Page 54 of When You Left Me Speechless

“No.” I shake my head. I’m not about to tell my mother that my relationship isjust sex. “I do think you would love her though.”

“Alright then,” she muses. “If you don’t want to talk about your causal relationship, do you want to tell me why your father called me yesterday?”

“Fuck, Dad called you?” I sit up a little straighter in my chair.

“Language,” she scolds.

“Sorry. When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Probably when you broke your arm and needed surgery.” She lets out a little laugh.

“I was sixteen.”

“Well you know he is not my favorite person.” She takes a deep breath and focuses on the flowers in her painting.

“Did you answer?”

“Well, yes, because the deal has always been we would let the other know if there were an emergency. I was fully expecting him to tell me he had been hospitalized, so you can imagine my shock when he was, in fact, fine and was just checking in on you. He said you haven’t been answering his calls.”

“I haven’t.”

“So, what did he do now?”

“Ruined his birthday dinner by being an ass and inviting Jacob to join us. I left before we ordered, and now he won’t stop calling. I haven’t answered. I have nothing left to say to him.”

She gives me a half smile. “If that’s what you want, then I’m not going to try to convince you to have a relationshipwith him, but I imagine he will continue to call until you tell him you are done for good. You know how he is.”

“Did he tell you why he wanted to talk to me? I assume he wants something.”

“No, I only spoke to him long enough to tell him you were alive and must be purposely avoiding his phone calls.”

“Oh, I’m sure he loved that,” I chuckle.

“Come on,” she says, laughing and stepping back from the painting. “I think I’m about done here. I need to wash these brushes and then you’ll let me feed you?”

My mom setsa homemade pimento cheese sandwich and a glass of sweet tea down in front of me at the kitchen table. She walks away to grab hers and then takes the seat across from me.

“Have you heard anything about the job you interviewed for?”

“No, not yet. The interview was on Wednesday, so I hope I’ll know something soon.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it. They would be lucky to have you.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m your son.” I take a bite of the sandwich and I’m immediately transported back to my childhood. Since my mom worked so much, she would meal prep on Sundays and there was always homemade pimento cheese in the fridge and white bread on the counter. I should be sick of them by now, but they will always be my favorite.

“No, I’m saying it because it’s true,” she insists.

“I just hope I get it because I can’t go another year on this salary. The district won’t up my pay until I land an administrator position. It doesn’t matter that I have a master’s. Educational Leadership doesn’t count in the state of Georgia unless you’re doing something with it.”

“Have you thought about what you will do if you don’t get it?”

“If I don’t get it, I’ll have to look elsewhere and I like living here. I don’t want to move again.”

“Does that have anything to do with that girl you’re refusing to tell me anything about?”

“No, actually, I like living near you. If I move away, who will make me these delicious sandwiches.”

“I’m your mother, Logan. I know when you’re lying.” She gives me a knowing look and I take a bite of my sandwich.

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