Boston Blues - BLACKBIRD book 2

7. mother and son

Gillian had to admit that the cast and the crutches keeping her so much at home gave her the chance to spend way more time with Connor that what they were used to share. And it paid off in the best of ways, since both of them enjoyed doing all kinds of things together.

That Saturday noon, while the nor'easter hit the city, she commanded his son to do the lunch dishes while she made the coffee, and ruled he was to choose between watching a movie and getting his ass kicked at chess or car races. Instead of a movie, they ended up laughing till tears rolled down their faces with Nozaki Kun—the title was longer, but that was all she got of it—a romantic comedy Tim had recommended Connor. Then they refilled their mugs with more frothy latte and lingered lazily on the couch, watching the snowfall out the window, still chuckling at what they'd just watched.

Smooth and oh so careful, as if dropping a very casual question, Gillian asked about Mike. Connor's smile disappeared and he looked away, sighing.

"I honestly don't know." He shrugged. "His friend's death affected him in the weirdest way." Gillian frowned, inviting him to elaborate. He shrugged again. "He's down, of course, and the good times they had is all he can talk about. Which I think it's kinda natural, right?"

"Yeah. When someone dies, it's like you can't help digging out all you can recall about them. I think we do it to sort of... refresh our memory, make sure we won't forget them."

Connor looked at her now, with a serious face, really listening to her. Jeez, he'd grown so much! Where was her baby boy in this smart, thoughtful young man? And yet she was so glad to watch him grow like that, into such a good, nice person, both intelligent and sensitive. People might say it was the mother talking, but the plain truth was that she loved living with him. Not only because he was her son, but because he was... him. Living with Connor was fun, and good, and always interesting. Because that was how he was. And as he grew up, every year was better than the last, because there were more and more things they could share.

It'd been so good, holding him in her arms and feeding him, and making up funny bedtime stories and games. But it was so much better exchanging books, or commenting movies, or liking the same song and sing it out loud together when they played it on the radio. Or discussing general issues when they didn't agree about them. Or listening to him when he told her about the last computer program he was trying to put up, or whatever he would like to share with her. Even cleaning the kitchen after he tried the last recipe he'd learned at his cooking lessons was nice—looking back at it, of course, because Gillian used to swear black and blue while doing so.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said. "But he's also... I don't know, like trying to be more like his friend was. He's listening to Gary's playlists, and dressing like Gary used to. And I don't quite like that."

"Couldn't it be another way of holding on to his friend's memory?" she suggested.

"Maybe... The thing is that this Gary dude loved benders, y'know? That's how he ended up like he did."

"And you're afraid Mike will copy those habits as well."

"Not afraid, but concerned. I wouldn't like to see Mike drunk or high every night."

"Have you guys talked about it?"

"Nah, he gets defensive right away, and mad at anyone that may suggest the slightest critic about his buddy's ways."

"He's still at home? Or he's already back to the dorm?"

"Home."

"Well, that's sort of good news, right? None of Gary's bender buddies around to drag'im along."

Connor took a heartbeat to consider, then nodded. "Guess so...," he muttered, and flashed a twisted smirk. "Ready to have your ass kicked?"

"Whatever it is, bring it on," she replied, mirroring his smirk.