“The funeral is only one of many downers today. Last night, April—MGM’s mom—got engaged. Her guy just enlisted in the army, and he’s planning on moving them all out of state. If that happens, I’ll never get to see my son.”
“That doesn’t seem fair. Can they do that?”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“Can you fight it? Don’t you have any rights as his father?”
Scott glanced at me, looking almost surprised that I was on his side. “You know, if I told any one of my buddies that she was moving my kid away, they’d slap me on the back and congratulate me like I’d won the lottery. But he’s my son,” Scott said. “And I want him to know me.”
The tree-lined street was hushed, with the baby’s soft breathing the only sound between us. Scott’s leg nervously jumped, and I placed my hand on his thigh to steady him. I allowed the gravity of the moment to settle before whispering, “MGM’s lucky to have a father who puts him first.”
“That’s the thing, Michelle. How can I put him first if I’m not there? It’s like my worst fear. This is shaping up to be the same story, all over again.”
Although he didn’t clarify, I could only assume his own father hadn’t been there for him.
“Presence isn’t the same as love, Scott. A man can sit at the head of the table every night and still choose himself over his family. MGM won’t remember the miles between you. He’ll remember who fought for him.”
Scott’s jaw flexed, his eyes far away. Then he gave the slightest nod, and when he looked back, there was a softness there that stole my breath.
“Thank you,” he said. “I needed to hear that.”
I squeezed his hand once before letting go.
“Sorry if I’m a bummer,” he added. “I get this way when I visit her.”
His mom. Who would’ve thought the charming stranger at the gas station would have such pain behind his smiling eyes?
“When did she die? Or is that too personal?”
“When I was ten.”
“The name on the gravestone is Heche. How come she doesn’t have your last name?”
“Nothing gets past you, does it?”
“I have an eye for detail.”
“My mom was a free spirit. Didn’t believe in conventional marriage. She and my dad were on and off. Never married.”
“How did she die?” I asked, tentatively. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Scott looked away, grabbed a stick from the gutter, and nudged a pebble through the dirt. I figured that was my answer. I snagged my own stick and stole his pebble.
“Michelle, please. I’m fragile.”
“That makes two of us.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, waiting.
“I told my parents I quit Juilliard.”
“And?”
“And… I’m heading back in the fall for sophomore year.”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “We talked about this.”
“I know,” I said. “But I wasn’t really given an option.”
