Page 42 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

She listens, like actually listens, as I get lost in my own excitement.

For a second she looks sad, like she’s remembering something for the first time, but it’s there and gone.

I tell her about my favorite player, my favorite team, about how Beau already told me we’d go to a game together.

I tell her about the camp I’m signed up for, and how a lot of pro players went to camps just like it.

And when our food shows up, I dig into my calzone with the same excitement as she eats her slice of pizza with a fork and knife.

She’s quick though—quicker than me—and she pushes her plate and silverware to the edge of the table.

“What would be really cool though,” I continue to tell her between bites of food, “would be playing for Chicago. One day, I mean. There’s a lot that goes into?—”

“I’m just running to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” she tells me, her smile curt despite the patient tilt of her head.

“Oh. I hope they cleaned it.” She’s up and down the corridor before she can hear my laughter, and it embarrasses me.

Glancing around, I realize no one’s watching me, and that no one saw my mom just walk away from me mid sentence, and that I’m probably being so sensitive because I haven’t seen her in a while.

And I think that when she gets back, I’ll stop talking so much.

She probably didn’t want to listen to me yap about ball for thirty minutes, and I feel bad I didn’t realize my mistake earlier .

I take another bite of my calzone, and then another.

Then another. Then, it’s gone. I look around and notice the table that was seated right after us is already populated with new people.

The girl, around my age, is ordering a soda, while her grandmother—I think—orders an iced tea. They seem good. They seem happy.

I finally check my phone, nervous dread clawing its way up my esophagus.

It’s been two hours since we got here which is a long time, but when did she get up to go to the bathroom?

Maybe it feels like a long time because I’m a kid.

She could need help—that could also be it.

Maybe it has been a long time, but she’s looking for something.

Our server drops the bill on the table, barely even looking at me when he does so. I don’t touch it because it’s not mine. Beau says it's rude to look at a bill someone else is taking care of. And she’s taking care of it because she’s my mom. She’ll clear it up when she gets back.

Laughter floats up from the table with the girl and the grandma, and I realize they have their food. I realize it’s been a really long time.

Fishing my wallet out of my pocket, I grab two of the four twenty dollar bills Evie insisted I take with me. She stuffed them in my hands and told me you should never leave the house without a few bucks, the warmest smile I’ve ever seen on her face, as she nudged me and my mom toward the pizzeria.

They probably went home, I remember. They wanted to stay nearby, but my mom told them she’d drop me back off. That she had a car, she just needed the address. They looked reluctant but said okay. That they’d see me later.

I place the bills on the table, avoiding eye contact with the server on my way out. I punch in the street I live on into my map app and set it to walking .

It takes me thirty minutes to get back to the house, and I wonder where my mom is now. If she went back to the booth and is wondering where I am. I creak open the front door, hyper aware of the dawn approaching, signaling just how long this day has been.

“Grant?”

Evie’s on a fancy sofa in the front sitting room, flipping through a magazine, almost like she was waiting for me. When she looks up, I see that familiar tint of anxiety in her gaze. Connie told them she’d bring me back, and here I am, alone.

Evie pops up from her seat, approaching me with her arms wide. When she wraps them around me, her flowery perfume is overwhelming like it was the first time she bear hugged me like this. I let my mouth relax and close my eyes.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Her voice is so soft, I could cry.

I shake my head again, not sure if tears will escape if I speak.

“We should’ve waited for you. I’m so sorry, honey.” She rocks gently from side to side, swaying us so gently I almost don’t notice. I look up at her, forcing a smile.

“It’s okay. I’m fine, really.” She gently pushes me away from her, hands firmly on my shoulders as she looks at me, her gaze hard and sturdy—so at odds with the usual lightness I find there.

“Do you want to see her again, Grant?”

Dread pools low in my stomach, guilt crawling up my throat.

I don’t want to tell her the truth—that I never want to feel that way again.

That I feel worthless, and that seeing her waiting for me is the only thing making me second guess that.

I pull in a short breath, my brows wrinkling as I try to stop the tears forming .

I just shrug, instead.

“How about this,” Evie says, like she’s leveling with me. “If you want to, I won’t ever stop you. But I won’t ever force you to, either. Won’t make you feel like you owe her your time just cause she birthed ya.” She tilts her head, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah,” I nod, relief falling on me like a blanket. “Okay. Thank you.” My voice cracks, and a tear finally runs out.

“Come here, honey.” She pulls me back in, swaying again, and even though I felt too old for this first time, I lean into it, feeling safe for the first time since I sat down at that pizza table.

She releases me after a minute, her own smile a little watery.

“Alright. It’s a school night. Get your things in order, okay?” She winks at me before nodding toward the stairs, dismissing me in a way only a mom could, I think.

I collapse onto my bed, the comfort still new to me. I’ve only had a twin bed anywhere else, and rarely was it just for me. On this one, my feet don’t dangle off the edge and I don’t wake up until my alarm goes off in the morning.

I wonder where Evie learned to be so good at being a mother.

I wonder where my mom went. What was so important that she couldn’t stay.