“I see.”
I don’t.A man, humble? My brain short-circuits. Once again, everything about Maverick is the complete opposite of what I’ve come to expect from men. Gabriel would, and has, basked in the spotlight.
I finish setting the tables, all the while thinking about how Maverick came to be here.
Maverick
13 Years Ago
“Those who stand for nothing fall for everything.”—ALEXANDER HAMILTON
Yet another social media post fills my screen, a paid advertisement that reads:Reclaim your Manhood. Join the Brotherhood.
I scroll past it, fed up with the toxic masculinity this group of guys spew and have the audacity to call “real manhood.” Their ideas have been circulating for years, but have really picked up traction on socials in the last year or so. They organized into an official social group that you can join online from anywhere in the world, and more than a few of my friends have bought into their ideas.
Another post, a video this time, fills my phone screen. The young man starts talking enthusiastically. “Are you looking for a community of like-minded men who understand what it truly means to be a man? The Brotherhood—”
I lock my phone and toss it on the bed, fed up with the algorithm. No matter how many times I clicknot interested, my feed isfull of this bullshit. As far as I’m concerned, these guys are the most insecure men out there, constantly spouting off about beingalpha, how women are inferior, and their godawful “tenets” that they live by. I’ve seen their sponsored ads enough times to know them by heart, even though I couldn’t disagree with them more.
Control is power.
Never show weakness.
Pain breeds strength.
Brotherhood above all.
Their entire model is predatory, designed to make insecure boys feel better about themselves. Any man who believes in those “tenets” is emotionally immature at best and a misogynistic asshole at worst.
My dad is the strongest man I know, and he’s far from the typical definition of masculine. He doesn’t watch sports or drink beer or go hunting. He enjoys gardening, writes poetry, cries at sappy movies, and yet, he possesses a quiet strength, a humility that speaks volumes.
I get off my bed and head out to the living room, needing a distraction from the direction I fear the world is heading. I find my mom in her chair, the steady drip of her IV and thebeep beepof the monitor an oddly comforting sound. After three years of battling cancer, chemo, radiation, surgery, remission and now recurrence, she’s been home on hospice for about a month. She retired from the military as a nurse after twenty years of service, so luckily we don’t have totake out a second mortgage or start a fundraiser to cover the expenses. Privatized insurance in this country is a joke, and the medical system isn’t too far behind. But we’re grateful for the benefits and that she gets to be home during her final days instead of in some depressing hospital room.
We’ve all come to terms with the reality of her inevitable passing in our own way. Mom was the first to accept it, and after so long fighting, I don’t blame her for being ready. Dad has been by her side every step of the way, ever the supportive husband, though I know nothing can really truly prepare you to lose your life partner.
And, as an only child, I’ve grown accustomed to a certain level of loneliness throughout the years. Still, it’s strange to grieve someone before they’re actually gone.
I lean down and kiss the top of my mom’s scarf-covered head, looking at the hospice nurse who’s reading a book in the corner. “How’s she doing?”
The older woman gives me a sad smile. “Today is a little worse than normal. We upped her morphine to make sure she stays comfortable.”
I nod. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
She waves me off. “It’s my pleasure. She’s a lovely woman.”
I look at my mother again, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her skin; physically, she’s a shell of the woman she used to be. “Yeah, she is.”
My mom speaks, her voice hoarse. “Quit talking about me like I’m not here, kid.”
A cheeky smile spreads over my face as she cracks an eyelid to look at me. “Quit pretending to be asleep so your nurse will say nice things about you. I know you terrorize her when we aren’t looking.”
My mom feigns a scowl. “She never gives me ice cream.”
I bark a laugh. “You and I both know you’ve had more ice cream in the last month than you’ve had in your entire life.”
She smiles wearily. “Busted.”
The nurse gets up from her chair and places a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll give you two a minute. Let me know if you need anything.”
