Page 48 of The Hang Up

“She’s fine,” she said because she could hear the other question in my words. “She’s in her room playing video games.”

“Okay, well, you’ve got us here, Mom. Go ahead. Say what you have to say.”

“Brock Emanuel Abbott, I did not raise you to be rude.”

“Regina—” Joshua started, but I shook my head.

“You raised me to speak my mind. That’s what I’m doing. Your turn, Mom.”

Her eyes glinted, and she waved her arms around. How had I not noticed stuff piled everywhere? I shook my head. I’d been focused solely on defending my relationship with Joshua. “I’m downsizing. Angel and I don’t need all this stuff. I want to simplify my life—”

“Have you been watching Marie Kondo again?”

She gave me a penetrating stare. “Sometimes it’s important to unclutter your life, Brock.”

I resisted the urge to squirm. Or scream. “How can we help?”

I’d worn comfortable clothes because there was comfort in that when going into battle with my mom. Now I was glad because, for the next few hours, we moved boxes of stuff to the attic, to my car so I could drop it off at a donation center, or to the trash. Mom was going through things in the kitchen when Joshua and I settled at the table for a drink and a break. It was all anticlimactic. But I knew my mom. She’d get to the point. Eventually.

“I hate parting with any of this stuff,” she said, touching her Hobart mixer as if it were one of her children. “But why do I need it?”

“You don’t have to get rid of it.” All the meals over the years. The cakes. Working beside my mom from the moment she let me help. Was I three? Or four?

“The past is the past. I still have my memories.” She smiled fondly at the mixer and then at us. “Sometimes you have to let go.”

Joshua shifted in his seat. Was he thinking of the past? Of letting go? But I needed to let go too. Of the feelings I’d had for Joshua as a kid. The feeling that I was still playing pretend.

She shrugged. “Having it no longer brings me joy. Do you want it?”

I stared at her. My mixer was newer and did the job, but this was a Hobart. “I don’t have room for more stuff, Mom. Sean and I barely have room as it is.”

“But you’re not planning on living in a small apartment with Sean all your life, right? He’s going to move in with Ben at some point.”

“Ouch.” I wasn’t sure why that hurt so much. She was right. Sean spent a lot of time over at Ben’s already.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were doing the Spiderman thing.”

“Mom,” I said in warning, not buying her innocent act and hoping against hope that she’d just drop it.

“What Spiderman thing?” Joshua asked.

“It’s nothing.” I glared at my mom. “Fine, I’ll take the Hobart. And your knife set if you don’t want it.”

She shook her finger at me. “Not the knife set.” Then she turned to Joshua. Was her plan to embarrass me? If so, mission accomplished. “When Brock was upset about something, he would put his Spiderman blanket over his head and pretend nothing was happening.”

“That’s cute,” Joshua said, smiling at me. Then his brow furrowed. “Wait…Spiderman blanket?”

“Time to go.” I stood, but Joshua grabbed my hand and pulled me back down.

“I’ve seen that blanket. You and Sean were watching a movie—I think it was a thriller—and you put your blanket over your head. I thought it was the movie.”

My face felt like I’d been cooking over a grill. Hot and prickly. “Not the movie. I don’t really want to discuss my embarrassing—can we drop it? Please?”

“I wondered why a fifteen-year-old still had a Spiderman blanket.”

“Kill me now.”

“It’s cute. No, don’t go,” he said when I tried to stand. He pulled me closer and kissed my cheek. I rolled my eyes at him, and he chuckled.

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