Page 103 of Faux Real
“Go,” Sawyer says, giving me a slight shove. “Go, KC.”
“Are we good?” I ask, needing one more moment to prep for the reunion. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Always am,” he smiles, waving me off as he circles the car. “Night, KC.”
“Night,” I whisper, flicking my nails as he backs out of the driveway. Here goes nothing. I slowly make my way to the front door, every step feeling like a dream. But it’s not a dream. Not anymore. She’s here. I’m here. We’re here together. Finally, “Hi, mom.”
“Baby,” my mother whimpers, swinging her arms around me and holding me close against her chest. “Oh, baby, I’ve missed you so much. Oh, God. I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
“Mom,” I sniffle into her shoulder, my arms tightening around her warm body as I cry. As the floodgates open. As the distraction of Sawyer and the drive fade away, I’m left with only pain and hurt. “Mommy.”
“It’s okay, Kenny,” she hushes me, stroking my hair. “It’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here.”
Memoriesarelike waves. But it wasn’t Sawyer’s waves I should’ve been worried about.
It was Oliver’s.
Deadly. Destructive. Damaging.
“Let’s go inside,” Mom whispers, taking my hand and leading me into a rustic cabin-esque house. We enter the kitchen and I plop down by the island, resting my head on the granite countertop. “Do you want to talk about it?” I glance up at her, frowning. She chuckles. “I know you, Ken, and I don’t think these tears are for me.” She tilts her head. “So?”
Five years. I haven’t seen or heard from my mom in five years. That should mean something. That time apart should’ve changedsomething. I should be more hesitant. I should be more wary. More guarded. More angry.
But as I spill the tea to my mother about every single thing that’s happened between me and Oliver and Sawyer in the last few months, I realize that time means nothing. Time together. Time part. It means nothing. Time is not a measure of love. Time is just time. But a mother’s love, that’s timeless.
“Well, I think this Oliver is an idiot,” my mom says, handing me a second cup of hot cocoa. “A cute idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. Maybe you should focus on finishing school and put boys on the back burner.”
“How do you know he’s cute?” I ask, raising a brow.
Mom sheepishly blows into her mug. “I might have creeped on you and your friends over the years.”
I blink. “Creeped?”
“What? Did I use it wrong?”
“No,” I laugh, popping a marshmallow into my mouth. “But I think you should avoid my generation’s vernacular. Makes you seem a little lame.”
My mom swats my arm. “Well,sorryfor trying to connect with my teenage daughter.”
I roll my eyes, letting out a sigh. “I don’t know what to do, mom. What should I do?”
“Be smart with your heart, Kenny,” Mom says, suppressing a yawn. “And don’t give it to someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
“And he doesn’t deserve it,” I muse. “Right?”
“I don’t know Oliver well enough to answer that,” Mom shrugs. “But you do.”
“That’s the thing,” I say, an incoming call vibrating my phone. “I thought I did know him but now I’m not sure.”
“Maybe Maxine can help,” Mom says, nodding at my phone. “If I remember correctly, she’s always been excellent at giving advice. Like that time, she encouraged you to cut your own bangs.”
I snort, standing up. “She’s matured since we were kids,” I answer the call, putting it on speaker. “Max, you’re on—”
“Dude, I just ate the strongest edible of my life and now I think I have 4D vision. Avengers here I come, bitches!”
I cringe, quickly taking her off the speaker. “I’m gonna—”
“Take your time,” Mom says, gesturing toward the living room. “I’ll get the guest room ready for you.”
