Page 119 of College Town

Tommy’s eyes are tired, but his smile is achingly soft, a perfect echo of Mom’s tender expression.

“Everything go okay?” she asks, and Tommy looks as though he’s waiting for the answer as well.

“Yeah.” Lawson goes to the chair on Mom’s other side and crams his long legs under the table. “What are you guys doing?” From this angle, he can see the photo of himself that had Tommy in stitches and longs to slam the book shut.

Mom says, “I was telling Tommy he grew up so handsome, and saying I wished I could have watched you boys go off to college together” – her tone is light, but her gaze, when it flicks to him, acknowledges the very real and heavy sentiment for what it is to Lawson; he wishes that, too – “and we got to talking, and I said I had photos of you from back then, and, well…” She shrugs, nose wrinkling up in a half-sincere apology.

Tommy taps the edge of the clear photo cover. “The hair certainly was…a choice,” he says, grin widening, flashing teeth.

Even just a week ago, the words would have stung; landed like a true insult. But now he knows Tommy’s teasing him, like he used to, so long ago. Lawson always swerved into the skid back then, and he falls back on the old habit like stepping into broken-in boots. “I’ll have you know: I spent six months growing that out,” he says with a lift of his nose and a haughty sniff. “I had to takevitamins.”

“Oh, vitamins,” Tommy says, nodding, still smiling.

In a stage whisper, Mom says, “I found them in the cabinet one day–”

“Mom, no,” Lawson groans, covering his face with both hands.

“–and it turns out they were pre-natal vitamins.”

“Ha!” Tommy coughs, and his eyes squeeze shut when he laughs, like they used to, and Lawson’s chest squeezes right along with it.

“It could happen to anyone, dear,” Mom says, and shoots him a wink while Tommy’s still got his eyes shut.

Lawson makes a face at her in return. “Alright, alright, turn the page. My hair’s goodnow.” He fluffs the back of it, and Tommy cracks his eyes open, sliding from silly to satisfied as he openly checks him out, then nods.

Damn.

“And this” – Lawson gestures to the album – “is completely unbalanced. Where’s your braces and acne pictures, huh?”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “We had our braces and acne faces together.”

They had a lot of things together – until they didn’t.

Thankfully, Mom turns the page. “Oh, and this is at my little cousin Debbie’s wedding.”

Tommy peers down at the page and cracks up again. “Your tie!”

Lawson sighs, though inwardly he’s smiling. If Tommy’s making fun of him, then Tommy’s paying attention to him, and, really, that’s all he’s ever wanted since the day they met.

He gets up to get a mug for himself, and Mom keeps turning pages and explaining the ins and outs of each embarrassing photo. He stays at the counter while he drinks his coffee, washing the few dishes in the sink and tidying up, and so he hears rather than sees when they get to the part of the album that demarcates the Time Before Dad’s Stroke from the Time After.

They both get quiet. The album, Lawson knows, starts to thin. Fewer photos in general, and fewer happy ones, specifically. He knows there’s photos of Dad in the hospital, smiling gamely, offering a thumbs up to the camera. Sometimes Mom stands beside his bed, and sometimes Lawson. There’s photos of his homecoming, and some candid shots of Lawson helping his dad, taken by Mom unbeknownst to both of them. From that point on, in the Time After, there’s no more pictures of weddings or parties or Mom’s garden beds. No more cheesy shots of Lawson trying to look too cool for school – there was no school after that, and each time Mom tried to snap his photo on his way to a new job – tending bar, shelving books, folding t-shirts, stocking shelves – he blocked the camera lens with his hand until she finally understood what he was telling her: I’m ashamed.Oh, sweetie, she said, and kissed him, but stopped trying to take his photo.

Lawson stands at the sink, and dries dishes, and he knows exactly why a hush has fallen over the table, only the crinkle of plastic pages turning signaling that Mom is still sharing the album.

When he slots the last plate into the rack, he hears a rustle of fabric, and Tommy say, very softly, “I’m sorry, Lisa.”

Lawson turns around, and sees that Tommy’s put an arm around Mom’s shoulders, and that she’s tipped her head against his, seeking comfort. Tommy rubs her shoulder and she reaches up to pat his hand.

After a moment, Mom lifts her head, and Tommy withdraws his arm, albeit slowly, turning his head to regard her with open concern. “Thank you, hon,” Mom says, voice a little watery. She dashes at her eyes, and pushes her chair back; Tommy’s hand falls completely away.

“Well!” Mom says with false brightness. She gets to her feet, shuts the album, and drags it up into her arms. “I should head up. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow and I don’t need to keep pestering you with old pictures.”

“Lisa,” Tommy starts, face hangdog, eyes puppy-sad.

“It wassonice seeing you again, Tommy,” she says, eyes wet, smile too wide. “You’ve got a standing invitation to dinner, so be sure to stop by some night when you have the chance. Glad you boys had fun!” She turns to Lawson on her way out. “Thanks for cleaning up, hon! I’ll see you in the morning.” She blows him a kiss and whisks out of the room, skirt swishing in her wake.

Lawson braces his hands back against the counter and listens to her slot the album back into its place on the shelf in the next room; the stairs creak in all the familiar places as she heads up to bed.

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