me.” It’s basically what Anna said to me earlier, and I realized how true it was.
“Yeah.” He sighs. “I guess so. I didn’t really want him to stick around, because he had a hell of a temper, but I didn’t want him to want to go, if that makes sense.”
“It does.” I almost reach for his hand again, but I’m not quite brave enough.
“Have you seen Dylan recently?” he asks and I tense right up. It was actually kind of nice, not to think about Dylan for a little while. To think about myself not in relation to my son, which is something I hardly ever do. The realization makes guilt trickle through me like acid. “I saw him on Tuesday.” I pause and then blurt recklessly, not sure if I want to ask and really not sure if I want him to answer, “Do you think… do you think I’m too intense?”
Mike stares at me blankly. “Too intense?”
“With Dylan.” He doesn’t say anything and I explain, “Susan—the caseworker—suggested I was. I’m not even sure what she meant.” Mike remains silent and I start to feel uneasy. “Do you think I am?”
Mike rubs his neck. A frisson of fear runs through me like a shiver.
“Mike?”
“I haven’t seen you together enough really to know if you are or not.” Which is not an answer.
“I’ve come into the store several times a week for four years, always with Dylan. The truth is, you know me—us—better than just about anyone.” Better even than Susan, maybe, which is a strange thought. “So?” I ask, a truculent note entering my voice. “What do you think? Am I?”
“Beth…”
“Mike.”
“Maybe, a little?” He gives me a sheepish and unhappy look. “I mean, not in a bad way. I don’t mean in a bad way at all.”
I take a sip of my Coke, trying to compose myself. “So what do you mean, then?” I ask when I trust my voice to sound steady. I feel unaccountably hurt, and I don’t want to show it.
“Just that… whenever the two of you came into the store… it was clear you only had each other.”
“We do only have each other.” And now I do sound hurt.
“And sometimes… I don’t know… the way you always know what he’s saying, even though he doesn’t speak?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Beth, I’m not criticizing. Honestly. It’s just… it’s what I’d call intense.” He pauses while I struggle to find a reply. “It doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”
“It sounds like it does.” The hurt vibrates in my voice even though I don’t want it to.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just wanted to give you an honest answer, because… well, because I think it’s important to be honest.”
I shake my head, taking a sip of my Coke, and Mike reaches for my hand. I let him take it; I crave the contact, the comfort, even though I still feel hurt.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I really am sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” My voice sounds clogged and I draw a heavy breath. “It’s okay.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Mike looks miserable, and I squeeze his hand, recovering myself.
“It really is okay, Mike. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be in this position if something wasn’t wrong, would I? I mean, I know you think DCF have been unfair, but…” This feels like the hardest, most honest thing I’ve ever said, and yet some part of me needs to say it. “Maybe… maybe they haven’t been.” The words seem to fall into the stillness between us, like stones in a pool, the ripples going endlessly outward.
Mike doesn’t say anything, but he keeps holding my hand.
After a minute or two, the waitress comes with our pizza, and we stop talking about heavy stuff as we dig into the huge slices. The food and the lighter conversation are both a relief. I’ve definitely had enough soul-searching for one day. More than enough.
By the time we finish at Barb’s, it’s dark and starless outside, the air holding the cold, metallic edge that promises snow. I tilt my head to the sky, looking for stars, but there’s only a pale sliver of moon, looking impossibly small and distant.
“It’s Thanksgiving next week,” I remark. “Will you be with your mom?”
“Yeah, she always does a turkey and all the rest. It’s nice. What about you?”
I don’t want to tell him that I’m going to be on my own for the holiday. I probably could have asked Susan if I could have Dylan for Thanksgiving,