“I want to.”
I sit at the small table anyway. She moves slowly but steadily, pulling out the soup she made earlier and heating it on the stove. She always cooks like she has all the time in the world. Soup in the middle of summer isn’t my thing, but I love my time with my mom. I’ll eat whatever she makes me.
She sets the bowl in front of me and watches until I take a bite.
“Good?” she asks.
“Always,” I say. “Thank you.”
She smiles, then studies me the way she does when she’s thinking about something she hasn’t decided to say yet.
“I’ll think about the book truck coming here,” she says softly.
And I know she will. She didn’t always stay home as she does now. She never talks about why she doesn’t want to leave. But the few times that she’s tried, she’s had panic attacks.
“Okay.” I nod. “I think it would be cool if you could look at all the books they have to offer and see whatyoulike.”
She searches my eyes. “You look tired. Got a lot going on?”
“It was a long week.”
“It’s Tuesday.” She laughs.
“Yeah,” I say with a chuckle.
She looks back down at her books. “You like being busy.”
“I do.”
She flips a page, then glances up again. “But you’ve been quieter.”
I freeze for half a second. “Have I?”
She smiles gently. “I know you, Cal.”
I blow on the soup. “Nothing bad. Just thinking.”
She reaches across the table and pats my hand. “Thinking is allowed.”
I laugh. “Good. I was worried.”
She squeezes my fingers. “I’m proud of you.”
“For what?”
“For showing up,” she says. “For taking care of things. For being so good to your pain-in-the-butt mother.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t have to worry, Mom. I’ll always help you.”
“I know,” she says. “I just want you to remember you get to want things for you, too.”
I look down at the table. “I have things.”
She tilts her head. “Do you?”
I think about the bar. About the boat. Surfing. What I try not to think about is the woman in a wedding dress who trusted me without knowing my name.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I think I do.”
