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“Maybe one of you? Can you carve people?” She smiles. “Photos are nice, but having my boy in 3D would be pretty sweet.”
Why? Because she’s about to fuck off until he graduates high school?
I tense but keep my tongue in check as Colt considers her request before nodding.
Of course, he does.
There’s no way my kid will turn down a special request like that. Not from his mother, who he still loves like the good boy he is, even when she’s the last person alive who deserves it.
Eventually, he sits back and looks at the blue sky wistfully. He needs a break from all the coddling and unexpected praise.
I don’t blame him.
“Hey, why don’t you head outside, bud?” I suggest. “Looks like a beautiful day out there and Grandma could use some help with those weeds in her garden.”
“Okay, no prob. Is the trampoline still up?” he asks Mom. He might be thirteen, trying to be all mature, but he’s still a kid at heart.
“Not right now, but I can get it out for you.”
“Mom, don’t—”
“I can handle it, Archer,” she tells me, pulling her silk scarf off and tossing it on the sofa. “I might be old, but that doesn’t mean I’m too over the hill for a little exercise. Come on, Colt, let’s go.”
She gives me a knowing look that tells me I’m free to talk to Rina privately.
And maybe, despite the fact that she invited Rina here today, she wants me to talk to her, too.
“Have fun,” Rina whispers. There’s clear disappointment on her face as he sprints outside behind my mother.
Guess she didn’t get the memo. Active, healthy teenage boys don’t want to sit around and gab all day with moms who barely acknowledge their existence.
As soon as the door shuts behind them, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Okay, Rina, cut the crap. Why are you really here? I want answers.”
“Huh?” She looks at me, familiar antagonism written on her face. “Archer, don’t talk to me like that.”
“Is it money? Do you need some help again? You know I’m reasonable.” Or maybe it’s some inner angst, another relationship with some fuckboy gone to pieces, realizing her own mortality. Wouldn’t put it past her.
“Oh, please. I hate groveling for money, especially to you. I only ever asked when I had nowhere else to turn. Energy workand art don’t pay like real estate,” she spits. “It’s more like you pay me to get rid of me. I never got together with you for your money, Archer. You know that. I’m not here because of it now.”
“Yes, you’re a saint. You don’t give a fuck about the money.” I have to admit, it’s half-true.
She only comes calling when she’s in a bind, realizing she can’t support herself off erratic art gigs and astrology consultations alone.
I’ve always topped her off generously when she needs it, despite no obligation.
It’s for the family. I won’t have Colt worried sick about his mother, broke and living out on West Coast streets or wherever the hell she’s living now, dodging violent junkies and rusty nails or whatever.
“Can you give me alittlecredit?” She holds up two fingers with a sliver of space between them.
“Not with this. You haven’t given two shits about Colt since the divorce, and now you’re here fawning all over him. Why?”
She huffs loudly, rolling her eyes like a scorned teenage cheerleader.
“So this is how it’s gonna be?” Rina asks. “We can’t discuss this like adults? I see some things never change.”
Fuck her discussions.