shape us, help us create the story we tell ourselves.
Since I can remember, I’ve been telling myself Lennon and I are meant to be. She showed up that day in second grade, her eyes wide and fearful, and I could tell she thought she didn’t belong. She never thought she was good enough, not for me or the school or anything that was given to her. She was timid, fearful, like a pet beaten by the owner it loves.
And later, I came to understand shehadbeen beaten, figuratively anyway. Her mother was a piece of work, a textbook narcissist. Until I met that woman, I’d never truly hated anybody.
Ironically, Lennon’s mother loved me. When we were younger her mom didn’t want her around boys, but when we were older she accepted our friendship. She told me over and over that I was too good for Lennon. She said this in front of her. I responded the same way each time: wrapping an arm around Lennon’s turned-in shoulders and saying ‘You must have something wrong with your eyesight, Mrs. Blake’.
If only my own mother loved Lennon as much. She wasn’t unkind to her, but her eyes passed over Lennon with polite disinterest. She believed there were other people I should be spending my time with. People who were not Lennon Davies and Finn Jeffries.
And something tells me, when I get back from my run and breakfast with Finn, she’ll wait less than five minutes to ask me if I’ve seen them since I returned to Agua Mesa.
I didn’t tell her why I came back, only that I was going to use the house for a couple weeks. I’d contemplated not telling her, but I knew it would upset her if she learned later on that I’d come back to my childhood home for the first time in years and hadn’t told her.
Things are going to be different though. I’m an adult now. I won’t hide my friendships anymore. I’m not afraid to upset her. My father retired from the bench two years ago, and she can’t threaten me with the possibility of embarrassing my father by continuing to befriend the 'future inmate' and the 'girl who should be dating the future inmate'.
To be fair, Lennon never stood a chance. She was doomed from the beginning, right along with every other girl. I can’t imagine a woman my mother would consider good enough for her only son. Perhaps a philanthropic, virgin princess who spends her free time protesting shark fin soup? And that’s only a maybe.
“Mom, hi.” I greet her as I walk through the small mudroom off the left of the kitchen. She and my father arrived while I was out. I feel a twinge of guilt as I think about how their arrival might have influenced my decision to exercise this morning. Finn was a large part of it though. I wanted to see him, to be one-on-one with him. Finn’s a good guy, and it’s been so long. Too long. He doesn’t want to talk about his job, but I wish he’d open up about it. Maybe that means Lennon and I are right, and he was doing something he can’t talk about. Ordinarily it would seem far-fetched, but this is Finn I’m thinking about. With him, anything is possible.
“Brady!” My mom beams, placing her kitchen knife on the butcher block cutting board and coming to me, arms open. She hugs me, pulling away with a wrinkled nose. “You stink.”
“I went for a run.”
“In this heat?”
Nodding, I walk to see what she was cutting. I’m not hungry, but I want something to do with my hands.
Pears. I grab two slices and pop one in my mouth.
My mom leans a hip against the countertop, pinning me with her straight-forward gaze. “How are you, dear?”
“Fine,” I answer.
Her eyes tighten shrewdly. “Try that again.”
“Mom, it’s only been a few months since I’ve seen you. Not much has changed.”
“Sure it has,” she says. Her tone is casual, but I know better.
My eyebrows pull together in confusion.
“You’re here, after all. In Agua Mesa. After so many years gone.” She cocks her head, the loose bun at the nape of her neck toppling sideways with the movement. “Why did you come back?”
She knows.
Of course she does. News of Lennon’s mother’s death is a big enough deal that it would only take a couple phone calls for my mother to learn about it.
“Lennon’s mom died. Her service is in two days. Lennon came back, so I did too.”
“And Finn?”
“What about him?” I’m really starting to hate how much I feel like a child again, defending my choice in friends against the person who held all the power in my life.
“He’s back too.” Her question sounds more like a statement. “Of course he is. Whatever one of you does, the other two follow.”
“You make it sound like we share a brain.”
She snorts. “Thank God you don’t.”
