Page 71 of Sweet Shots

He puts it on the ground beside the other two. I pop the top of the bottle before handing it over, then do the same for myself.

We spent an hour at the social security office today. It wouldn’t have taken so long if I didn’t wait to talk to my friend, but I figured it may help Mikah. Of course there are things he has to go through regardless, but at least if I’m talking to someone I know, I’ll trust them to do what needs to be done and not brush him off.

She told me it isn’t easy to get a new number, but I have no doubt Mikah will gather everything needed to prove what’s going on. Part of me wishes he would have told me all of this sooner so I could have helped him sooner, but also… had he done that, we wouldn’t be where we are today. Which is pretty wild to think about.

I’m in the same boat as he is. I think this is all a little crazy, too, but I don’t hate it. It doesn’t scare me. I want it. There are a lot of conversations we still need to have, like about work and what this means for us in that aspect and our future, but for now… it’s just casual dating.

Maybe things won’t get more serious—doubtful with the way I’m feeling and the way he looks at me, but you never know.

“Tell me about your childhood,” he says suddenly.

I huff out a laugh, bringing the beer to my lips to take a swig.

“It was great,” I say, noting the shock on his face. “I have nothing but happy memories of my mother and growing up. She was amazing. My best friend. I’d wake up to breakfast everymorning, even if we were struggling for money and all we could afford was oatmeal or cereal, there was always something prepared for me. Same with lunches for school. She left a note in my lunch box every day. Even when I hit high school, she’d sneak them into my backpack. Cause, you know, lunch boxes aren’t cool in high school.” I chuckle, and he lets out a small laugh, too.

“Dinner was always made, except the days she had extra money and ordered us food. She worked at a daycare during the day, so she was home shortly after I was. We went to the park a lot. Did a lot of outdoor things that didn’t cost money because we didn’t have a lot of that. Sometimes none.”

“What about your dad?”

I shrug, shaking my head. “Don’t know him. My mom said it was better off that way. That her biggest mistake in life gave her the best thing—me. Hard to think she could love me so much with how much she didn’t like him. She didn’t shit-talk him, but I saw the look in her eye when he was brought up—mostly by me. It was almost like she was scared or something. I never really got to ask her about it before she died.”

“How old were you?” he asks carefully

I take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I stare into the flickering flames of the fire. I recall the day it happened. I’ll never forget that, even if I wanted to. It’s one of those things that will be burned into my brain for the rest of my life. How could I ever forget the look on her face when she just… died.

“Fifteen,” I rasp out, clearing my throat and taking a sip. It’s not easy to talk about, which is why I usually don’t. I’ve accepted that this is my life, this is what happened, but thinking about her death hurts.

“What kind of cancer?”

I love talking about my mother. I don’t get to do it enough. This shit is hard to talk about because it fucking hurts, but I want Mikah to trust me. I want this relationship to go somewhere. I want him to open up to me so I can heal his wounds. And if I’m going to do that, I have to open up to him first. I have to be vulnerable and lead by example. If I want his trust, I need to give him mine. Show him vulnerability to get it in return. No one likes talking about difficult things, but sometimes they need to be talked about.

“Leukemia, but that wasn’t what killed her.”

“Oh,” he says, shocked. “If this is too hard to talk about…”

“My mom deserves to be remembered. She’d have loved the hell outta you, I’ll tell you that.” I laugh thinking about it, taking another swig of beer. “Your spice. The attitude. God, she’d love you.”

I sneak a glance and see him smiling, but it’s sad. Maybe because he can’t say the same about his mother and wishes he could. If my mother were alive, she’d gladly take him under her wing and be his mom too. That’s just the kind of person she was.

“Her birthday was coming up. It was on a Wednesday that year and I had football practice, so I knew I wouldn’t be ableto spend much time with her on the day. Because we didn’t have much money, we always tried to do something special for each other on our birthdays. She had this old Camry. Thing was her pride and joy. No idea why she loved it so much, but she did. It was the Sunday before her birthday, and I woke up early to go clean the piece of shit, wanting it to sparkle for her.”

I clear my throat, taking another sip and another deep breath. My chest aches at the memory. “She’d come outside as I was rinsing the car off. I’d already done the inside and just had to wipe the outside down. Her hair was a mess, face tired. She was in her plaid pajama pants that were too big for her, a white t-shirt and her favorite grey zip-up hoodie that she found at a thrift shop. That thing was ragged, but so damn soft. She wore it all the time.” I huff a laugh at the thought. She wore that thing around the house at all times, like a security blanket.

“What are you doing to my car, honey?” she asks.

I grin at her, turning off the hose. “Happy birthday,” I say. “I’m almost done.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

She folds her arms over her chest, fighting off the chill even though it isn’t cold. I blame the cancer.

“Of course I did. You love this car.”

She laughs, taking a step toward me, but pauses and blinks. I step to her, figuring she’s having another dizzy spell. They come all the time now, and I always try to be within reach in case she falls.

Her face goes blank, the spark in her eyes just… dies out. They go unfocused, and then she drops. She just drops to the ground.

“Mom!” I run to her, falling to my knees, the asphalt digging into my bare skin. I shake her, tap her cheek, but she’s just… staring up at the sky, unmoving. “Mom, wake up! Help, someone help!”

---