Page 7

William

“Momma,” I sighed, stepping into the hall and scooping her off her feet into a bear hug. She grunted, unable to hug me back because her hands were ladened with grocery bags. Xavier often made fun of me for not outgrowing the term momma, but I never cared. It was comforting, made me think of cold nights sleeping in her warm arms when she couldn’t afford to pay the heating bill. The word “Momma” meant safety and unconditional love, the epitome of everything she was.

She smelled like rose water and peppermint, a mix of her favorite perfume and candy. I inhaled, welcoming the feeling of home I only got when around her.

“Hi, baby,” she squeezed out as I placed all five feet, two inches of her back on the ground. She dropped a peck to my cheek, and I straightened with a crooked smile knowing she’d left her lipstick stain behind. “I missed that smile.” She graced me with one of her own. “Well, are you going to help me with these bags or what?”

“Oh, yeah.” I shook my head, taking the bags from her.

Pushing inside the apartment, I stood against the door to hold it open for her. She stepped inside, looking me over with brown eyes almost as dark as her skin. I got my moss green eyes from my European father. My complexion was lighter than hers thanks to him too. I used to hate that I resembled him. Still did. But my mother never looked at me like all she saw was the man who’d abandoned her in the delivery room.

After confirming I looked whole and healthy—at least on the outside—she peered down the hall.

“He’s in the shower. He knows you’re coming, but I didn’t mention you were a therapist.”

My mother once dreamed of being a Chief Nursing Officer, but I hadn’t been the only one inspired to change direction after life had its way with us. She specialized in family therapy, which didn’t make her an ideal candidate to work with Ryan. It wasn’t what she was here for anyway. She was good with people. Good at making them feel comfortable, safe. I hoped she could crack Ryan’s shell a little bit. Maybe help me with getting him to give Safe Haven a chance.

“You’re here to feed us.” I held the bags up.

“I won’t lie to him,” she warned. “If he asks, I’ll tell him the truth.”

“Trust me, he won’t ask you anything.”

She frowned at my remark, her gaze brimming with concern. I should’ve told her everything the last time we spoke, but I hadn’t realized then that Ryan being non-verbal went deeper than him not wanting to speak to me. I still didn’t fully understand it. Maybe he’d speak to her. “What aren’t you telling me, William?”

Sighing, I glanced toward Ryan’s closed door before gesturing with my chin for her to continue to the kitchen.

Setting the bags on the counter, I spotted a whole chicken in one of them. At least it wasn’t tenders. “He hasn’t spoken. I’m not sure if he can.”

She slipped out of her blazer, setting it on the back of one of the stools before crossing her arms. “There could be a number of reasons for that. I’d need to spend more than an evening with him to be sure.”

“This isn’t a session,” I said. “I don’t want him to feel like he’s being observed, but…”

“But you want me to observe him.”

“Yeah, basically.”

She patted my cheek, something she’d been doing since I was a boy.

“Is Davidson coming?”

“No, but Xavier might stop by.” As soon as I said it I realized I’d forgotten to tell him he could come over. I’d told him I’d let him know. My mother seemed intrigued by the news. “We work together. That’s all.”

“Does he know that?” She strolled over to the pill bottle I’d left on the counter in my rush to let her in. I’d been about to take one. I groaned inwardly, not knowing which was worse, her probing me about my love life, or her worrying about my mental health.

“You’re taking these again?” She was no longer concerned about me and Xavier. Her gaze and her tone were soft, her profession making her good at hiding her fear for me.

“Work’s been stressful,” I lied, as if I didn’t know she’d see right through me.

She moved in closer, her heels clicking on the floor. “Work is what you usually do to relieve stress.” She eyed my facial expression. I kept it as neutral as possible. “What’s really going on, baby? Is this about—”

“No,” I cut in harshly, not wanting to hear her utter the words. Exhaling, I planted a kiss on her forehead in apology before whispering, “I already have a therapist. I just need you to be my mother.”

“Mothers care, you know.” She swatted my chest when I gave her a who-are-you-trying-to-fool look. She’d been well on her way to doctor-mode, and we both knew it.

“I’m fine,” I tried to assure her. She gave me her own skeptical look. The sound of a door opening saved me. We turned in the direction of the hall, and a moment later Ryan’s head nervously peeked into view, the rest of him becoming visible soon after.

We stared at each other, and maybe his silence rubbed off on me because I couldn’t locate my words. He wore a pair of charcoal slacks and a white button down. The two top buttons were undone. I’d ordered him a decent number of items for any occasion just in case. Better to be prepared than not. I hadn’t expected him to dress up for dinner, though.

He’d slicked his hair back, his cheeks still rosy from the shower. It always took time for him to cool down. I often wondered how he still had skin on his bones when I imagined the molten lava degree of the water he bathed under. It was almost as if he were trying to burn something away. Something that went beyond skin deep. Something he couldn’t quite get to.

I felt underdressed in my loose, paint splattered jeans and threadbare t-shirt. This wasn’t a formal dinner, but I guess he didn’t know that, and I didn’t think to mention it. I’d felt lucky enough that he hadn’t had a fit about her coming over. Good thing my mother was wearing her work clothes. It made it so I was the oddball out, not him.

“Guess we’re being left to make introductions for ourselves,” my mother said, eyeing me with mock disappointment. “I promise you I raised him with manners.” She smiled over at Ryan. “I’m Maxine. Most people call me Maxie, though.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. Didn’t put him in a position where he’d feel rude or embarrassed by his limitations. “You must be Ryan. I hope you’re hungry, because I brought enough food to feed a village.” She shooed me out of the way to get to the bags of groceries. “How about you help me get started, Ryan. Let’s place the veggies in one pile, and everything else in another pile.”

Gratitude consumed me. I hadn’t gotten around to mentioning that he liked to watch his food being prepared, but it seemed she knew the one way to get him to warm up to her was to get him involved.

“You look nice,” I said, emerging from my brain fog to compliment him before adding “You both do,” because I didn’t want it to seem weird that I’d singled him out.

Ryan ran a hand down his shirt, then looked me up and down.

“I, ah, haven’t gotten dressed for dinner yet.”

“Chop, chop,” my mother said to Ryan, her urgent tone meant to activate him. She’d used it on me enough as a child for me to know. “Everyone’s got to work for their food. Mr. No-manners over there brought the bags inside, so I suppose he’s done his part.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as Ryan made his way to the opposite end of the counter. “I wouldn’t trust him to do more than that, to be honest. If it can’t go in a toaster, he can’t make it.” She winked, and Ryan’s mouth softened at the corners.

Ryan started unloading the bags, reluctantly at first, then with more confidence when my mother began to hum, seemingly ignoring him as though she trusted him to do his part. I knew she was fully aware of him and already gathering information for her hypothesis.

I stepped out of the kitchen, then waited until I’d caught her eye to beckon her over. She said something to Ryan, probably telling him she’d be right back, before heading toward me.

“Don’t tell him anything I wouldn’t,” I murmured. I gave her resulting saccharine smile a stern look.

“If you were my patient,” she muttered under her breath, “we’d be bound by this pesky little thing called doctor-patient confidentiality. As it stands, I’m just a mother who’ll use every opportunity to brag about her son.” She patted my cheeks and headed back into the kitchen, starting up a one-way conversation with Ryan, who had already created three piles.

“So, I hear you love chicken,” she said to him as I made my way to the library.

Settling onto my desk chair, I booted up my computer, deciding to kill time by tackling my emails. I’d been avoiding my inbox. There were numerous messages, most of them marked urgent and leaving me unsure where to start. I took a deep breath, fighting the anxiety churning in my gut.

I filtered by sender, choosing to go through the correspondence from my agent first. I knew Mihaela’s emails would be work related, which at this point in time equated to stress. I didn’t want anything taking me away from home. Away from Ryan . He needed me, and I needed that more than my next “big deal.”

All things related to Freedom Fighters would lift my spirits, so I’d save those emails for last. I called them my stress relievers. Stress first, relief later.

Mihaela’s enthusiasm bled through her message. Every sentence ended with an exclamation mark, and she used phrases like “once in a lifetime opportunity,” and “more money than you could count.” All of which she knew typically motivated me, but not for the reasons she believed.

Once in a lifetime opportunities led to more exposure, which ultimately led to me making more money. But it was all done to grow my foundation. It enabled me to do more, to bring higher awareness to the cause, which aided in the recovery of the missing and the taken. Finally, it allowed us to provide the resources they needed to thrive in spite of what happened to them.

According to the email, Foxhound Studios had received the green light and funding needed to move forward with what would no doubt be the next box-office record breaker. They’d signed Dillan Malben—the latest Hollywood heartthrob—to play the starring role.

“The studio heads and director would like to fly you out to L.A. ASAP for a meeting! Can you believe this?!”

Falling back in my seat, I rubbed at my temples. They wanted me to drop everything and hop on a plane? I couldn’t do it, the idea threatened to send me into a spiral. What would I do with Ryan? I couldn’t kick him out, and he wouldn’t stay here alone.

I bypassed taking a look at the attached premise for the story. It wouldn’t have changed my mind. I hit reply, fingers flying over the keys as I extended my gratitude for having been considered for the opportunity. I cited a conflict with a similar project I was set to start with a competing studio as my reason for graciously declining.

I hit send, realizing too late that I’d replied to all. Xavier had been copied on the email.

“Fuck,” I bit out. I hadn’t even thought about him. I’d made the decision without consulting him first. This wouldn’t go over well. And I’d lied. There was nothing keeping me from accepting the job offer, or at least from taking the meeting.

Mihaela would see right through it too. After all, she’d have been the first to know about a conflict, because she would’ve been the one who’d brokered that deal.

“Get your head on straight, William,” I snapped at myself, then decided to worry about the blowback later.

I skipped past the other work related emails—having reached my stress limit—and opened the one from my foundation’s Chief Financial Officer. The subject read “Freedom Fighters - updates.”

We’d received another sizable donation. Our third one that week. My budding headache began to recede.

The next email contained Safe Haven specific news. Construction on the rooming expansion would be completed earlier than expected. We’d be able to house more people now, and for longer periods of time. The second phase of construction would start on the other end of the property soon after.

The following email came from the head of the foundation’s public relations department, reminding me of the upcoming charity gala. We had one every year. I pulled up the calendar. We were seven weeks out.

Before I knew it, an hour had passed, and the library was filled with the hearty scent of roasted chicken with herbs and spices. My mouth watered and my stomach rumbled, the delicious smell pulling me away from my computer.

My mother’s soft voice stopped me before I turned the corner leading out to the living room and kitchen area. I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall, my heart warming as I listened to her talk to Ryan as she worked.

“I worry about him sometimes,” she said, then amended, “make that all the time—but don’t tell him I said so. Me worrying about him too much makes him pull away. I hardly see him enough as it is.”

I straightened. Did her worrying cause me to pull away? I’d never looked at it that way. In my mind staying away equated to putting a shield around her. It meant she’d be protected from my darkness. I’d never viewed it from her perspective. Did she feel left out of my life? I rounded the corner, able to see them now, even though they couldn’t see me.

“The worrying starts the moment you become a parent,” she continued, then paused to show Ryan how to cut the potatoes correctly. “Your turn. There you go,” she praised. “The smaller they are, the quicker they’ll boil. So, what was I saying? Oh yeah,” she said after a few seconds with no response from him. She asked him questions knowing she wouldn’t get a reply. Instead of accepting he wouldn’t speak, she kept the opportunity open for him to do so if he decided to.

“Parental angst is what I call it. Now that I think about it, it actually started for me the moment the drug store pregnancy test came back positive.” Her wry chuckle ended with a sigh, as though the conversation had taken her back to those hard times.

“Do you think your parents worry about you, Ryan? About where you are?” She gazed at him the way she did when seeing me in someone else’s child. The kitchen went silent. No more knives striking cutting boards, no more drawers opening and closing.

He wasn’t going to answer her. I knew that, but I still tightened my arms around myself in vain hope, even if his answer was no. I feared the pounding of my heart would give away my presence.

My mother moved over to the sink, rinsing her hands, blocking my view of Ryan. “Well,” she began, “how about I worry about you then? Would that be okay?”

My heart lurched in my chest. Had he answered her? Had it been a whisper? Something so low my straining ears hadn’t heard it? Had he mouthed it? Shaken his head—something I’d never seen him do. Or had she come to her own conclusion? I craned my head to try and see him, but she still stood near the sink.

“Good,” she said, an evident smile in her voice. He must have nodded, because I definitely hadn’t heard anything that time, unless his whisper hadn’t made it past the drumroll of anticipation in my head. “Now you have two people worrying about you. Two people who care.” She let that sink in before lowering her tone. “You know, when Malcolm was a boy—”

“Who’s Malcolm?” My voice was a little too loud and panicked when I marched into the kitchen. The warning masked as a question was for her, but my eyes were on Ryan. His body language told me nothing and he went back to cutting the potatoes. I worked on keeping my expression respectful, while showing my displeasure as I turned to my mother. She answered with a knowing look.

She wouldn’t have said anything private, anything I wouldn’t want her to. But sometimes what seemed innocuous to one person, could be the missing piece to someone else’s puzzle. Ryan had enough to deal with. He didn’t need someone else’s traumatic childhood baggage added to his plate. At least not certain parts of it.

“William,” she stressed, before adopting her usual carefree tone again. “See,” she said to Ryan, patting my cheek in reassurance before heading for the oven, “I told you he’d be in here any minute now asking for an ETA on dinner.”

“Hey, I haven’t asked,” I feigned offense, keeping my eyes on Ryan. He seemed intent on keeping his off of me. “But now that you mentioned it…”

My mother laughed, basting the chicken before shutting it back into the oven. “Soon you heathen. Now go set the table and…” she looked at my casual attire, “get dressed for dinner.” She winked, knowing I’d had every intention of sitting at the dinner table like this before seeing Ryan all dressed up.

“Now, let’s get those potatoes in the water,” she said to Ryan as I backtracked the way I’d come and went into the dining room.

Rummaging through the buffet drawers for the utensils and fancy dishware, I made fast work of getting the table set before taking a quick shower and changing. My phone rang as I’d been about to head back to the kitchen. It was the concierge desk letting me know I had a visitor. Xavier. Shit.

I gave the okay to send him up, clicking the module that would unlock my private elevator before hurrying into the vestibule to wait for him.

“Hey, I was going to call you,” I started, jumping right into damage control as soon as the elevator doors opened. He’d likely seen the email to Mihaela, and would soon realize my mother was here for dinner. The dinner he was potentially supposed to be invited to.

“Were you?” he asked in a cynical tone. “How dare you decline an offer that big without consulting me first. What the hell is going on with you, William?”

“Will you lower your voice,” I hissed, peering over my shoulder at the ajar apartment door.

“Sorry.” He continued in a less hostile, hushed tone. “Foxhound Studios? This is a big deal. Why would you lie about a conflict?” He sounded as if he truly wanted to understand. He always sounded like he wanted to understand me.

“I can’t drop everything and fly off for a meeting. Not right now. I have obligations here.”

Xavier glanced at the door, knowing exactly what I meant by obligations. Knowing who I meant. “What about me, William? For fuck’s sake, what about you ?” He flung a hand in my direction.

“I’m fine.”

He’d been referring to my dreams, to the ambitions I once had, not my wellbeing. Those dreams and ambitions were only there to facilitate the ultimate goal, though. Freedom Fighters would always come first. He couldn’t understand that, because he didn’t know why.

“Look at where you came from, and look at where you are now. You overcame hardships and adversity to get here, and yet you sometimes treat this like it was easy. Like you can take or leave it.”

I didn’t come from a life of money and privilege. I grew up in a single parent household in a crime infested neighborhood. I had to work twice as hard, be twice as good as some of the other applicants vying for a coveted spot at Berklee College of Music. All things he’d heard me say in an acceptance speech. Acting as if none of that mattered now seemed to offend Xavier.

“Look, I’ll give Mihaela a call. You know she hasn’t gotten back to them yet. She’ll try to twist my arm before turning the studio down. I’ll agree to a virtual meeting, and if the terms sound alright, I’ll negotiate for you to take the lead on this.”

Xavier’s mouth parted in surprise. “You would do that?”

“I would.” No reason for him to suffer because of me, and he’d been working hard for a chance like this. He deserved it. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” he said with confidence. He wasn’t, but I’d help him as much as I could.

“You’ll need work on your—”

“I will. I won’t let you down.”

“I know.”

He looked at me as if I’d hung the moon, and I felt like I’d done something good for once in my life. I also felt guilty because of what else lurked behind his smile. Something intimate I couldn’t return.

Xavier sniffed the air, his lighter disposition faltering. “Have they invented chicken flavored waffles?” he asked with a dose of sarcasm.

“Oh, ah…” I looked at the door again. “My mother’s cooking dinner. That’s also why I’d been about to call you. Because you were invited.”

Xavier folded his arms. “Would’ve been nice to be told I was invited.”

“I could’ve sworn I told you already. Did you not get my message?”

“No.”

“Huh,” I feigned confusion. “Maybe I forgot to hit send. I told my mother you’d be here. And Ryan. I told him too.”

Xavier huffed a disbelieving laugh. “You’ve always been a shitty liar.”

If only that were true.

Right then my mother pulled the door open, eyes beaming when she saw Xavier. “Xavier!” she called. “You’re finally here. William said you’d be coming.”

Xavier’s expression turned apologetic. I could’ve picked her up and spun her in my arms at that moment. Instead, I settled for mouthing, “ thank you. ”

They shared hellos and hugs. “Alright, come on now. Dinner’s getting cold.”

Ryan was setting the bowl of mashed potatoes in the center of the table when we entered the dining room. He looked between Xavier and me, but otherwise showed no sign of curiosity or uneasiness with him being here.

“Ryan, this is Xavier. Remember I told you about him? We work together.”

Ryan said nothing, of course, but his eyes did drop to my shoulder—the one that brushed Xavier’s because of how close he stood next to me. I scooted over a bit. My mother noticed.

“Xavier, this is Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you, Ryan.”

Ryan hadn’t taken his eyes off my shoulder, as if it were somehow tainted now. His dark eyes flicked up to mine, a battle waging behind them before he opted to take a seat, ignoring Xavier’s pleasantries.

“Sit, you two,” my mother said, settling into a chair herself and gesturing for us to take the seats across from her and Ryan. She’d left an unoccupied spot between them. She said grace, and then ordered everyone to dig in.

Things were tense, and I didn’t know why. My instincts said it had to do with Xavier being here, but I couldn’t say for sure. Ryan being angry and withdrawn could’ve just been par for the course. He behaved the same way when we were alone.

The awkward silence worsened as time moved on. Ryan pushed his food around his plate, Xavier kept sneaking glances at him as though he were some science experiment, and the nerves in my stomach had waged an assault on me. The only one who seemed unaffected was my mother. She had years of experience at remaining cool under pressure, though.

I did wonder why she hadn’t stepped in to fill the void of conversation. She must have had her reasons. I noticed her keeping tabs on Ryan. She’d been observing us all. Her watchful eye was more subtle than Xavier’s, though.

“So,” Xavier said, deciding to cut through the tension. “I’m sure William has told you all about Safe Haven. Do you plan on visiting any time soon?”

I cut him a look he ignored.

“It’s a great place,” he said casually, taking a bite of chicken. Ryan looked up at him, his irritation obvious—at least to me. I’d become well versed in the nuances of his blank stares.

“Xavier,” I muttered under my breath. He continued, ignoring the reprimand in my tone.

“I’m sure being around others who have similar stories to yours would be beneficial. Listening to their testimonials could go a long way in helping you.”

“There’s no rush,” I said to Ryan, then turned to Xavier. “He’ll go when and if he’s—”

“Being cooped up in here can’t be good for you,” he spoke over me.

I dropped my utensils to my plate, facing him before biting out, “That’s enough.”

Xavier recoiled at my volatile tone. I’d never used it on him or in defense of him before, yet here I was wielding it for a man I barely knew. My reaction stung. I could see it in the dimming of his eyes, hear it in his shallow breaths. Our gazes were locked, and I didn’t know where to go from here.

Xavier swallowed hard before addressing Ryan. “I, um… I’m sorry if I upset you. It wasn’t my place to say all that.”

Ryan shoved back from the table, shocking me as he stormed from the room. I stood to follow him, but my mother held up her hand, stopping me.

“Let him sort himself out,” she said. “Sometimes a little time alone to think helps.”

“What if he uses it to consider what Xavier said?”

She looked at me as though asking: Would that be such a bad thing? I lowered onto my chair, closing my eyes in embarrassment because the pitch of my voice suggested it would be a terrible thing. It revealed that there was more going on here. More going on with me. When I opened my eyes, she and Xavier were staring at me like they knew it.

Xavier’s gaze held warranted pain and anger. My mother’s gaze expressed a deep love and understanding. The only difference was she knew more about me than he did, but even still, she didn’t know enough.