Pining: Forgiveness Ch. 32

The crowd thins. Collin has his arm around me. I like that. We're, okay, I'm still babbling about strategies, statistics and team dynamics. I'm not sure when I first notice but I slowly become conscious of the fact that Collin is being watched.

She's older. Late forties. Early fifties. Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. It's a light brown, filbert color. It's almost the same shade as Collin's, perhaps a shadow darker. It's probably dyed. She's old enough, there should be gray.

One of the team chaperons calls to us. Collin shifts his hand to the small of my back and guides me towards the exit. I can walk myself but his direction lets me keep my gaze on the woman. Besides, I can't deny that I like Col's hands on me. Collin's not paying the woman any mind but I'd swear I've seen her before. I know it.

I have this memory. A flashback. She's younger. I'm smaller. I'm looking up at her. Collin's with me. I'm taller than he is. That hasn't been true since we were six. She's angry. We'd done something naughty. I don't remember what. The woman moves towards us. We're almost at the door.

"Collin?" she calls. "Collin Kimball?"

Collin stops. I can feel, more than see, his confusion. I step into him and tuck myself under his arm.

"Hi, Launna."

Her gaze flicks to me and then back at her son. It leaps back. I see the moment recognition floods Launna's brain.

"McKenzie, I see you're still with my son."

I am. Unlike her. His mother.

"How do you know Kenz—who are y—Mom?" Collin's tone starts wary, ends shocked. I loop an arm around his waist and pull into him as tight as I can.

"You're so big, Collin. So grown up. Handsome." There's hesitant pride in Launna's voice. I bristle. She contributed genetics. She might've been there in his earliest years, not knocking how hard that is, but I've been with him more years. Salene had more to do with making him the man he is today than she did. Launna's lips wobble in an insecure smile. "It's good to see you, Collin."

I don't think Collin feels the same way. I don't think he knows what to feel. There's a lot going on in his body. He's twitching. He's flexing. His pulse is pounding. His heart pumps so loud I can hear it even though my ear is tucked under his jaw.

What do you say to the woman who left the boy you are crazy about? What do you say to the woman that destroyed your man's trust in your gender? What do you say to the mother that changed her mind?

I don't know.

***

COLLIN

Kenzie's clinging to me like I might faint. She might be right. I don't even remember what my mom looks like. Dad didn't keep pictures. Not where I could see. But her hair, it's the same color as mine. The curve of her jaw—her's is more delicate, but I've seen it, in my mirror. I can't process that Launna is here. Does she live here? In Boston? How did she end up at my game?

"Mom, what are you doing here?" I'm having a lot of trouble processing. I've had thousands—millions—of questions over the years. None of them come to mind.

Mom's hands move. It's like she wants to reach for me. She didn't hold onto me before—when she left. Razorblade pain lacerates me. It's like someone is doing open heart surgery without putting me under. I want to rear back, but McKenzie tightens her grip on me. She's my shield. She's protecting me. She's protecting my heart.

Launna's hands fall back to her sides. "I teach at BU," she says of Boston University. Her gaze drifts towards the tunnel. The flow has slackened, but fans are still spilling from the stands. "Hockey is big back here. The games, they're something to do."

Something to do? Like on a date? I don't see a date. Maybe she's bored? Lonely?

The rest of what she said registers. I don't remember Mom being a teacher, let alone a professor, but my memories are vague and poorly formed. Glitter. Heels. Dresses. Going hungry because she'd somehow spent our food money? That's a question because I didn't understand back then that Mom often spent more than Dad made. Endless gifts—for her. Always for her. Gifts Dad couldn't afford. I don't know what she looked like but I still know she was pretty. But aren't all moms pretty when you are six? Mom ripped Dad's heart out when she ran off with a wealthier man.

"How have you been?"

I try to speak. I have to clear my throat. Still, nothing emerges.

"He's good. His Dad is too. Thanks for asking." Kenzie's tone is business-like. She drags on my hip, angling me towards the door. "We have to go, Col. Coach is waiting on us."

He is. He's standing by the door of the bus. There's a scowl on his face. He's tapping his foot.

There's a million things I want to say to my mom. They range from, "I love you" to "I hate you." They all feel true. They all feel wrong. No matter what I say, I'll not be happy with it later. So I don't say anything. I let McKenzie lead me out the door.

"Wait." There's a distressed crescendo in my mother's tone. She thrusts a card at me. "My number. In case...you ever want to talk."

I almost don't recognize my voice. It's deep. Growly. "Can Dad call you?" I'm not the only person she left.

She closes her eyes. Weariness etches lines in her face. She looks old. Older than Dad. I know she's younger. "Yes." The word comes out on a tired sigh. "Stephen can call, if he wants. If he needs to..." Another weary breath. "...yell at me."

"Okay." Again my voice is growly. I tuck the card in the breast pocket of my coat. Kenzie leads me away. When we reach the bus, I can't help it. I look back. Launna is gone—like she's always been.