False Start (Love and Skate) (3 page)

Rex

Here I sit

All Broken Hearted

Paid a Nickel to Shit

But only Farted

             
Falcon is an ass. Granted, I’m the only one on the face of the Earth who doesn’t praise his Mohawked self—and the guy was pretty decent. But the sucker punch he just threw at me—it was that of a true ass. I sat down first and then their scheme came into play. I never saw it coming. Reed skipped ahead of me and sat down, so when I sat, I was sitting by a very pregnant Reed while Falcon was on the other side of me. So, being the semi-decent guy that I was, I told him to switch with me. He did, with a smug grin.

             
“What?”

             
“Nothing,” now Reed giggled with him. How had he talked me into coming to yet another social function?

             
“Spit it out, Bird Boy.”

             
Reed ticked her head across the table from me and that’s when I knew I’d been hoodwinked. Across from me sat—hell, I didn’t even know her name.

             
“Hayes,” Reed whispered over Falcon.

             
I gave Reed the most gentlemanly form of the stink eye I could manifest and she feigned terror at my reaction. Hayes—it fit her. Unique, pretty—sounded like a heated breath against a frosted window. She talked to the girl next to her, something about tattoos. I was such a stalker.

             
“Talk to her,” Falcon elbowed me in the ribs.

             
“Go to Hell,” I retorted. But somehow my quips never hit base with Falcon. He always laughed at me or just plain ignored me. I didn’t know which one was worse.

She’d captured my attention during the bout and she had it again, undivided, at that table.

             
I can’t do this.

             
I don’t know how to do this.

             
I’d only dated a handful of times, and the hours were spent riddled with guilt for leaving my mom by herself with him. One girl just got up halfway through the movie and walked out—I’d been ignoring her inadvertently.

             
Was I just one of those guys who was perpetually bad at dating? Was I just not as into the girl as I thought I was? Or was I just obsessively preoccupied with the affairs at home? I didn’t know.

             
What I did know: she was staring at me at the bout when she should’ve been helping out on the rink. And if it were possible to feel the heat of a gaze from across the room, then those were the tingles I felt in my shoulders. And Scout, the girl didn’t miss a thing. She’d turned my face towards her and said, ‘Stop looking at that lady and look at me.’

             
Hayes—I didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse for me to know her name because now it would take center stage in my thoughts. Finally, I had a name to go with the face; the sweet girl whose life was a cake walk—I didn’t mean it negatively, it was a good thing. Someone with a great disposition like her deserved a cake walk. But someone like me—the damage had been done and I was still living in the aftershocks.

             
I stared down my pizza just to avoid looking creepy. I really wanted to watch her talk to the other girl more, see the way her jaw tinkered back and forth while she listened. Take the chance to look at her face once again, instead of watching her skate from afar.

             
I did overhear her ordering two lemonades with no ice.

             
Yeah, creeper.

             
Driving home, after eating in a hurry and then scooting out before I could completely embarrass myself, I turned up the radio in my truck and tried to let some of the tension in my neck go. It seemed like my muscles were constantly constrained, never relaxed, just tense. It kept me on edge, which sometimes worked to my advantage and sometimes it didn’t.

             
Just like every single social situation.

             
It did work to my advantage at work and at school. The stress in my head helped me get through it all. I was one of those people who is better, more organized, and more industrious as more was piled onto my plate. In a lump, I was one busy little effer.

             
Climbing the steps to my tiny apartment, I shed my suspenders from my shoulders, kicked off my shoes, and plopped down on my bed. There was no point even trying to get any sleep, so I unzipped my backpack, pulled out my books and settled in for a night of studying.

             
The next morning, I showered and hit the gym with Owen and Mad. It wasn’t really a social situation since there was more huffing and groaning while lifting weights than actual conversation. At least that’s what I always hoped would happen.

             
“So, how’s school Rex?”

             
Nevermind.

             
“It’s school. I only have one more semester.”

             
“And then what?” Owen was extra peppy that day, too much joint juice or muscle milk—whatever in the hell was in those ‘special shakes’.

             
“Just work, I guess.”

             
Mad shook his head and Owen laughed.

             
“What?” Dumb and dumber were severely pissing me off.

             
“There’s more to life than working,” that was my brother. Always shining the spotlight on my non-life, my lack of life. But what he really meant was the lack of
his
life, the lack of
his
idea of life.

             
“Yeah, like getting married and the never-ending procreation conversation.”

             
“No, asshole. Like travelling, like getting out and experiencing something other than work and school. And yes, if you met a girl, it wouldn’t be a damned curse.”

             
I moved to the other side of the room from them. And damn them to hell, they moved with me.

             
“What do you want me to do pack up and go to France or some shit?”

             
They shared a look, “I think America would owe France a formal apology for making them put up with you for any extended period of time.”

             
“Yeah, it would be like them sending Mr. Bean here,” Owen joked.

             
“Mr. Bean is from England.”

             
“Same difference,” he shrugged.

             
“Just do something. Stop living in the past,” Maddox pressed.

             
Why couldn’t they just leave me be? I wasn’t asking them for anything. I especially didn’t ask them to interfere. I was perfectly miserable wallowing in my somber. And misery didn’t like company.

             
“Fine. What do you suggest wise one?”

             
“You can start by asking that girl out, the one who was eyeing you like you were the last ice cream cone on a hot day.”

             
“Can’t we just pump iron without you two getting all guru on me?”

             
They looked at each other and then looked at me, “No!”

Falcon

Reed loves it when I rub her belly.

“I put your bag by the front door.
I loaded up your iPod with thunderstorm and ocean waves tracks. Your Kindle is in there too.”

I was a nervous wreck.

“It’s fine, honey. I’ll only be there an hour or so. Then I can come home. It may not even be that bad. They always overdramatize things on TV, especially that Lifetime network. I’ve never seen such bull.”

“Mom, I can’t believe you watch that crap.”

“Well, some of it is entertaining. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes ma’am. Are you sure you don’t want Dad to bring you?”

She waved her hand in the air at me, “I’m sure. Chase has enough. The doctor told him he needed to lessen the stress in his life. I’ve already pressed our luck by telling him that I’m sick. He doesn’t need to sit there and watch me go through treatments. It’s just not necessary.”

“Whatever you say, Mom.”

“You’re damned straight,” she laughed and kissed my cheek. As she walked from the house to my truck she stopped to smell every rose Reed planted in the flower bed which bordered her front porch.  The term green thumb was a joke compared to Reed. I’d seen her pick up a dead plant she liked from the nursery and a week later it was back to life.

Just like she’d found me and brought me back to life.

Mom smiled at me like she didn’t have a care in the world. For months before she’d been losing weight, she had temps of 104 and higher off and on, and she’d completely lost her appetite. She was scaring us all but had always laughed it off or joked it was menopause.

I wished menopause had been the reason for her symptoms.

Instead, after test after test, she’d been diagnosed with Multicentric Castleman’s disease. There were tumors on almost every single one of her lymph nodes. While they said they could remove some of them, they ultimately recommended chemotherapy as an aggressive treatment. Everyone volunteered to go with her, taking turns, but she insisted on me, claiming I was the only one who could stay calm for her. Owen and Mad got their feelings hurt but finally came to the conclusion that it wasn’t about me or them; it was about Mom. She needed calm and cool during this stressful time and their egos would have to take a vacation on this one.

I drove her to the Tulane Medical Center, grabbed her bags and opened her car door for her. She smiled at me, but it wasn’t my mother’s full smile. It was the one she reserved, not because she was happy, but because she was trying to make someone else happy.

I sent Reed a text, asking how she was and telling her we’d arrived at the hospital. She replied that she was fine, complete with a selfie. And she was absolutely right, she was as fine as always. She also told me to tell Mom she loved her, but I refrained. It would make Mom cry. She needed smiles right now, even if they were fake.

“I hate needles,” she whispered to me in the elevator, turning off her phone, putting it in her pocket and grabbing my arm. I put my arm around her shoulders and she swatted me away, ever trying to be strong. We headed through hallways, following arrows on the walls until we reac
hed the Cancer Center. She was greeted by a woman her age who, after making us scrub down like surgeons, escorted us to a room with wall to wall reclining chairs. Some held people hooked up to tubes, reading magazines, listening to music, watching The Pelican Brief play on the flat screens hanging from the ceiling. I couldn’t help the thought pulsing through my head, ‘no one deserves this’.

The nurse, Calla, sat my mother in the last chair and began to go over her records with her, verifying information and asking for redundant medical information. Things they already knew—it was like chemo-Jeopardy. Except when you bet it all, sometimes you didn’t get to walk away.

“Lose the scowl, Falcon,” my mother berated me.

“Yes ma’am. Do you want your iPod or what,”
I asked her as the nurse prepped a small tray full of tools to get the IV started.

“I just want to talk to my son. His wife
is having twins, you know, two girls.” She directed her spiel to Calla. I zoned out the rest. She always over-praised me in public. It bordered on ridiculous. But in spite of my embarrassment, I always bloomed under her approval of me. Even at my age, I was proud to know that one of the most important women in my life thought I’d done something right.

I saw them both looking at me, “I’m sorry?”

“She asked what their names will be, Falcon.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was in space. We’re actually not telling anyone until they’re born, even my mom. That’s why she just tried to trick me into telling you.”

Mom reached out with both hands and choked an invisible neck which she wanted to be mine.

“
Alrighty, you are all set, Mrs. Black. It will take a little over ninety minutes. I’ll be in and out if you have any questions.”

For the next hour and a half, I told my mother everything like I used to at her restaurant kitchen. She’d console me with advice, but most times she’d just listen. I told her about Reed giving her final notice at the horticultural center. She’d wanted to stay home with the girls after they were born and there were no plans for her to ever go back to work. We’d have our hands full with twins anyway.
Reed was going overboard cleaning the house and when she’d gotten too big to do everything she wanted to, she hired a housekeeper to come in three times a week. The woman always looked at us like we were nuts—the house wasn’t ever dirty. And I’d learned to fill the freezer with pints of every different type of Bluebell ice cream in stock for Reed. But she’d never complained the entire pregnancy. She was an amazing mother already. She kept headphones on her belly at night, playing the twins Mozart, claiming it would make them smarter. She and I took turns reading her books out loud so they could hear our voices. My tax preparation companies had turned into a chain of sorts, they were spread all over the south and I was making plenty of money to support us. And with my investing, we were pretty much set for life. Reed was due in six weeks and though I dreaded her having to go through the pain of labor, I was beyond ecstatic for the arrival of our babies. Reed had turned the middle bedroom into the nursery. I thought my wild girl would decorate it in zebra stripes or hot pink roller skates, but she opted for a light gray and yellow nursery. She’d read every pregnancy and baby book I could get my hands on and then, after she finished, she passed them down to me and insisted I read them.

“Is she still insisting on a home birth?”

“Yes. It scares me to death, but I’m not the one who has to pop two humans out of my…you know.”

“You’re damned right I know. Owen was nearly twelve pounds, the meathead. You want to know a secret?”

“Of course.” My mom never told her secrets. It must be a good one.

“
Storey is pregnant. She’s been faking a knee injury to get out of skating because she’s not ready to tell everyone.”

“Mom, I can’t believe you told me.”

“I know,” she giggled like a school girl, “I swear I couldn’t be cracked by expert torturers before, but grandbaby news is too good not to spread.”

“
So, thugs and terrorists can’t make you tell secrets, but the promise of grandkids can? That’s priceless, Mom.”

“
Who knew I was such a sap? And Journey is due a month after Reed, so I get two girls and a boy back to back. I need to get well, soon.”

And with that statement we were brought back to our place in the reality of her illness. There wasn’t a guarantee that she’d ever be better. But I couldn’t imagine one single second of our family’s life without her. She was the backbone, the heart, the strength, she was the mother everyone wanted and the woman every other woman privately wished they could be.

And if something happened to her—I didn’t think my dad would survive it.