Page 21 of The Swap After Hours

Terrified and alone, my mother had discovered a halfway house for pregnant teens. There, they took care of her and provided her with proper prenatal care until it was time for me to be born.

After, they helped her find a job, working as a secretary for a doctor. The kind old man took a liking to my mom, telling her she reminded him of his own daughter who lived in Florida. Not only did he give my mom a job, but he also offered her the apartment above his clinic for free.

Mom always credited Dr. Klein and the women at the halfway house with saving our lives. And while it’s true they definitely helped, I knew it was my mother’s hard work and unwavering devotion to me that had made the difference.

“What have you been working on lately?”

Her face lit up with excitement. “I’ve been trying my hand at welding.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope! Sharon and I took a class at the community rec center to learn how. Come on, I’ll show you.”

My mom was a creative genius who excelled at many different mediums including oil painting, glass blowing, and clay sculpting. I, on the other hand, could barely draw a stick figure.

Curious, I followed her out to the large rustic-looking barn which served as her craft space. I’d had it built a few years ago as a birthday present, using old barn wood I’d purchased from a farm in Montana.

It had come with a hefty price tag, but the look on her face when it was finished was totally worth it. As was the house I bought her after I’d gotten my company up and running.

I knew she’d grown tired of living in the city, so I’d found a place a few miles outside the corporation limits. Close enough for me to visit often but far enough away to give her the open space she craved.

She’d argued with me both times, of course, not wanting me to spend so much money on her, but she had spent her life taking care of me, working two jobs to help put me through college. Now, it was my turn to take care of her. Besides, spoiling the only person I’d ever loved made me happy.

“This is what I’ve made so far.”

She pointed to her workbench where at least fifty tiny metal sculptures were lined up. Caterpillars, windmills, bicycles, and a funny one of a person reading a book while sitting on a toilet.

I bent down to take a closer look. Each one had been skillfully welded together using ordinary objects such as nuts, bolts, and metal springs then hand painted to give them a beautiful finish.

“These are incredible,” I gushed.

Mom grinned. “Eh, some of them look a bit rougher than others, but I’m finally getting the knack of this welding thing. There’s a craft show next month in Hobart Village. Sharon and I thought maybe we’d set up a table there, see if anyone would be interested in buying some of our stuff.”

“They’d be fools not to. Seriously, Mom, this is amazing. I’m awed by the fact that you can look at this stuff—which most people would think was junk—and see a way to put it all together to make something new.”

Her cheeks pinked under my praise, but her green eyes were brimming with pride. “Thanks, honey. I’m glad you like them.”

“I honestly do. Just promise me you’ll be safe using the welder. Especially when you’re here alone.”

Mom shook her head with a smile that was full of love. “Thank you, but you worry too much. I’m always very careful. I promise.”

“You’re my mom and I love you, so I’m allowed to worry.” I wrapped my arms around her, engulfing her tiny frame in a big hug. Her head fit perfectly under my chin as her arms circled my waist.

I breathed in the familiar scents of rosewater lotion, her favorite strawberry shampoo, and acrylic paints. It should have been an odd combination, but to me, it was a reminder of home-cooked meals, bedtime stories, and unconditional love.

A loud yawn escaped before I could stop it and Mom took a step back, cupping my cheek with her hand. “You need to go home and get some sleep. That’s the third time you’ve yawned since you got here. You’re clearly exhausted.”

“I do need to get going, but I still have a few things to take care of before I call it a night.”

Concern pulled the corners of her mouth down and I knew what she was going to say before she spoke. We’d had the same conversation a million times before. “You work too much, sweetie. There’s so much more to life.”

“Says the woman who worked two or three jobs sometimes while I was growing up,” I reminded her.

She swatted at my chest then looped her arm through mine, leading me out of the barn and back into the house. “I worked so much because I was poor and had a child to feed. You’re young, wealthy, and extremely handsome if I do say so myself. You should be going out, meeting new people, and dating lots of gorgeous men.” She waggled her eyebrows at that last part, making me laugh.

“Why, Mother, are you trying to pimp me out?” I teased.

Her laughter echoed around the kitchen as she pulled out some plastic containers and began filling them with leftovers. It didn’t matter that I could afford to eat in the finest restaurants every night, my mom always insisted on sending me home with leftovers. It was just one of the many ways she showed her love for me.

---