Page 57 of Hitch
Duane.
When we get to her apartment, the car dealer waves to me, waiting with my mom’s brand new car. It’s not the exact make and model I wanted, but it’s one I knew my mom would accept. Any more expensive than this, and she’d straight up refuse.
With her new keys in hand, I lead the way while Duane carries the cake.
“You ready for this?” I ask. Duane nods toward the door.
“Go on,” he says. “Get on with it.”
Nothing scares him. Not even meeting my mother.
I bang on the door. It opens.
“Happy Birthday!” I shout.
“Regina?” My mom bends forward. “Who did you bring with you?”
Duane steps forward. “My name is Duane, ma’am. Duane Patrick.”
“And he’s not all I brought,” I say excitedly.
I take the cake from Duane, setting on the kitchen counter, while Duane and my mom shake hands.
“Wow,” she says. “You’re certainly tall.” She looks up at him. “Duane Patrick. You aren’t the one who bought Grainswept Fields, are you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
Mom tilts her head. “Interesting,” she says. “I guess you made new friends in Stockton.”
“I guess?” I bounce on my tiptoes. “Let me show you your present!”
After I show my mom the car and give her the keys, she gawks, completely speechless. The car dealer offers the paperwork to my mom, but she doesn’t take it.
“Regina,” she finally says with hesitation in her voice. “You didn’t have to do this. It’s your money. You need to spend it on yourself.”
I shrug my shoulders. I knew she would protest.
“You’re right,” I say. “Itismy money. And this is how I am choosing to spend it.” I pull her hand into mine. “Please. Let me do this for you.”
Her eyes dart back and forth between mine, searching for the answers.
“It’d be disrespectful to refuse a gift like this, ma’am,” Duane adds.
At his words, my mom sighs. “All right,” she concedes. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
After she signs the paperwork and we send the dealer off, the three of us sit at the round table in the kitchen and light candles. I singHappy Birthdayto my mom, and though Duane doesn’t sing along, he beams at me through the candlelight. It’s strange, but I realize I don’t know anything about his family. I know he left Florida, but that’s it. I don’t know if he’s close with his parents, or if he doesn’t speak to them at all.
As I serve cake slices, Duane chats with my mom about farm politics.
“Joanne—you know, the secretary from school? She just got married to this man that owns one of the almond farms up in the valley,” she says. “It’s so fascinating.”
Duane cuts in: “You’re not talking about Leonard Cliff, are you?”
“That’s the one!” Mom says. “What a small world. But of course you’d know him.”
“He helped us find one of the contractors for our new facilities,” he says. And I make the connection quickly—the facilities must mean the mushroom farm buildings.
My mom takes a bite of cake, and she smiles so big, it’s like she’s eating a literal slice of heaven. It fills me with joy seeing her like that. We don’t do much for birthdays, but wealwaysmake time to get each other a cake. And this time, with a car on top of that? It makes her smile even better.
