“Zeke’s a great guy,” I say, reaching out and touching his shoulder. “And he’ll make a girl very lucky someday. But I don’t know if he could handle being in a relationship with a girl who kicks his ass at video games.”
“I still think you’re cheating.”
“And, honestly, Mrs. Harris, I don’t see your son that way, and he doesn’t see me that way. But I do want to say that he’s come in and become one of my best friends. You raised a good kid.”
She reaches for my hand, and her eyes shine.
“Thank you,” she says. “For caring about my son and for telling me that. And for giving me gossip to look forward to between you and Declan.” She gives my hand a comforting squeeze. “Even though, now that you’re together, it’s gotten a little boring.”
“Mom!”
“It’s okay,” I reply. “I know, we’re just so domestic now. I’ll try and make some drama so Zeke has a story for you next time he comes.”
“Deal.”
We sit there until a nurse comes in and kicks us out because visiting hours are over. Just in the short time I spent with his mom, I can tell he gets a lot of his personality from her, but I can’t help but wonder if he inherited anything from his dad. Maybe his love for hockey, like Declan?
“Thanks for bringing me down here,” Zeke says as we get in the car. “I don’t think my mom’s been that happy in ages. Even with all your love stories.”
“I was happy to be there.” I exit the parking lot and drive back toward campus. “Can I ask you something?”
“If you’re gonna ask me if there’s a chance for us, dollface, I hate to break it to you, but even if you and Declan broke up, you’re not my type,” he jokes. I can’t tell if he’s doing it to be funny or to avoid wherever he thinks I’m going with this.
“Umm, I’m pretty sure anything with a vagina is your type,” I reply.
“Touché.” He lifts an eyebrow as he shifts his body toward me. “What’s up?”
“When your mom was talking, it didn’t seem like many people come to visit her.”
“It’s usually just me.”
“What about her family?”
“Um, she hasn’t spoken to them in about twenty-two years,” he begins. “Right around the time she found out about me.”
“Why?” I wonder.
“They didn’t approve of my dad,” he continues. “They gave her an ultimatum. Either she breaks things off with him, or they cut her off completely.”
“And what about you? They didn’t care they had a grandchild?”
“Their grandchild was made up of DNA that wasn’t socially acceptable to them. And not that my mom would’ve left my dad, but she wasn’t going to give me up, so.”
“Your grandparents cut your mom off because your dad wasn’t white?”
“Yeah, well, not every generation is as accepting as they should be.”
What assholes. Who gives a fuck who your kid loves? Who cuts their child out of their life because they don’t play by their rules.
“Do they know?” I question. “About your mom’s cancer?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met them; I wouldn’t even know how to get ahold of them.”
“And your dad?”
“What about my dad? Would he reach out?”
“No.” I grip the steering wheel. “Why doesn’t he come to the hospital with you? Or by himself?”
