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Wipingaroguetear,I focus on scraping the cooked eggs out of the pan. I’ve been trying to hold back the waterworks all morning, but it’s hard not to fixate on my baby starting his senior year of high school.
That the last summer of his childhood has already come and gone in the blink of an eye. That in less than a year, he’ll be leaving to venture out into the world. That I won’t hear him moving about the house at different times of the day and night or be pulled into a random conversation passing in the hallway or sitting at the dinner table inspired by whatever is going on in his life.
A hiccuped sob escapes my throat, and I clear it before I can start crying again.
“You okay, Mrs. Matthews?”
I glance over my shoulder at Cole, my son’s best friend, and give him a small smile. “Of course. Breakfast is done. You and Jensen ready?”
He grins, strolling over to the cabinets and pulling out cups and plates for us all. He’s a good kid, someone I appreciate over and over that my son befriended.
“Morning, Mom,” Jensen grumbles, shaking out his shaggy, wet hair as he walks over to the fridge for his morning orange juice.
“Morning, baby. Senior year, you ready?” I try to ask happily, but my voice cracks.
He stops and glances over at me, his calculating blue eyes roaming over me the same way his father used to. Another tear escapes at that thought, and he stalks over, pulling me into his arms.
“Mom…”
I wipe my face. “I’m fine, I promise. As long as I’m still allowed to drive you to school?”
Jensen rolls his eyes and heads to the table where Cole is already sitting, drink in hand. “Duh, it’s our tradition.”
Bringing over the bowls of eggs and sausage, something in my heart cracks that I only have a few more months of feeding these boys breakfast on a regular basis. I set the food down and grab the box on top of the fridge.
“Speaking of tradition… Happy Birthday, Cole.” I grin, handing him the wrapped present. Jensen’s eyes brighten, knowing what’s inside.
Cole clears his throat, gripping the box tightly. “You guys know you don’t have to get me anything. Allowing me to live with you the majority of the week is enough as it is.”
My son grunts, rolling his eyes again. “Bro, we told you to move in long ago.”
I smile tightly. It’s something Jensen offers all the time, as if it would be easy to just adopt someone else’s child. I know Cole doesn’t have a great home life, and his parents have never even bothered to hold a conversation with me or show up to a game. I couldn’t fathom not knowing where my son spent 80% of his time. There were days I contemplated downloading a location app, but I know that is a little far since he’s almost an adult.
Cole tears open the box, smiling when he pulls out a utility keychain. “Dude, this is so cool.”
“You’ll have to keep it in your car while you’re at school. It technically counts as a weapon.”
Jensen barks out a laugh at my warning before focusing back on his best friend. “I had to convince her to buy it in the first place, saying the knife wasn’t to stab people.”
Cole’s eyes flicker to mine, and he chuckles softly. “Yeah, I don’t plan on offing anyone any time soon. Maybe a few fish the next time we go camping.”
My nose wrinkles, settling into my chair. “I’m glad you boys are getting old enough to go on those trips yourself. Me and nature were just not meant to be.”
My son shakes his head. “We could tell that with your oversized tent and inflatable mattress. I’m honestly surprised you refrained from buying a luxury RV.”
Cole agrees, snapping his fingers and pointing at Jensen as he starts to recount the time I failed miserably at setting up my tent.
I suck a small part of my bottom lip into my mouth, a familiar pang ricocheting within me. He never knew his father was days away from getting one, and I could never bring myself to complete the purchase. I only continued the annual summer camping trips to give him some sense of normal after our lives were so devastatingly disrupted.
Clearing my throat, I stand and tug my long sweatshirt over where it has raised above my hips. The leggings I wear are over a decade old and damn near see-through. “If you boys hurry, we can run and get some coffee.”
They don’t need any more prompting as they scramble to gather their stuff, and we all head out the door. My knuckles are white as I grip the steering wheel, and my lips are tight as the boys chat in the backseat. They are excited for their final year, while my chest aches that this is the lastfirstday. I’m grateful my son is even allowing me to drive him. I’m sure other teenager’s parents are not being given that gift.
After driving through the long line at the coffee hotspot, the high school comes up too soon, and I’m not prepared to say goodbye. As I pull up to the curb, Cole climbs out with a wave, but Jensen lingers.
“You okay?” He asks. I catch his gaze in the rearview mirror, scared if I turn around, I’ll start crying again.
“I will be,” I tell him truthfully.
