All of Me

twenty eight • mom's the word

• • •

The rain started when Gray's mood dipped on Saturday afternoon. It didn't stop for three days straight, finally ceasing last night when he and his dad went to the diner together after we got home. Mom quietly and curiously quizzed me about Liam while the two of them had a bit of father-son bonding: we tucked up on the sofa with a Netflix romcom in the background, the movie forgotten as I carefully navigated the minefield of her inquisition.

It's hard not to be a little convinced that the weather mimics Gray's mood. He sulked for three days, during a three-day storm, the tempest only abating after his heart to heart with his dad, so it's a relief when the sun comes out at last on Tuesday.

It's still soaking outside though, and there's not much heat behind the brightness. Gray has his smile back, almost, but it doesn't reach his eyes. I'm praying for a ray of warmth to pour through the window, to illuminate his face.

I'm cozied up in Starbucks with my laptop on my knees, trying to bash out at least some of a ten-page paper I have due Friday. I'm working a closer that night, so I can't afford to wing it too close to the deadline. Gray has the same paper, and not a word written, but he has more pressing matters on his mind right now.

It's hard to focus on my screen when I'm painfully aware that he left twenty minutes ago to make a call, and now I'm waiting for the sky to turn. Maybe it's Navya; maybe they're just arranging a date and any moment the clouds will clear. But he never leaves to talk to her. I have a sinking feeling that he's talking to his mom, and the heavens are about to open.

He's been so torn up since seeing her. I had no idea how much she still played on his mind but the evidence is right in front of me. He has only read one book since Saturday. It's Tuesday now. An achievement for most, but Gray isn't most. He's a book or two a day kind guy. He's been quiet in the morning, quiet in the car, quiet at night.

When he eventually returns, I've only written half a paragraph more, bringing me to almost five pages. Nearly halfway. I shut my laptop when he drops down next to me on the deep sofa. His face is pale, his phone clutched in his hand, and he's completely still for a moment before he lets out a pained sigh and rests his head back.

"Everything ok?" I push my laptop away to give him my full attention.

"My mom," he says, turning his phone over in his hand before he drops it onto the cushion.

"You called her?"

"Mmhmm." He nods and leans forward, elbows on his knees, and drops his head into his hands. A low groan comes out of him. "It was killing me," he says. "The not knowing. I had to. I had to."

"I know. What'd she say?"

"She's coming over," he says. He checks his watch. "She said we should talk in person and she's coming over."

"Here? To South Lakes?"

He nods. "She said she'll be here in two hours." He drags his hands down his face. "God, I don't want to. I do, but I don't." He clasps his hands at the back of his neck and looks up at me through dark eyelashes. "She's my mom. I shouldn't feel so crap. It should be no biggie like, sure, Mom, seeya later."

He scrutinizes his watch again. We have class in ninety minutes. "I'm gonna have to skip Shakespearean Lit."

"D'you want some moral support?"

He hesitates. "No, it's fine."

The pause is enough. I don't care about skipping class. Probably a habit I need to break, especially before sophomore year starts, but it's hard to care when I can get the information off the slides and I'd much rather help out a friend in need.