He gave me the once-over and said, “You look like hell. Wish you’d think about staying home this go-round. From the sounds of it, things at that club of yours have gotten a little sketchy.”
Feeling instantly on the defensive, I retorted, “Things are just fine back at the club, Pops.”
“You almost got yourself killed. Things are not fine, Tommy.”
Dad always called me Tommy when he was trying to make a point. It always got under my skin, but I tried to just let it go so we didn’t have another one of our rounds about the club. “I’m standing here, aren’t I? I’m good. Not moving home because I had a run-in with an asshole with a twitchy finger.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about assholes with twitchy fingers if you were working here with me.” He held up his hands high in surrender as he cackled, “I’m just saying.”
I shook my head and answered, “It ain’t gonna happen, Pops, so just let it go.”
“The invitation is always there. You are welcome here anytime.” He gave me a light pat on my shoulder and said, “Let’s go inside and get you some dinner and a shower. Your mother made your favorite.”
I nodded and followed him into the house. Mom had moved some of the furniture around trying to make the tiny house look a bit bigger, but her effort hadn’t made much difference. It still felt small, but it was home. I smelled the dumplings simmering in the kitchen and my stomach promptly started to growl with hunger. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a real home-cooked meal, so I eagerly walked into the kitchen. I pulled out a chair and sat down at the same round table we had when I was a kid and waited for mom to finish making my plate. As I sat there, I realized it was much quieter than it used to be when I was growing up. I missed the sounds of my sister Molly shouting from her bedroom telling my mom that she’d be there in a minute and the loud rumble of dad’s football game blaring from the TV down the hall. There was always some kind of commotion going on around us and sitting there in the silence made me a little homesick for the way things used to be.
Mom placed the steaming bowl of chicken and dumplings in front of me and asked, “You want some sweet tea?”
“Did you make it or did Dad?”
“I did.”
I smiled and replied, “Then, yeah. I’ll take some of yours.”
She laughed as she poured me a large glass. “His isn’t that bad. He just doesn’t put enough sugar in it.”
“Mom, it tastes like he made it with a dirty sock and then added a bunch of lemon and sugar so he could hide the funky taste. It’s bad, and you know it.”
She sat down beside me as she shook her head. “I don’t know what he puts in it, but you’re right. It is pretty bad,” she admitted, leaning forward and placing her elbows on the table to rest her chin in the palms of her hands. She just sat there, silently staring at me as I shoved a huge helping of dumplings into my mouth.
After a few long seconds, I finally said, “Something on your mind, Mom?”
“No. I’m just soaking you in. It does my heart good to be next to you.” She smiled. “Don’t mind me, honey. You won’t understand until you have a child of your own.”
“That’s not happening anytime soon, so I’ll just take your word for it.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “There’s no special girl in your life? As handsome as you are, you should have the pick of the litter.”
My gut twisted into a knot as Cassidy came flashing through my mind for the first time in weeks. I wanted to keep it that way, so I decided to avoid her question by asking, “How’s Pip doing?”
Neither of them had mentioned her in the last few phone calls, and I hadn’t seen hide nor tail of her since I’d gotten home. Usually she was right up underneath us making sure everything was as it should be, and not seeing her had me worried that something was wrong.
“She’s fine. She locked herself away in her room earlier tonight so she could watch her show without your father interrupting her every five minutes with one of his silly questions.”