“The invitation is always open,” he says, holding my palm extra tight. My breath halts as I fall into the abyss of his blue eyes, the red dot where he took a ball in the face still scarring the inside of his right cornea. “I can give you both a ride to the airport that way. So . . . think about it.”
I manage to pull my mouth into a tight-lipped smile as I nod. My gaze meets Colby’s as I lean back, but our silent connection is brief, too short for me to read her wishes. I’m not sure whatto do, so I utter, “I will,” then get out of the truck. The exhaust rumbles behind me as Rick pulls away, and I head into the hospital to check in with the admin desk and figure out what floor my mom is working on today.
I snag a pathetic bouquet of flowers from what’s left in the gift shop, then take the elevator to the fifth floor, where my mom is running one of the nursing stations for post-op recovery. Her head is down over a keyboard, her fingers flying to keep up with her charts as I sneak up behind her and motion for one of her nurses to keep my secret.
“Working on Mother’s Day?” I tease, leaning over her right shoulder and setting the small vase with semi-wilted daisies and baby’s breath next to her mouse pad.
“Mijo!” She scoots away from me in her wheeled chair, startled but elated. She’s on her feet in a breath, and I catch her small frame as she flings herself into me for a hug.
“I know you were bummed you couldn’t get off for the games this weekend, and I don’t come to Houston for a few weeks yet, so I thought?—”
“Hush, you don’t need to make an excuse to see me. You can come see me anytime!” She sinks down on flat feet but keeps her palms on my cheeks, patting them. It’s her way of testing my weight—she swears she can tell how well I’m eating based on my chubby cheeks.
“I know, I’ll eat. I promise. In fact, I figured since you were off in an hour, maybe . . .” Her face falls as I’m talking, and my gut sinks. I bite my bottom lip.
“They’re short because of Mother’s Day, and I didn’t think you’d have time to visit, so I volunteered. If I had known,” she says.
I shake my head and force a smile on my lips. I never want my mom to feel bad about anything. Ever.
“No, it was a last-minute decision. You’re harder to surprise now that you’re in management,” I tease. My mom is always the first to take on extra work, less for the money, she says, and more for the high she gets from helping people. Between my brother and me, she’ll always be taken care of financially. But Carmen Vargas loves to work. And she loves to serve people in need. If the grind wasn’t so hard as she gets older, I think she’d still be pounding away hours in the ER.
“I do still get a dinner break, though. We could go now. How do you feel about today’s soup special? I can guarantee all the oyster crackers you want.” She winks as her lip inches up on one side. Whenever I was sick as a kid, I lived on those crackers. My brother swore they tasted like paper, but I didn’t care.
“You had me at the crackers. Yeah, let’s do it,” I say, slinging an arm around her after she snags her purse from her side drawer.
“Marina, I’ll be back in thirty. My baby showed up to take me out for Mother’s Day,” she brags to her colleague, as if I’m taking her somewhere far fancier than the second floor.
“Good game today, Jayden. We had it on in the break room,” Marina says. She’s worked with my mom since I was in high school. I’m sure she’s been forced to watch hundreds of games over the years between Adriel’s and my schedule.
“Thank you. I’m working hard, trying to get the big call. You know the drill,” I say. My mom’s face beams up at me. I forgot how satisfying one of her proud-mom expressions can be to my soul. I needed that.
I escort my mom to the elevator, my bag slung over one shoulder while my free arm remains around her. I don’t let go until the elevator doors close.
“Adriel call today?” I reminded my brother that it was Mother’s Day. He better have.
“Not yet. But he plays at seven tonight. They’re home, so I’m sure I’ll hear from him on his drive home. Or on the way to . . . wherever.” She rolls her eyes as the doors open, and she exits before me.
Adriel likes to party. It’s been an issue with the team. He’s supposed to be on a short leash, But my brother knows how to chew his way through restraints. As long as he stays away from the hard stuff and his damn car.
“He’ll grow out of it one day,” my mom says, pulling her badge from the hem of her blue scrub blouse to scan our way into the cafeteria section reserved for employees.
“He’s almost thirty, Mom. He’s fully baked, I’m afraid,” I say, taking a tray for my mom and me into my hand. I swat her palm away when she tries to carry it for herself. “If I can’t buy you a fancy dinner, at least let me carry your tray.”
She chuckles and mutters, “Fine,” before grabbing a fruit and cheese plate from one of the refrigerators. She slides it on her tray along with a Diet Coke. Once we’re loaded up with soup and an ample serving of crackers, we check out and head to a quiet corner table.
“So, the team isn’t leaving until morning?”
“Uhh.” I wince, knowing my mom will pull at threads no matter what I say.
“Mijo, you should be with your team. You can’t be asking for exceptions or special treatment. They notice these things.” She busies herself with my soup, pouring a packet of crackers into the broth before stirring. It’s a habit she has yet to break, babying me when it comes to food. She glances up when she realizes I’ve been staring at her, and we both break into a short laugh.
“Sorry, I can’t help it,” she says, dusting her hands of cracker crumbs before focusing on her own plate of food.
“It’s kinda nice, actually,” I say, bringing a spoonful of steaming tomato soup to my lips and blowing on it before sipping. “And I am just taking a later flight home. Coaches were fine with it since Colby . . .”
Well. I handed her a thread.
My mom’s brows lift.
