Mary and Halley (sequel to When Mary Met Halley)

three

Hank was taking a nap later that day when the crow caught my attention by muttering his disapproval, which meant my mom was at the door. He was perched on the windowsill with his cat, watching the brown birds foraging for crumbs on the porch.

The cat was happy though, standing and stretching in preparation of acting a fool. He meowed loudly as he jumped down to stand at the door and scratch. He had questionable taste. 

My mother knocked lightly and I rolled my eyes but opened the door. "Hi. Hank's sleeping."

She stood there with her gray hair and hound dog eyes and twisted the handles of the pink handbag from Ross she held. I remembered her familiar smell when she would hug me after a nightmare, the most comforting person in my world. Until, of course, I'd found out what nightmares truly were, and by then she was only a void.

The cat knew nothing about this and twined around her ankles, vocalizing his pleasure. "Hi, honey, I don't have to stay and bother you, I know you're probably busy." 

But she wanted to, was the thing, and I knew it, and she knew I knew it, and fuck. "You can come in," I said less than graciously. "He'll be up soon." I stepped back so she could enter, and allowed her to hug me while I returned it stiffly. "Make yourself at home." I gestured toward the living room.

She smiled and stepped around PK, who stood on his hind legs to paw at her until she patted his head. "There's a good kitty," she told him, then continued on her way to the couch. We'd never had animals, for a number of reasons. There wasn't enough money to feed ourselves properly half the time, let alone pets, and my dad didn't like animals. 

The crow flew abruptly down to land in front of the door and slip out before it closed. He didn't care for her, undoubtedly picking up on my vibes. I opened the door again as I heard Leif parking. 

He breezed through the door and tossed his jacket toward the coat tree, messed up my hair, and rolled his eyes toward the living room. "I see we have company," he said dryly. He liked my mother about as much as the bird did.

"Shh," I admonished him. I made him be nice because that was easiest. They'd had a huge fight about six months after she'd returned. Or rather, he'd yelled at her for five minutes about leaving and not being here for me and started running down a list of the things that had happened since then that he considered mostly her fault. I'd finally stopped him and she'd cried and apologized over and over, and it wasn't one of my favorite nights to remember.

"Well, the banquet sucked, but the tips from the old biddies were nice, and I got a plate of food at the end. Sausage and bacon and eggs, poached of course. And those little square potatoes that have the green onions in them that you always pick out, what are they called, something Irish." He gestured as he took his fancy boy shoes off.

"O'brien," I supplied, going back into the kitchen.

He trailed me, slurping from my coffee cup and yanking open the fridge to peer inside.

"You just ate," I reminded him, unloading the dishwasher. I knew I should go in and make conversation with my mom, but I didn't want to.

"That was like an hour ago." He pulled out the spicy bean dip and went rooting in the cupboard for the Fritos Scoops. 

"At least put some on a plate," I implored.

"Yeah, probably not gonna do that," he said, his hand already in the bag. Next he peeled off the lid of the little can and dipped a chip in. He popped it into his mouth and made another one, holding it out. I shook my head. "I stopped by Caleb's and finally met Courtney." At least he tried to keep the appreciative look off his face.