I park in the alley behind Bib’s so that I can go through the back door in case she’s waiting in the restaurant lobby, or at a table. I’m not sure she would recognize me if she saw me, but I’d rather have the advantage by approaching her on my terms.
Darin notices me enter through the back door and immediately makes his way over.
“You get my text?”
I nod and remove my coat. “I did. Is she still here?”
“Yeah, she insisted on waiting. I sat her at table eight.”
“Thanks.”
Darin looks at me cautiously. “Maybe I’m overstepping, but… I swear you said your mother was dead.”
That almost makes me laugh. “I never said dead. I said she was gone. There’s a difference.”
“I can tell her you aren’t coming in tonight.” He must sense the storm brewing.
“It’s okay. I have a feeling she isn’t going away until I talk to her.”
Darin nods and then spins to head back to his station in the kitchen.
I’m glad he’s not asking too many questions, since I have no idea why she’s here, or who she even is now. She probably wants money. Hell, I’d give it to her if it means I don’t have to deal with her calling or showing up again.
I should prepare for that outcome. I go to my office and grab a handful of cash out of the safe and then I make my way through the kitchen doors, out into the restaurant. I hesitate before glancing at table eight.
When I do, I’m relieved to see her back is to me.
I calm myself with a deep breath and then I make my way over to her. I don’t want to have to hug her or fake niceties, so I let no time lag between us making eye contact and me taking a seat directly across from her.
She has the same unaffected expression she’s always had when she looks across the table at me. There’s a small frown playing at the corner of her mouth, but it’s always there. She’s constantly, albeit inadvertently, frowning.
She looks worn. It’s only been about thirteen or so years since I’ve seen her last, but there are decades’ worth of new lines that have formed around her eyes and mouth.
She takes me in for a moment. I know I look vastly different from the last time she saw me, but she makes no indication that she’s surprised by that. She’s completely stoic, as if I’m the one who should speak first. I don’t.
“Is this all yours?” she finally asks, waving a hand around the restaurant.
I nod.
“Wow.”
To anyone else watching us, they might think she’s impressed. But they don’t know her like I know her. That one word was meant as a putdown, as if she’s saying, Wow, Atlas. You’re not smart enough for something like this.
“How much do you need?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not here for money.”
“What is it, then? You need a kidney? A heart?”
She leans back against her seat, resting her hands in her lap. “I forgot how hard it is to have a conversation with you.”
“Then why do you keep trying?”
My mother’s eyes narrow. She’s only ever known the version of me that was intimidated by her. I’m no longer intimidated. Just angry and disappointed.
She huffs, and then brings her arms back up to the table, folding them together. She looks at me pointedly. “I can’t find Josh. I was hoping you’ve talked to him.”
I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen my mother, but I can’t for the life of me place anyone named Josh. Who the hell is Josh? A new boyfriend she thinks I should know about? Is she still using drugs?
“He does this all the time but never for this long. They’re threatening to file truancy charges on me if he doesn’t show back up to school.”
I am so lost. “Who is Josh?”
Her head falls back as if she’s irritated that I’m not following along. “Josh. Your little brother. He ran away again.”
My… brother?
Brother.
“Did you know parents can go to jail for truancy violations? I’m looking at jailtime, Atlas.”
“I have a brother?”
“You knew I was pregnant when you ran away.”
I absolutely didn’t know… “I didn’t run away—you kicked me out.” I don’t know why I clarify that; she’s fully aware of that fact. She’s just trying to deflect blame. But her kicking me out when she did makes so much more sense now. They had a baby on the way, and I no longer fit into the picture.
I bring both arms up and clasp my hands behind my head, frustrated. Shocked. Then I drop them to the table again and lean forward for clarity. “I have a brother? How old is he? Who’s his… Is he Tim’s son?”
