Page 57 of Broken Rivalry

Mom settles into the passenger seat, her expression a complex mix of questions and unspoken words. “It’s too late for camp today,” she murmurs, glancing at her watch with a resigned sigh. “And my interview…” Her voice trails off, lost amid the worries clouding her eyes.

A flurry of questions whirls in my mind. Why hadn’t she mentioned this interview? What else was she keeping from me? But then, wasn’t I doing the same with the car?

“Don’t worry about Billy,” I assure her, glancing in the rearview mirror to meet my brother’s excited eyes. “I’ll take him to have breakfast with me. What do you say, munchkin?”

His face lights up at the prospect. “Can we go to the Pancake Palace?”

I nod, a smile playing on my lips, and turn my attention back to Mom. “Where’s your interview? I’ll drop you off, and you can call me when you’re done, okay?”

She hesitates, then quietly provides the address in the business district. As I drive toward the location, the silence in the car is punctuated by Billy’s excited chatter from the back seat, easing the tension.

Mom’s eyes scan the interior, taking in the plush leather seats and polished wood dashboard.

She reaches out, her fingers lightly grazing the dashboard. “Is this real wood?” Her fingers tremble as they graze the surface, a significant departure from her usual composed demeanor. I notice her clutching a neatly folded piece of paper—probably her résumé. She opens it briefly, scanning the contents one last time, then takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

I glance her way, and she looks in the side mirror, trying to straighten her hair.

I mollify a little at the previous cautions she harbors toward the car. I can’t blame her for being cautious, and I can see how much she needs this win.

“You’re beautiful today, Mom. Very professional,” I tell her with a smile.

She straightens her navy polyester suit jacket that is a little too big for her, but all in all, it looks quite polished for something I know she got at the surplus stock shop near the park.

“Really?” She runs her hand over her pencil skirt. “I was not sure it’s…” She shakes her head with a little sigh.

“You’re the prettiest mom ever!”

“She’s the most beautiful mom in the whole world!”

Mom chuckles, but I see her throat bob as she swallows past the overwhelming emotions. I recognize it because I’m the same. I remember a cold winter night when our heater broke. Mom, determined and resourceful, wrapped us in layers of blankets and told stories until morning, turning a moment of despair into one of warmth and love. It was in moments like those that she taught me resilience. In our previous life of luxury, women were seen as soft. Unprepared for the world. Yet, faced with adversity, we learned not to sink, but we learned to swim against the current. We built walls, sometimes so high that even we couldn’t scale them, but they were our protection, our fortress. She’s proven that she’s a fighter, that she possesses a fire that nobody knew she had. The same fire she’s passed on to me. The same fire that tells the world we might bend, but we’ll never break.

As the towering glass building comes into view, she leans closer, her voice barely above a whisper, laden with desperation. “I need this, Pops.” Her eyes, normally full of resolve, now carry a touch of vulnerability. I think back to her first job hunt after my father’s imprisonment. She’d come home from a job interview, her spirit crushed by a dismissive interviewer. She’d picked herself up then, and I know she can do it again.

I take her hand, feeling the roughness of her skin from her hard work, and give it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve always been the strongest person I know,” I whisper back, hoping my words bolster her confidence.

She smiles at me and turns toward my brother. “Be good for Pops, okay?”

“Always.” He gives a wide, angelic smile that makes us both laugh, easing some of the tension.

Mom turns back toward me and takes a deep breath. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”

I nod. “You’ve got this, Mom.”

As she steps out, Billy’s voice rings out, “You’re perfect, Mom!” She hesitates, a smile touching her lips, then ascends the stairs with newfound confidence.

Once Mom disappears in the building, I look at Billy in the rearview mirror. “Ready for pancakes?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “When am I not ready for pancakes?”

With a light-hearted giggle, I navigate Ethan’s car through the bustling morning streets.

“Are we keeping the car, Pops? It’s so nice!”

“Bil—”

“Maybe Mom can borrow it sometimes? It will be cool to go to school with it.”

It would stand out, given that hardly any parents at Billy’s school have cars.

---