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“Gabriel. Gabe.” I call his name as I try to hold his arms down.
Finally, my words seem to cut through to him. Those gorgeous forest green eyes open and stare back at me.
“Hey, baby.” I say softly.
“Mama.”
Every time he calls my name it melts my heart. For the longest, Gabe seemed uninterested in talking. He didn’t start using real words to express himself until he was nearly three years old. Now, although he speaks, he doesn’t do very much of it.
I pull him into me for a hug. He doesn’t hug me back, but that’s alright.
“I don’t know what happened. One minute he was fine and then the next he was having an episode,” my mother says from behind me.
I look over my shoulder to glance at her. She has her hands on her hips. My nephew is standing beside her holding Gabe’s Iron Man toy.
“You don’t know what triggered him?” I glance at MJ’s hands and then back to my mother.
She looks to her favorite grandchild before turning to me.
“You have to teach Gabe to share his toys,” mom says taking the Iron Man action figure from MJ.
I ignore her parenting advice. She walks over and hands me the figurine. I turn back to my son and give him his toy. He takes Iron Man and smiles up at me. My heart melts even more. I stand and pull Gabe up with me. It’s then I pay attention to his arm. Welts go up his arm past his elbow. I move the sleeve of his shirt up and find a large bruise on his upper arm.
“He didn’t get those here,” my mother immediately starts to defend.
Ignoring her, I squat back down getting eye level with my son. He’s busy looking over his toy.
“Gabe, give me your eyes.” It takes a second before those beautiful irises look at me. “Who did this to your arm?”
He looks down at Iron Man once again.
“No, Gabe. Give me your eyes.” He looks back at me. “Who did this?”
When he glances over my shoulder, I follow his sight. My nephew is sneering at Gabe, but his eyes widen when he notices me looking.
“He’s lying. I didn’t do it, Grandma,” MJ pleads.
Shooting to my feet, I turn and face my mother and nephew. “You little asshole,” I shout.
“Now wait a minute,” Mama says holding up a hand. “If MJ says he didn’t do it. He didn’t do it.”
“And if Gabe says he did, then he did.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Let’s be serious here, Summer. Out of the two, who would you believe?”
I should be hurt by the way my mother is talking about my child, but hell she doesn’t even like me. I thought that having her spend time with Gabriel would allow her to bond with him like she never could with me, but I guess once again I’m looking for something from her that I’ll never get.
“Out of the two,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “One has anger issues, he’s been kicked out of two daycares, has been suspended from school for fighting, and inappropriately touching other kids. And the other is a four-year-old whose only crime—as you would call it—is that he has autism. You tell me who I should believe?”
Mother’s face falls. She knows I’m right. Despite MJ being her favorite, he’s a menace to society. I don’t think any kid is a lost cause. Hell, I’m a recovering drug addict, I have no room to judge. However, MJ is spoiled and entitled, and no one cares or wants to check him on his shit.
“Fine, I’ll tell Raina to talk to MJ about keeping his hands to himself.”
Undoing my belt buckle, I rip the belt from around my waist. “No, I’ll speak to him in his language.” Folding it in half, I yank at the ends causing it to make a snapping sound.
MJ screams and takes off out of the room. I chase after him. Am I overstepping? Maybe. But I will show my son that I am his protector. No one gets to abuse him and not face the consequences.
“Summer, don’t you dare,” Mother shouts behind me as she follows me out of the room.
