Page 82 of Burning Love
“Yeah. It’s not that. Or not my father’s side.”
“So then your mother’s side. You can tell me to stop prying. I will. But something tells me since you’re used to being alone but then said you wanted me to stay for the company, that maybe you want to talk. Or be pushed to talk?”
He sighed. “I’m trying to work it out in my mind.”
“Work out what to tell me or if you want to say anything at all?”
“What to say.”
Her lips pursed in frustration.
“If it’s not your father, then I’m going to guess your mother. Am I right?”
He didn’t answer her, only took another bite of his pizza.
When he was done chewing, he said, “Today is her birthday.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That has to be hard.”
“Yeah.”
“And you still miss her.”
“I do.”
“I have little to no memories of my father. When his birthday rolls around, we make it special for my mother. At least one of the kids is with her and everyone calls to talk to her if they aren’t here.”
“What happened when you were in college? Did you come home for it or was it over the summer?”
“His birthday is in March. I wasn’t that far away in college but couldn’t come home if it was during the week. One year it was on the weekend and I came home and a few of my other siblings did too. Elias is the closest. I think for two years he took the day off to be with my mother when no one else could. Oneyear, West flew my mother to New York and she was able to spend the day with him, Laken, and Braylon.”
“The past two years you’ve been home though,” he said.
“Yep. And we make a day of it. Whatever she wants to do.”
“That’s nice. I never knew my father’s birthday so it didn’t affect me as a kid. For my mother’s I did what she wanted too. We didn’t have a lot, but I’d cook dinner.” He let out a half laugh, half snort. “I did hot dogs in the microwave with chips on the side for the first year I could cook it. I think I was six. She said it was the best dinner ever.”
“Awww. That’s so sweet. I bet she loved it.”
“She made me feel as if she did,” he said quietly.
“She sounds as if she was strong like my mother.”
“Too strong for her own good,” he said drily.
“I’m sure she did what she thought was right. My mother has made a lot of choices in life we haven’t agreed with, but it’s not for us to tell her it was wrong. It wasn’t our decision.”
“Oh, she was wrong. She admitted it,” he said.
“Which is good because not many can do that.”
“She worked too hard,” he said. “It was just the two of us for most of my life and that was by her choice.”
He seemed as if he was going to open up so she’d try to keep her questions as brief as possible.
“Do you know why?”
“I found out more from my father today. More than I knew before.”
