he’d colored his hair again. I wasn’t sure if it would be possible to pick out the silver from my vantage point, so I could have been wrong.
I sat up straighter and lowered the volume on the car stereo. I had a habit of playing my music so loud half the neighborhood could hear it. The last thing I wanted was to draw his attention.
He unlocked his car and got in, tossing his briefcase on the passenger seat. A minute passed before the engine turned over and the taillights lit up. I wasn’t concerned he’d glance across the street and see me sitting in wait, even if I was driving his old beater. He wasn’t that observant. The man was self-centered on a good day. I would stake a wager he hadn’t even remembered it was her birthday.
He backed out of the driveway and shot off down the road in the opposite direction. Off to work he went. Buh-bye now. I waited until he rounded the corner two blocks away before I turned off my vehicle. I snagged the wrapped gift box from the passenger seat and got out.
It was warm for the beginning of September. Summer had held on, and the temperatures were in the high twenties. I shoved my sunglasses on top of my head, allowing them to hold back my unruly sandy-blond hair. It needed to be cut, but it wasn’t on my list of priorities. I headed for the house, still moving to the music that continued to play inside my head. I mouthed the lyrics, shuffling my feet as I headed to the side door that led directly into the kitchen.
I wanted to surprise her. She would be fixing breakfast and reading the newspaper, probably sipping a black coffee and humming a song. Her hair would be in a loose bun with a few strands framing her face. She’d still be wearing her nightgown along with the fuzzy pink slippers I’d gifted her at Christmas time.
The thought alone made me smile.
At the side door, I paused and pressed my ear to the wood, listening. The radio played the news. It was part of his routine, not hers. She’d likely left it on for company while she cooked.
I rapped a double knock and opened the door, poking my head inside. “Hello? I hear it’s someone’s birthday,” I sing-songed.
Mom gasped and spun from the counter, one hand clutched to her chest. A beautiful smile lit up her face and creased the skin beside her eyes. “Sky! Oh, sweetheart, come in, come in.”
I was through the door in a flash, and I tossed the wrapped gift box onto the counter before scooping her up into my arms and swinging her around. She squealed like she was a little girl and held on tight, smacking my shoulder in protest as she insisted I put her down.
“Happy birthday.”
“Oh, you silly thing. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that once you’re my age, you don’t celebrate anymore?”
I set her on her feet, waving a hand and dismissing the notion. “Pish-posh. I won’t hear it. That’s nonsense, and you know it. Everyone celebrates birthdays.”
She beamed as she looked me up and down. When she touched my cheek, her smile softened. “How’s my sunshine doing?”
“Bright and radiant as always. How are you?”
She glanced around the kitchen, nodding. I didn’t miss the tension that tightened her shoulders. “I’m doing well.” She hesitated, then said, “You just missed your father.”
“On purpose. It’s your special day, and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
It hurt her that we couldn’t get along, but it wasn’t from lack of trying. Walter was not my father. Not really. We didn’t share blood. He’d married my mom when I was ten and had legally adopted me as his son, but it wasn’t the same. We’d never bonded. There was always hostility and harsh words. No matter what I did, he was unhappy. It was easier if we avoided one another as much as possible. It stressed Mom out, and I hated seeing her so torn between the man she loved and her son.
“I was making waffles for your brother. Will you stay for breakfast?”
I tugged out my phone and peeked at the time, cringing. “Not today. I have a class at nine, and it’s the first day. I don’t want to miss it or be late.”
Her radiant smile returned, and she rubbed my arm. “I’m so proud of you. I wasn’t sure you’d ever decide to go to university.”
“You’re just glad I’m