“You’ll love the food here,” I tell him as we’re walking up to the line of people waiting to order—not one person caring how long it may take because the food is that good.
“Well, if it tastes anything like it smells from here, then I’ll…”
“Kyle?” A female voice calls out that dreaded name, stunning Ender into silence.
I turn in her direction and see a small, frail woman on the other side of the railing, separating the street and the platform by the food vendors.
Immediately, I know who the woman is and who she gave those same color eyes to. I would know them anywhere—I’ve been staring into them for months now. My attention darts toEnder, only to find him paler than normal. I grab his hand and squeeze tightly—he doesn’t even react to my touch.
“Kyle, is that you?” The woman makes her way up the ramp toward us, and I debate whether to take Ender and walk away or see what she has to say to him. I don’t want to make a decision for him, but I’m almost certain this is not going to be a happy reunion.
“Ender, do you want to get out of here? Say the word and we walk away,” I mutter to him before she approaches us.
The only response I get is a soft, “no.”
“Hey, boy. It’s been a while.” She makes no attempt to hug him. “Your father died, did you know that?”
I keep my eyes fixed on Ender, waiting for the moment this seems too much for him.
“I’m not a little boy anymore.” Ender’s monotone statement doesn’t do anything to deter her from continuing.
“He had an accident last year. Died on the spot.”
I can’t take this bullshit already. “Lady, what the hell is wrong with y—”
“Don’t.” Ender’s grip tightens.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maybe I'm Not the Problem
Ender
Istop Gabe before he has a chance to run her off. I know he’s only worried about me, but I need to hear what she has to say.
My mother looks at Gabe with indifference and then goes back to me. “Like I said, your father died and left me all alone. Welost the house years ago, and I got thrown out of our apartment when he died. I’ve been living on the streets since then.” As she continues to tell me about her plight for the past year, I look around and see curious eyes on us. “I think this is God’s way of telling me he loves me, running into you like this. Do you have your own place? Do you think I could come stay with you for a little while?” Her questions both shock and hurt me. “Kyle, are you even listening to me?”
“That’s not my name.”
“What?” she says with a look of disgust.
“I said, that’s not my name.”
“Are you going to pretend you don’t even know me? Like I’m a stranger, right here on the street in front of all of these people? Your own mother!”
“Ender, let’s go.” Gabe's voice is low, and his hand tugs on mine.
“Who the fuck are you?” She gawks at Gabe.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn her, all my pent-up anger for my parents finally releasing itself. “How dare you claim ignorance?Me, treatyoulike a stranger? Are you fucking kidding me?” The volume at which I’m shouting has now drawn a crowd. “This is the first time you’ve spoken to me since I was thirteen years old. We lived in the same house for years, and you acted like I wasn’t even there.” Gabe wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer as my voice starts to crack. “When I finally left, you said nothing, did nothing. You didn’t even look for me!”
My mother starts to look around the crowd. “Of course, I knew where you were,” she retorts, “You were with that weird kid, Colin, or that other one you were always with…”
“Connor. His name is Connor.” My eyes are already burning from the tears that have begun to fall. “And don’t you fucking dare speak a word about him.” I take a deep breath and continue before she’s able to say anything else about my friends. “Youknew where I was and didn’t come find me? Didn’t give a fuck about me, but now you’re asking me for help?” I scoff at the thought. “Do you even realize you still haven’t asked how I am? If I’m okay? Happy? Do you even give a fuck now? Or am I only good for a place to stay?”
I see the indignation written all over her face before she even opens her mouth. “Well, at least you’d be good for something.”
The gasps and comments about my mother’s disgusting behavior from the crowd are nothing compared to her words. The same sentiment as always—I’m not worthy of love.
