Love Will (40 page)

“Well… what’s… why are–”

“How are
you
?” I interrupt her.

“Uhhh. Shocked, honestly. Surprised to hear from you. That’s how I am.”

“Aside from that. How’s everything else going?”

“Really good. Work’s fine. Max is enjoying his new school. He’s doing great on the swim team. I’ve been to some meets. I sit by Callen and we cheer him on together,” she says.

“That’s awesome. Seeing a little more of him around?”

“Yes. He’s very smart. A good kid, really. I can see what Max sees in him… and they laugh a lot together. We all watch some TV shows when he comes over. They sit on the couch next to each other,” she informs me.

“Well, I would expect that. They
are
dating.”

“I know,” she says softly.

“Sounds like you’re handling things well. I’m glad, Mom.”

“How are you? Is your phone working? I’ve left you some messages.”

“Yeah, Mom. It’s working. We’ve been busy, and I’m sorry I haven’t called you.” I squeeze my eyes shut and berate myself at the lie. I should have been calling her the whole time, just to check in. I’m a horrible person. “I guess we have a lot to catch up on when I come home.”

“You’ll be home for Christmas?” she asks me.

“The band’s flying home on the twenty-third. Ben’s spending his Christmas in Vegas with his girlfriend and they’re driving the bus back. We have a show on the twenty-ninth in Manhattan, and the tour starts back up again in Hartford on the first.”

“Wow. You’ll be in the city for more than week?”

“If I don’t wear out my welcome there, yeah, that’s the plan,” I tell her.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?”

I’m sure my hesitance to answer is all the answer she needs, but my
pair
is halfway grown at this point… might as well get ‘em to full size. “I was wondering if I could stay at your place. I’ll clear it with Max first and, um… I promise to use the front door. Every time. I’ll even knock and shit, if you want me to.”

“Will,” she says with a slight laugh. “It’s your home, too. I’ve always told you that. You still have a key to the front door, don’t you? Or did you lose it, and that’s why you haven’t been using it all these years?”

“I still have the key,” I confess.

“Then there’s no need to knock when you come in. Of course you’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you want.”

“Thanks. Thank you so much, Mom. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I have, uh, one more question about that.”

“Go ahead.” She sounds so oblivious to this major imposition that’s going to be even harder to ask than the first question.

“Do you have a few minutes?” I ask her, deciding a little background may be necessary.

“Of course.”

I swallow, then sigh, then stall a little more before I begin. “I don’t know if you were aware that we were stuck in a blizzard in Minneapolis, but we got stranded for about a week.”

“Jon keeps me abreast of things,” she tells me.

“Good. Well, while I was there, I found this restaurant that was open, and I made friends with the owner.”

“Hell, Will, if he’s a good cook, go ahead and bring him with you!” she exclaims, jumping to the wrong conclusion. I should just say ‘okay!’ and show up with Shea at her doorstep on the twenty-third, but I don’t think Shea would appreciate that too much.

“I’d love to take you up on that invitation.
She
is a wonderful chef… and I’m kind of seeing her. Her name is Shea.”

I take a seat on the bed with a fistful of my hair, pulling at it while I wait for her to respond. The silence is killing me.

“Say something, Mom.”

“I don’t have a room for her, Will.”

The frustration is evident in my sigh. “She’d be staying with me. I’m twenty-four. She’s my age. We’re both adults and… well, we just want to spend as much time together as we can while I’m on a break. We’ve been apart every day except for one since I left Minneapolis.”

“When did you meet her?”

“Six weeks ago.
Today
.”

“Don’t you think this is kind of…”

“Unlike me?” I ask her. I don’t know how else she could possibly finish that sentence that would be relevant to my particular situation.

“Well, yeah.”

“It is. That’s why I’m hoping you’ll say yes. I’m not trying to sneak her in the back door, Mom. I want to bring someone home… to meet
you
. To meet Max and Jon and Liv.”

“What do you want with her?” she asks me.

What a direct question to ask
. “Obviously something more than I’ve ever had. Something a little more permanent. Something that lasts.”

“You want a future with her?”

I’m nodding my head for a few seconds before I realize she can’t see my response. “Yeah.”

“And she actually wants one with you?”
That stings
.

“I think so.”

“She better know so, if that’s what you want. I can’t have another Laila situation on my hands. Another girl breaking your heart. I can’t go through that again.”

“Mom, I’m not sixteen anymore.”

“You have feelings for her?” she asks, sounding a little disbelieving in the whole thing.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I just… I don’t know, Will. I don’t see how that can even happen with a girl you spent a few days with over the course of a few weeks…”

“She got through to me, Mom. I can’t tell you how, but she did. And now she’s my first consideration when I wake up, she’s what makes me smile throughout the day, and she’s who gets me to sleep at night. She’s who I think about, write about, dream about, and plan for now,” I say, my tone relating to her my frustration. “I won’t question
how
it happened, or
why
it did. I’m just going to be grateful she’s in my life, and hopefully share her with the people I love when I come home. Okay?”

I’m pretty sure I hear her repeat–in a whisper–’people he loves.’ I
did
say it. I guess I do love her, deep down. I’ve just never,
ever
shown her.

“Please bring her home with you, Will,” she says, her voice changed by a lump in her throat. “Tell her she’s more than welcome in our home. Now I have chores to do and lunch to fix for Max, so I have to run.”

“Mom. Mom?” I say, trying to catch her before she hangs up.

“What?”

“Just… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you… maybe having a talk or two with you while I’m there.”

“I would love that,” she says just before she sniffles. “I have to go. I love you, Will.”

She hangs up before I can respond, as she’s done for many years. I’m sure the pain of me not returning the sentiment was too much for her to bear a long time ago. Her solution was to cut me off before she’d know if I’d told her I’d loved her back or not.

I cry quietly to myself for a few minutes, despising the person I’ve been to her–
all my life
.

Chapter 18

“Should I call her Margie or Ms. Scott?” Shea asks in the cab on the way to my mother’s house.

“Uhhh… Margie, I think,” I tell her, realizing I’m probably even more nervous than she is.

“Shit, you don’t know?”

“You’re the first girl she’s met since my sixteen-year-old girlfriend.
She
called her Mrs. Scott. I think we’re beyond that now, though. Call her Margie. I’ll introduce her as Margie.”

“Your hands are shaking,” she says.

“It’s cold.”

“It’s not
that
cold.”

“This is terrifying,” I admit.

“Don’t tell me that!” she half-yells.

The cab driver laughs from the front seat. “Meeting the mom for the first time?” he asks.

“Yes,” we say at the same time.

“You’re a nice girl,” he tells Shea. “She’s a nice girl,” he confirms to me. “Nothing to worry about.”

I look at his license. “We’ve got Joe’s seal of approval, at least. Thanks, Joe.” I smile at him though the rearview mirror. “Do you have two extra seats at Christmas dinner, just in case?” He nods his head assuredly, just as we pull up to the house.

After he helps us unload our bags and my guitars–all three of them–I hand him cash and an extra tip for being nice to us. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you both. And to your mom.”

“Will!” Max hollers, bounding out of the house. He’s probably put on at least fifteen pounds of muscle. Callen walks slowly behind him, but they both come down to help us at the curb. I hold him close, enjoying the hug from my little brother. I get an equally long hug from his boyfriend.

“How the hell are you two?” I ask, giving each of them one of my guitars.

“Happy to be on break,” Callen says.

“So fucking happy to have you home,” Max says.

“Told you he got his vocabulary from me,” I tell Shea. “So this is Max and Callen.”

“Nice to meet you,” they all say.

She shakes both of their hands after taking off her right glove. “You’re both so handsome.”

“I know,” Max says. I swat the back of his head, playfully reprimanding him for his arrogance.

“Thank you,” Callen says. “Obviously, he’s never heard that before,” he whispers with a wink.

“Come inside,” I say, putting her duffel bag on my shoulder, leaving her with only her rolling luggage. The house is unusually warm, and smells of sweet baked goods or something.

Over the stairs is a homemade–but sophisticated–banner that reads ‘Welcome Home, Will and Shea.’ I have no doubt Livvy had something to do with that.

“How nice is that!” Shea says.

“Max, can you take our things upstairs?” I ask him, seeing my mother with her back to us, doing dishes in the kitchen. “Be careful with the guitars.”

Shea takes a hold of my hand as we both walk slowly through the living room.

“Mom?” I call out to her, my stomach in knots at her seemingly cold greeting to us.

“I’m sorry,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “I was trying to have this mess cleaned up before you both got here. It normally doesn’t look like this,” she says as she looks at Shea. I don’t correct my mother by speaking the truth, and admitting that it
does
.

“Let me help you,” Shea says, prying her fingers away from my grasp and walking to the pile of wet dishes.

“Oh, no, please,” my mother says. “Will, please, stop her.”

“It’s no problem, Ms. Scott.”

“Call me Margie.”

“Margie, I’m Shea, and I’m more than happy to help. I know it sounds crazy, but I love doing dishes. I feel very much at home doing anything in a kitchen.”

Mom looks at me. “Please, Will? She’s a guest here.”

“Shea, come on. Sit down. I’ll help her.”

I see my mom starting to lose it as her eyes begin to water.

“I don’t mind–”

“Go have a seat right there, okay?” I put my hands on her hips and move her to the dining room table myself. “Uhhh… towels, Mom?” I ask, embarrassed that I had to. I’m sure that says a shit-ton about me.

She hands me one from a drawer. “Thanks.” I start drying one of many bowls, wondering where it goes, as I hear her sniffle. “It’s okay,” I whisper to her. “You okay?”

“I just wanted everything to be perfect.” When she blinks, a tear drops down her cheek. I wipe it off with the towel and then, not really knowing what else to do, I hug her awkwardly.

“Happy to be home, Mom.”

She nods.

“What smells so good?”

“Oh, shoot!” she exclaims, dropping the dish she was cleaning back into the soapy water. She looks around for another towel. “The bread Shea sent. It’s warming up, but it needs to come out.”

“I’ll get it, Margie,” Shea offers, walking over to the oven before Mom can even argue, and rescuing the treats.

“Wait. You sent
bread
?” I ask her.

“It was nothing.”

“It was such a lovely gesture, Shea,” Mom says. “The cinnamon one didn’t survive, though. Callen, Max and Trey devoured that one yesterday. But I set aside the pumpkin and banana nut ones. I know those are Will’s favorites. Jon likes pumpkin, too, and he should be here soon.”

“Did you
make
them?” I ask Shea.

“Of course.”

“I did have a slice of the cinnamon one yesterday, too. It was
so
good,” my mother says.