Page 61 of The Spy Ring

“Who called you that? Because no one that cares about you would say that. Ever.” I followed him as anger pulsed through me in increasing speed.

He turned to face me at his bedroom, gripping the doorframe. “It doesn’t matter who said that because they don’t anymore. People treat me like a regular kid now. All the good and all the bad that goes with it.”

Even if David had to take his time speaking, it didn’t make his words any less impactful. “I like that. It was fine when those kids tried to steal my skateboard earlier this month because they thought I was like any of the kids there. But you . . .”

He swallowed as he got himself under control. “Mom, you still treat me like the boy with a body that didn’t work. Why can’t you see that I’m average? I’m just an average teenager and I love that.”

Tears were streaming down his face as he slammed the door. When I went to open his door, it was locked, so I knocked.

“David. Please, open the door.”

“Go away.” His muffled voice slipped through the cracks.

My hand slipped from the brass doorknob and I stared at his plain white door. Nothing decorated it and with a heartbreaking realization, I knew there wasn’t much décor in his room either. No posters or paint or colorful curtains. The most interesting, unique thing in his room was his red sheets. And I didn’t even know if he still liked red. David enjoyed the color when he was five, but I haven’t asked him since.

He was right. I treated him like he was just someone to take care of. That he had no thoughts or desires of his own. I only focused on what would keep him safe and healthy.

“I’m a terrible mother,” I said and thought I had whispered to myself but someone was behind me.

“No, you’re not.” Jagger’s hand came to my shoulder. It was warm and exactly what I needed so I turned into him. I let his arms wrap around me.

“Let me talk to him. He was up late and probably a little cranky from the lack of sleep and the mugging bombshell,” Henrik said as he placed his hand on my back.

I let Jagger walk me to the living room and we sat on the couch.

I thought about every time I lost my temper or told David I needed to use the bathroom instead of reading his favorite book for the tenth time or any number of things that would nominate me for the worst mother of the year award.

“Stop it,” Jagger said, placing his hand on mine.

“Stop what?”

“Beating yourself up. Mothers and sons fight all the time. It’s a rite of passage for a kid to slam their bedroom door in anger.” He smirked.

“But he’s right,” I said.

There was silence, and I raised my brow expecting Jagger to disagree with me.

That’s what people do when they are trying to reassure someone who is feeling bad about themselves. They tell them things like, “no, you’re gorgeous,” or “no, you were the best girlfriend he ever had,” or “no, you are the best mom ever.” Especially that last one. He really should be saying that one to me.

“Yes, David was right.”

I pulled back from his hand, frowning. My face burned as I stumbled and tried to stand. Jagger stood to help me but I waved him away.

“Don’t.” I took a breath as I straightened. “I may have coddled him a bit. And I may have been overwhelmed with having to take care of him alone. The only parent for the last decade. All the doctors and therapists and nurses that he required for ten years, I made the appointments and took him. I’m the one that spent hours and hours on the phone with the insurance company when they couldn’t fathom a child might need physical therapy or that he used up his oxygen supply for the year in July. Oxygen, to breath, to live.”

I took another breath trying to calm down. “That may have been my focus for ten years. But that’s all I know. He gained freedom with that surgery in January, and I couldn’t be happier for him but where does that leave me? I can’t just flip a switch and let him walk out that door when just six months ago he couldn’t even feed himself.”

Jagger took a step forward. “I understand, I do, but—”

“You do? That’s funny because last I checked, the one thing I do know about you is that you’re alone. Are you the sole caregiver for a person, young or old?” I raised my brows waiting for an answer but he looked away.

“I didn’t think so. I may not be a perfect mother, but I’m trying.” I took a breath and walked over to the front door, opening it. “I think I need to speak with my son, alone.”

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