Page 10 of Fresh Canvas
My bare feet pounded on the oak hardwood before I shoved Anthony’s door open. The sight caused my temperature to spike. A crumpled blue comforter lay across his bed. Gaming controllers cluttered his nightstand, kept company by a stale mug of who-knows-what. A black duffel bag leaned against his dresser, indicative he hadn’t unpacked since getting home from Ryan’s. Anthony settled on his giant beanbag and reached for a controller.
I crossed the room in two long strides and snatched it up before he could grab it. My hip jutted out as I planted my fist atop it.
“Anthony, you are not allowed to speak to me like that. I expect a full apology, or you can kiss video games goodbye.”
Anthony’s blue eyes hardened, his jaw snapping shut in obvious defiance.
I was so mad that I entirely forgot the advice on diffusing situations from page five. Deciding to delay my lecture until it came back to me, Anthony’s unpacked weekend bag fell prey to my frustration.
Among the swaths of basketball shorts and pajamas I yanked out, my fingers brushed the edge of something hard. My eyebrows drew together as I pulled a familiar picture frame out.
He takes this to Ryan’s every other weekend?
Delight fluttered in my chest as I looked down at my younger, jubilant self holding a chunky baby and kissing his cheek. The birthday hat atop Anthony’s head was lopsided, as was the blue frosting lining his angelic smile.
Warmth melted away my irritation. Surly attitude or not, I adored the scowling boy behind me. Exhaling the rest of myanger, I instructed Anthony to scoot over before flopping beside him on the beanbag.
Propping myself on my elbows, I said, “Sweetie, I know all this…” There were simply no words accurate enough to represent the awfulthis.“All this has been so hard for you. And I’m sorry for shouting. You didn’t deserve that. And everything else that’s changed recently.” My lips ruffled his cowlick with a kiss.
Anthony softened, leaning against my side. “I’m sorry too, Mom. Your rules don’t actually suck that bad.”
A belly laugh burst out of me. “Uh, thanks?"
A small smile tipped his mouth, though his voice grew serious. “And I don’t think you deserved what happened either, Mom.”
“Oh, honey.” My eyes began to prickle.
“I mean, I’m old enough to know that Dad should have kept it in his pants.”
“Anthony Frank Willis!” My shocked laughter rang out, equal parts horrified and amused. “Where on earth did you hear that?!”
“Grandma talks really loud.” He shrugged.
My lips twitched. Mom could be just as sassy as me sometimes. Deciding it best to change the subject, I took his hand.
“We’re going to get through this, but it may look a little different than we expect. We’ll find a new normal, I promise.” Two arms unexpectedly wrapped around my neck, pulling me close. My heart wrenched against his.
I smoothed his hair, patted his back, and whispered, “We both know how tough you can be, but it’s important to remember that moments of weakness don’t change that.”
Anthony’s tough-guy act splintered as he pulled away. “I just miss him, Mom.”
“I know, sweetie. But you’ll get to go to Dad’s again next weekend, I promise,” I said.
“Not Dad. Grandpa.” Anthony’s brimming eyes dropped to his lap.
My eyes smarted at the mention of Dad, and I fought to get the whisper out. “Me too, Anthony. I miss him every day.”
Anthony’s small hands pressed against his face as he lay back on the beanbag. The familiar gesture told me exactly what he needed. Privacy. He always wanted space when he became emotional, needed time to sort out his feelings before he could put them into words. So I stood, kissed the top of his head, and headed for the door.
“We can talk more when you’re ready, okay sweetie? I love you.” I wiped a few escaped tears with the back of my hand.
Before the door closed, I heard a hushed, “Love you, Mom.”
I leaned against the wood paneling and took a deep breath. What would Dad say if he could see me now? I knew what he’d do—what he’d say. He’d brush my tears away with a calloused knuckle and say,“What are you, Squeaks? Tough as nails.”
Another deep breath filled me with resolve. I didn’t feel tough by any means, but if Dad thought I was, maybe I could be.
Anthony’s first birthday picture still in hand, I clung to the evidence that life hadn’t always been a dumpster fire. Collecting a few more frames on the way to my bedroom, I sprawled across my bed, laying them out one by one.
