“Vivian, he needs to learn not toneedyou. So let him grow up.”
“Mom—”
An insistent car horn outside interrupted me.
“What the heck?”
Someone laid on the horn again, so I went back outside to see an older-model red Corvette. How Mitch had driven it with the bow on top, I’d never know. Surely that violated several traffic laws.
My son stood frozen by the passenger side of his Altima, the door open and his laundry bag on the driveway beside him.
Before I could ask my husband if he thought his midlife crisis was getting even more out of hand, he said, “Dylan! Just the kid I wanted to see.”
“Is this why you asked me to come home?” my son asked, his eyes wary.
I exhaled in disappointment. Part of me had hoped that Dylan had come home because I’d asked him to, but now I could see Mitch had summoned him.
“This is your new car!” Mitch said proudly. “You’ve been doing so well in school and—”
My hands clenched at my sides. A new car? What was that idiot thinking? And where had he gotten the money?
“It’s my first semester of college, and I currently have a C in English, Dad.”
“What?”
“I’ll bring up the grade, but I don’t know why you’re giving me a car.”
Son looked down on father with piercing blue eyes, forcing his father to admit he was trying to bribe his way to forgiveness. Mitch chose to go on the defensive. “So I get you a new car, and this is the thanks I get?”
“Dad, you didn’t even ask me what I’d like. I’d have to fold myself like an accordion to get into that car.”
“You ungrateful—”
“And I can’t help but think you bought it only because you feel guilty for the fact you and Mom are splitting.”
“Now, Dylan—”
“And you’re hoping I won’t be mad at you if you buy me a new car. Well, I’m still mad. You can take it back.”
Hot shame crawled up the back of my neck. There was a time when I should’ve said something similar.
I didn’t deserve my son. That much I knew.
“Fine. I know someone whowillappreciate it,” Mitch spat. “If that’s the thanks I get for spending my Saturday afternoon buying a new car for you.”
“I think that might be best,” Dylan said. His voice was soft, which meant he was truly angry. That was a trait he had inherited from my mother.
Mitch snatched up the bow and crammed it into the passenger seat, slamming the driver’s side door before peeling out of the driveway.
“Dylan, thank you for that,” I said.
He held out a hand. “Don’t.”
That left me in the front yard with my mother. I forced myself to meet her gaze, which was a mistake because those eyes held a lot of sadness.
She broke eye contact first and walked into the house. I followed her and headed straight to the shower, as much to wash away a certain painful memory as to wash away the sweat from my earlier workout.
Try as I might, I couldn’t wash away my shame.
