Liam returns to the resort and to Matt.
Thanks to LarryInSeattle for his help with editing.
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"You okay, sport?"
"Huh? Uh, yeah. Sure."
Mary Beth nods. Her son is clearly not 'okay'. He's been silent since they left his dad's. She understands, or she thinks she does. Liam grew up in that house. He spent very little time with her. Her old self resented that fact, viewing it as another aspect of how Randy was conspiring against her. Now, she is grateful for the fact. Liam has enough bad memories to deal with as it is.
"I wish we had more memories, more good memories, like the ones you must have had with Randy in that house," she offers.
"We have some good ones. Remember the birthday cake?"
Mary Beth laughs. "Oh, good Lord, I'm not sure we can count that as a good memory, sport."
"We laughed, didn't we? It was a good time. And the time you tried to cut my hair? Okay, I didn't think it was funny at the time but have you seen the pictures? Holy Batman. It was a
head
of its time. Pun intended."
"You have pictures?"
"Yeah, dad made a point of taking pictures, telling me he loved it. In fact, I think he did, in a way."
"Hmm, I hope you're right. I'll scratch that one off the list of things to regret. You're a good kid, a great kid. You're going to be a good man, too; like your dad. I don't want to get all mopey on you but I do wish we'd had more good times, me and you, the three of us."
"I know. So, do I but it is what it is. I'm just glad you're better now."
"I am better now. Who would have thought, after that total disaster of a birthday cake, I'd be the assistant baker in a two-person bakery?"
"Really? Right? But, mom, get real. Glenna pretty much has you running it, doesn't she?"
"Oh, no sir. Not at all. I'm not complaining but she's still there, every step of the way. She may not always have to tell me what to do but there's plenty of times I look up and see her nod. If anyone will take over, it'll be Rosalita. She's amazing."
"She is but she's not any better when it comes to baking than you are."
"Aw, that's so sweet, bein' nice to your momma."
"I'm not being nice. I'm telling the truth. Rosalita is an amazing cook but that doesn't mean she's an amazing baker, two separate deals."
"Thanks, sweetie. I have a problem accepting compliments. I'm workin' on it. You're feelin' pretty conflicted about your dad sellin' the house, aren't you?"
"Renting it, but yeah, I am, a little. I haven't really lived there for over a year but it was always there, a place I could run to. In a few weeks, someone else' will be in that room, using that stove, putting their own soda into the fridge. Jesus, mom, what if they're like vegan organic freaks and drink like, natural, GMO-free, soy juice or some shit like that? What if the Coke I took out of the fridge as we were leaving is the last Coke that fridge ever sees? Fuck. They may totally fuck up the mojo of the place. That house is, what does pop always say? 'Old school'. It should be full of men and women and kids that know how to change a fucking tire, how to make fart noises with their armpits, and keep the fridge full of Coke, PBR, or Rolling Rock, not a bunch of natural deodorant stinky new-age hippy dorks."
Mary Beth laughs. She can't help it. Liam smiles.
"I'm serious, you know."
"Oh, I know, sport. I know and, truth be told, I agree. Think about this, though. With all the weird stuff that's been goin' down the past few weeks, don't you think the house can take care of itself? I'd like to think that folks with the right mojo, as you put it, will walk in the door and realize they're home. The, how did you put it? 'stinky new-age hippy dorks' will realize their feng isn't shuiing right and walk away. Don't you think?"
Liam ponders his mom's comments, then nods his head. "I think you're right."
"Good, one less thing to worry about, huh?" She glances at her serious son, his attention fixed on the highway about to disappear under their wheels. "You and Matt must be doin' okay, if you're moving in together?"
"Is that your way of wondering if we're rushing things?" Liam says, risking a glance and a smile.
"Guilty. I can't help but worry. I love that boy, I really do. I think the two of you are terrific apart and terrific together, but it seems to me that college romances are almost as bad as high school romances for ending in heart break. Maybe my outlook is colored by my past. College is a stressful time, figuring out what you believe, realizing your parents are as full of shit as anyone else, although you could probably do graduate studies on that topic. Trying to figure out how you fit into this hybrid human construct, 'the couple', makes all that even harder. I know you two are head over heels for each other and I'd love nothing more than to be able to tell you that's all it takes but it's just not true. It's hard fucking work. And running into that simple fact is often painful, very painful." Mary Beth sighs and ruffles the hair on the back of her son's hair. "I sound like an old poop and I don't mean to sound disapproving. I'm not. I just worry you and Matt'll be shocked when the reality of how hard it is to make things work when life smacks you in the ass. I'll shut up now. Thanks for lettin' me tag along."
"I don't mind. I'm glad you came."
The road hums the miles away. Neither of them pays any attention to the radio. The highway begins to take them more east than south and the hills begin to rise. Mary Beth wishes it would rain; everything is covered with white dust. A nice steady soaking rain would wash the world clean. She closes her eyes and remembers how green everything looks after a nice rain.
"You ever dance in the rain, sport?"
"Not since I was a kid. Dad would let me run around in the yard in my underwear sometimes if there was no lightning."
"Hmm, I used to do the same thing. I don't mean to embarrass you but the next time it rains, I'm gonna find a nice quiet part of the resort, strip bare ass naked, and dance in the rain."
"Sounds cool," Liam replies, shrugging. His mother can't see the shrug. Her eyes are closed and she's five years old, spinning in circles, arms spread wide, trying to catch rain drops in her mouth.
"I do worry, you know. A lot." It's the tone of Liam's voice, the undercurrent of fear she hears more than the words that pulls her back to the present.
"About what, honey? Me? Your dad? You and Matt?"
"Me and Matt. Sometimes I think it can't be real, it's too intense, too out there to be real, that we must be fooling ourselves. I mean how do you know if you're in love, or just want to be in love, or just in love with the idea of being in love? I know he's not dumb and most of the times it's kinda funny but the dopey surfer crap drives me nuts sometimes. Can't I be 'Liam' once in a while? Do I always have to be 'bro' or 'brah' or 'dude'?"
Mary Beth nods. She rests her hand on the top of his shoulder. "Everyone is going to have something they do that makes you want to smack 'em sometimes. For what it's worth, I think the first thing you need to do in a situation like that is ask yourself is that thing, that habit, so irritating that it's a deal breaker? I'm not saying you shouldn't talk about, that you shouldn't let Matt know that it drives you up a wall at times. I am saying that it's very,
very
hard for people to change. I'm sure he'll try but if it can't change enough, can you live with it?"
"It's not just that, mom. That was just the first thing that popped into my head. It's not that big a deal."
"Oh, honey, if it was the first thing that popped into your head, trust me, it's a big deal. But I get what you're saying and I wish I had a good answer. I can't tell you how you know if you love someone; you just do. That's trite as network news but that doesn't make it any less true. I have a hard time saying that you shouldn't periodically assess your life, your relationships, but at the same time don't start running around in endless circles, trying to figure out every last nuance. Trust your feelings. The time to worry is when you realize you're spending most of your time trying to convince yourself that your feelings are wrong."
He nods. "I get all that, mom. My brain hears it but it's really fucking confusing. I had a crush on Matt through most of high school. Maybe it would have been different if I'd been out and able to date other guys but I wasn't and I didn't. I spent all my time wondering how to get his attention, how to tell if he liked me. Was he gay or not. If I pushed too hard would he kick my ass or try to kick my ass. And then, boom, we're like all over each other. It can't be that simple, can it?"
"Why not? Simple doesn't mean easy. You're already learning it's hard but yeah, why not that simple? Not every crush is doomed to fail." She chuckles and smacks the back of his head. "True, 99.9 percent of them are doomed but there's always the exception. See how it plays out. What else can you do?"
"Thanks, mom, seriously." He turns to smile at his mother. "That helped a lot. It's hard to talk to dad, because, well, you know."
"No doubt your father would've handled everything with delicacy and aplomb. That's one of the things I found irritating about him, that fucking low key, quiet competence."
Liam threw his head back and snorted. "It does get on your tit doesn't it? Just once I'd like to see him flabbergasted."
"Me, too, but remember, he's probably not as calm and collected as he seems. That's also irritating, the way he holds things in if he thinks doing so is best for the other person. I swear, and I don't mean to sound like I'm blaming Randy for anything, 'cause I used to do even crazier shit just to see if I could get him to blow up, scream at me, something." Her voices tails off. Liam glances at his mom. She looks ready to cry. "I used to hope I could get him to hit me, so I could hold that over him. God, what a fucking horrible cunt I was."
"Stop it!" Liam's voice is hard and cold. His tone is mitigated by the soft hand he rests on top of his mom's. "Do not ever, ever, call yourself that in front of me again, fucking ever. You were a mess. You were a huge pain in the ass. You were a junkie and junkies fuck shit up. You could be pretty horrible at times but that shit's in the fucking past. You think I never got so frustrated I didn't wish he'd hit me, or you'd hit me, so I'd have proof you were both assholes and I was a poor mistreated, misunderstood, suffering martyr?"
Mary Beth sniffs a few times and nods. "Okay. You're right. Sorry." And a moment later, "Thank you, Liam. I love you."
