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Cheesecake Roses

Becca Jackson

ChapterOne

Nate

Last year, I was at the height of my career playing baseball with the Funky Monkeys in the Banana Ball league. Then I got hurt, and instead of telling me it was over, they dragged it on and pretended as if I could get back to where I was. I just had to have faith and wait and see, but eight months of daily rehab didn’t make a fucking difference, and my dreams were crushed. I couldn’t stay out there in Savannah after that. It was too hard seeing all my friends living my dream. It’s selfish, I know, but I think I deserve to be a little selfish after all that. So I moved back home to Philadelphia to try to figure out what to do next. The only problem is, I have no idea how to do anything but play baseball.

Life can be a cruel bitch when she wants to be. Case in point, my mother sitting in a giant conference room, with views overlooking the streets of Philly, waiting for a lawyer we’ve never met. They’ve set out coffee and pastries, but as if anyone would feel like eating at a time like this. I know my mother doesn’t. She’s hardly eaten in days.

“What is taking them so long?” I ask her as we wait for the lawyer to return.

“I’m sure they will be with us as soon as they can. It was nice that Jack thought to leave you something, and I’m so glad to have you here with me,” she says, and I lay my hand over hers and give it a soft squeeze.

“I don’t know why he’s left me anything. You’re his sister. Everything should just go to you.” I couldn’t care less what he’s left me. I used to see Uncle Jack every summer as a kid, but I haven’t seen him since I was, like, thirteen. Mom and Jack had a huge fight one summer. I remember them screaming but can’t remember what the words were, and we just never went back.

“He loved you.”

“He loved you, too, Mom. I know it has been a while but…”

“We started to talk again a few months ago.”

“Really?” She never told me that.

“I was going to suggest we go see him during the holidays, like we used to, but then…” She sniffs and grabs her bag, rummaging through for a handkerchief. I have no idea what she’s going through. I’m a single child, but just the thought of losing her, the one person I do have in my life that I love, sends a pang to my chest and forces a lump into my throat. I can’t let this become about me, though. This whole year has been about me, and right now, this has to be about her. About showing her that she’s not alone. She has me.

I wrap my arm over her shoulder and hug her to my side, leaning my head against her shoulder.

“He knew you loved him.”

“Thanks, hun,” she says, and I lean back in the chair. What could be taking this fucking bloodsucker so long? They’ve had this meeting on their books for a week now. You’d think they’d be ready to go on time. Nothing like dragging out someone’s pain as long as you possibly can.

I know the feeling, not what Mom’s going through exactly, but I know pain. I know loss, and I know about people delaying the inevitable.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Buxton,” the lawyer says, strolling through the door with a small stack of yellow folders in his hands.

“Miss,” my mother corrects. Something she’s had to do plenty. Why do people always assume a woman with a kid is married? She never has been, and my father, well, let’s just say hisdonationwas all either of us got from him.

“Yes, sorry, Miss Buxton,” he corrects, taking a seat directly opposite my mother. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

I scoff, and my mother shakes her head.

“There’s no need to be rude, Nate.”

“Sure, you’re sorry for our loss, but you’ll still take your fees, right?”

“The firm will be paid for handling your late uncle’s affairs, yes.”

“Then let’s just get this over with so my mother can try to start moving on. You’ve had us in here for twenty minutes.”

“Yes, again, I do apologize for keeping you waiting. We were hoping the third beneficiary was going to be able to be in attendance, but they couldn’t make it.”

“So we have to come back again?” my mother asks, and I’m about ready to blow, but he’s shaking his head.

“No, they provided us with consent to go ahead with the reading of the will and then provide them an update afterward. So if you like, we can get started.”

“Yes, thank you,” my mother replies, and she reaches for my hand again.