Baby Steps [ManxMan]

Chapter 2

RONNIE

"Ronnie, breakfast is ready!"

I stared at the ceiling of my childhood room and sighed, trying to figure out how I got there. How I ended up back in my parent's house at thirty-two years old.

The crown molding on the ceiling didn't have any answers for me.

"Ronnie!"

With another heavy sigh, I heaved myself from my bed and headed downstairs to face my parents. I hadn't told them beforehand that I was coming home, I simply showed up last night. I knew I had to explain to them why I was back but a part of me wished I could just pretend the last ten years never happened, that I never left Sweetland.

Shuffling my way into the kitchen/dining room I tried to get my story straight in my head. There was no way I was going to let my parents know how big of an idiot I had been for the majority of the time I had been living in New York. They didn't need to know and I didn't need them to know.

Taking a chair at the table I noticed my mom had gone all out this morning. There was French toast, my favorite, and scrambled eggs and bacon. A pot of coffee sat off to the side and a jug of orange juice was next to it. I stared at the banquet and then at my mother.

She was scooping food onto a plate for herself and I couldn't help but admire her beauty. Even at almost sixty-five, she had a beautiful face with soft blue eyes surrounded by curly blond hair. In her prime, she had been the most gorgeous women in all of Sweetland. But it was her personality that really made her shine. She always had time for people in need and she never refused to give people attention, to simply hear their problems.

I knew she had gone through a lot in life, especially with my dad's illness, but she never let that stop her from seeing the world with a glass half full attitude. She was an amazing woman and I thanked God every day for allowing her to be my mother.

Her smiling eyes looked up at me as I stared at her and they crinkled around the edges, "Well, this is a first. I would have imagined your plate overflowing by now."

Smiling at her teasing, I reached for the French toast but stopped and looking at her and said, "I love you, mom."

Her hand stopped in the process of pouring coffee into a mug. She placed the cup down and frowned at me, "Are you ill, Ronnie? Is that why you're home?"

Smiling I shook my head, "No, I'm fine. I just needed to see you guys. I needed to come home."

"Let the boy be, Mary. If there was something wrong he would have told us already."

My father's soft, hoarse, voice came from behind me and I turned to look at the man who had been my hero growing up. He was still a tall man with broad shoulders, but where there used to be defined muscles, honed from years of being a firefighter, now there was soft padding and fragile skin. His once auburn hair had turned into a sea of gray and there were dark circles under his green eyes, no doubt from his chemotherapy.

He was no longer the strong, invincible, man I knew growing up.

But he was still my hero.

After being diagnosed with stage three lung cancer he had quit his job and dedicated his life to fighting his illness. He put all his strength into his treatments and keeping a bright outlook on life. The last time I was home mom told me he was responding well to treatment, even if he refused to stay in the hospital as the doctor recommended.

Standing from my chair, I moved to help him get to his chair at the head of the table. His body felt small and vulnerable beneath my hands. Once he was seated I took my seat again and stared at the two people who gave me everything I could have asked for.