Page 17 of Rumi: The Hawthornes

“Rumi, my sweet happy boy—”

“For fuck’s sake,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Dad says you’re in a shitty mood. What’s up?”

“You don’t think it’s weird that Dad calls you to tattle when he’s at work?”

“He wasn’t tattling andIcalled him.”

“I’m fine, Ma.”

“Yeah, sounds like it,” she replied sarcastically.

“Not sure why everyone else can be in a bad mood, but the minute I am, everyone’s up my ass.”

“Who’s up your ass, honey?” she asked with mock concern. “Mama will pull them right out of there.”

I couldn’t help it. Even though I was in a piss poor mood, I laughed.

“You’re a fuckin’ nutcase.”

“Everything good, son?”

“Everythin’ is fine,” I said for the fortieth time that day. “Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Well hell,” she said with a laugh. “Sleep in the middle then.”

“I’ll try that.”

“You’re just easy going,” she said with a smile in her voice. “So when you’re stomping around like the world has shit in your cereal, it’s weird.”

“You know, maybe I want to be the moody one for once,” I joked, turning on my windshield wipers as it started to rain. “Maybe sometimes I don’t want to be the easy kid.”

Mom laughed. “Easy?” she said, still laughing. “Rumi, I had to work harder to keep you alive than any of the other kids. You may be happy, but you’re a fucking handful and always have been.”

“I’m a fuckin’joy,” I argued.

“Ain’t that the truth,” she replied in amusement. “And now you’re sounding like my son again.”

“Dad called because he knew you’d snap me out of my mood, didn’t he?”

“I’ll never give up our secrets,” she whispered before raising her voice to normal volume again. “Love you, kid. Stop by this week for dinner? It’s weird not having you here. You’re still a baby.”

“Love you, too,” I replied as I pulled into my driveway. “I’ll figure out a day and let you know, yeah?”

“Any day except Thursday,” she said quickly. “That’s date night and I’m getting lucky.”

“That’s fucking disgustin’ and my bad mood has returned.”

“Bye,” she sang happily before hanging up on me.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, shaking my head as I got out of the truck.

My mom was equal parts hilarious and way too open about literally everything. It didn’t matter who she was talking to, if she was in a sharing mood, there was no social barrier she wouldn’t jump over.

If I was being honest, and I usually was, the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree in that regard.

I let myself in the house and stripped, leaving all my nasty clothes by the door as I headed toward the shower. I was covered in grease up to my elbows even though I’d tried to clean up before I’d left work. Days like that when I didn’t want to spend fifteen minutes scrubbing, were the reason I stole some orange degreasing hand soap from the garage to keep in my shower.

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