Third Time's a Charm ✓

five

THURSDAY. 17. FEBRUARY. 22. (half edited)

"HEY, BROOKS?"

"Yeah, Row?" I asked, looking across at where he sat, his shoulders slouched and his slim, scraped legs swinging underneath the kitchen table.

"Where's mom?" He muttered, his fork loose in his hand as he pushed his food around wearily. His eyes were fixed on his plate and his hazel hair was flopping over his forehead.

"I don't know, kiddo," I admitted, offering him a small, hopefully reassuring smile when he glanced up at me, distant blue eyes boring into mine. "Pretty sure she mentioned something about a date with Craig."

"When's she—" He began, eyebrows pulled in a gentle frown and his chin pointed towards the table as he continued to push his food around.

"Don't play with your food, Row," I scolded gently, gesturing at him with my fork and promptly returning to my plate.

"Sorry," he murmured, stabbing his fork into his pasta. "When's she coming back?"

"Soon," I nodded, glancing at the clock hung on the wall like it had an answer written on it. She'd been gone since this morning and I'd supposed— prayed, more like— that she'd just left for work early (even if it seemed unrealistic), but she never kept her salon open this late and my hope was starting to dwindle.

"You did definitely speak to her?" He inquired.

"Course I did," I lied, smiling at him. "Don't worry. Craig always has her home on time." He didn't— not always— but that wasn't usually his fault.

"Is Craig coming back, too?" He asked softly, his words fractured by the rasp in his voice. When he glanced up at me again, I couldn't bring myself to look away. His face was a path trailing through confused youth and adult exhaustion; a baby face with hollowing cheeks, a boyish smile that was almost enough to distract from the faint purple rings sinking beneath his eyes.

"I don't know," I replied, shrugging a little and trying to smile, trying to resist the urge to look back at the clock. "Probably. He usually comes in for a while after he drops her off, doesn't he?"

I wasn't even sure if he was with her. Every time I'd called it had gone straight to voicemail. All the texts I'd left her were still unread. By now, I was contemplating calling Craig myself to see if she was pulling her famous stunt again but I knew that, with my luck, mom would call back right after I'd gotten in touch with him. Even in the abstract, her reaction wasn't pretty. It never was when we tried to ask around to find out where she was (it made her look bad, apparently).

"Yeah, he does," he muttered, shuffling restlessly, one of his hands flat on the seat of his chair and his other hand still clutching his fork.

"What's the matter?" I frowned, swallowing another mouthful and lifting my glass towards my lips. "I thought you liked Craig."

"He buys me a lot of stuff so mom says that I have to like him," he shrugged, his face blank until he realised what he'd said, at which point his lips spilled into a sportive smile.

With a grin, I shook my head. "You don't have to like him," I joked, leaning forward over the table and winking at him. "Only thing you have to like is the gifts."

He grinned at his plate and nodded his head, glimpsing up at me. "The gifts are good," he agreed, beaming until crinkles formed at the corners of his bright, tired eyes.

"Then you have nothing to worry about," I replied, settling back in my chair and finishing off my food. "I really like him, though. He's a good influence on her, don't you think?"