Feeling relief, I dip my chin toward his plate. “If you’re finished, dump your plate in the dishwasher and get packed up. I’ll meet you and your brother in the driveway.”
He gets up, taking his plate with him, and after he rinses it and drops it in the dishwasher, he leaves the kitchen, heading around the island and down the hall toward his bedroom.
“He liked her a lot,” Mitchell says as I’m taking a sip of coffee, and I turn toward him, resting my hip on the counter, and lift my chin for him to continue. “He didn’t think he would, but he does, and now he’s worried about what will happen if you and her keep seeing each other and Mom shows up.”
Shit. Their mom can be a handful on a good day, so I know his concern is valid. I also know I’ve been done with taking her shit for years, so if she shows and tries to stir up trouble, I won’t let it happen. “That’s not something you or your brother need to worry about.”
“I know, but Max still thinks Mom is cool,” he says softly. “He doesn’t get that she’s nuts and that she’s only around when it’s good for her.”
I study my boy, wondering when he started to see things as they are. There was a time he saw his mom the same way Max sees her now, and a part of me wishes he still viewed her in that same light, that he didn’t know how selfish his mother is.
“He doesn’t get it,” he adds.
“Get what?”
He shrugs. “Get that Mom doesn’t really care about us.”
My throat gets tight, and I fight against the anger I feel threatening to take over. I never want my boys to feel unloved, and I have tried to make it so they never will, by giving them good people who they can count on. Unfortunately, I have never been able to control the impact their mother has on their lives any more than I can direct the sun from setting each evening. “Your mom is—”
“A bitch.”
My spine stiffens. “Language. I get that you’re upset with her, but do not ever disrespect her. She’s your mother. She loves you boys.”
“If she did, she would be around.” His jaw ticks. “She’s not around unless it’s convenient, and when she is here, she’s always talking about where she’s going or what she plans on doing next. I’m not stupid; I know she only shows up to make sure we haven’t forgotten her. The thing is… I always forget her the moment she walks out the door, because she doesn’t matter.”
Fuck, my throat gets tight. “I hate you feel that way.”
“I hate that Max thinks she’s perfect, but I also know I won’t be able to change his mind about her. He has to learn that for himself.” He pulls in a breath. “I just….” He pauses to shake his head. “I was just thinking that if you and December did get together and Mom did come around, he’d see the difference, and maybe it wouldn’t be so hard on him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like… he could see what a mom is supposed to be like.”
“Mitch—”
“I know you’re going to say it’s too soon for that,” he cuts me off, holding up his hand toward me. “I just know that it would have been nice when I was his age to have a mom type person around, and maybe if December is that, it would be good for him.”
I stare at my son, not sure I’m able to stomach what he’s saying. I have tried to keep what happened between his mom and me away from him, but nonetheless, it’s obviously seeped through. I hate that he’s had to witness it; worse, I hate that he’s now trying to protect his little brother from experiencing the same thing.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asks, looking older than he is. “I know you’ve put up with Mom for years because you wanted us to have her in our lives.”
“You’re right. I want you boys to have your mom. Still, I’m sorry that you feel the way you do, and I don’t like that you’ve had to deal with things you shouldn’t have.” I close the distance between us and rest my hand around the side of his neck, giving it a gentle squeeze to get his attention. “I’m glad you’re trying to look out for your little brother, but this is something you don’t need to worry about.”
“Okay.” He dips his chin.
“Love you, kid.” I rest my forehead against the top of his head.
“Love you too, Dad,” he whispers back, and even though I’ve heard that from him time and time again, I know it will never get old.
“I’m proud of you.” I lower my voice. “I got this. Trust me to look out for you and your brother,” I say, and he nods.