“I’ve got savings. Don’t worry about me. Only thing I bought last year was the truck.” And even that had been hard, convincing himself it was okay to part with the funds for something that was a splurge. It always felt better depositing into his mom’s checking account. “And I want you able to take the trip. I wanted to make sure you’d have what you need for that.”
“Well, we couldn’t do it without you.” Her voice got thicker, which made his own throat tighten. “I mean that, Renzo. You do so much. Such a good son.”
“I try.” Still wasn’t enough. Wasn’t ever going to be enough. As usual her praise made his chest ache like he’d bench-pressed a personal best. Satisfying, but it didn’t mean he didn’t also hurt.
“You do. Exactly how we raised you to.”
The weight of expectation was always there, tempering her praise. He was a good son, he supposed, but they expected nothing less.
“Yup.” The word felt dry and scratchy on the way out.
“I was just showing off that pic of you in your uniform at the shop on Friday.” His mother worked at a salon in South Philly.
“Thanks.” His mom knew about his workout video hobby, but she was always more impressed by on-duty tales from him or pics of him in his dress blues. “How’s Pop?”
“Same. Back is bothering him again, but no more sick days right now, not with the vacation coming up. You take care of yours, all right? Once it goes, it’s gone.”
“I hear you. And f—damn the city. He’s given them thirty years.” His dad worked in maintenance for the city. Good benefits, but the past few years, his bad back had had him running through all his leave. Renzo stopped pacing long enough to stretch out his hamstrings. “He deserves a break.”
“And so do you. We’ll make sure you have a nice time while we visit, all right?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged to the empty room. His mom wasn’t ever going to understand that family time was anything but relaxing for him. Expectations. History. Worries. Joe. All of it. And she sounded like the senior chief, wanting him to take a break.
You could come camping with us. Canaan’s eager voice echoed in his ears. Maybe that was the sort of thing he needed...
“But don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“I keep my head down.” And that right there was why he’d probably end up saying no to Canaan. Whenever she did the mom thing and issued a well-meaning warning, bile rose in his throat and suddenly he was twelve again and...
No. He wasn’t going to let his mind wander too far down that path. He was an adult now. And he tried hard to limit the amount of spontaneous things he did, especially if they had the ability to go all FUBAR on him. Friday’s little adventure was one thing, but he wasn’t going to go getting stupid where Canaan was concerned.
“I know you do, angel. You just keep doing that.”
“Will do.” He asked a few more questions about how things were going before he was finally able to untangle himself and end the call.
Fuck. Didn’t matter how much he loved his family, every call, every visit had the potential to make him feel like a SEPTA bus back home sat on his chest filled with guilt and family obligations. Now, he really did need that run. Already in shorts and a T-shirt, he yanked on his running shoes with unsteady hands.
And maybe a smoothie after...
He’d just promised his mom he wouldn’t be stupid. And he wouldn’t. He could be smart and still banter with Canaan, still feel as light as he’d felt hanging out on Friday. Canaan simply made him feel good and he needed that in the worst way.
So he ran, taking a loop around base, chasing his mother’s words out of his head, pounding the pavement until worries about his dad’s health calmed down, until he was back to feeling good about the deposit he’d made into their account and not feeling so much like it wasn’t anywhere close to enough.
Finally, he slowed. His phone said it was 6:50. Smoothie place was open till nine, he was pretty sure, so he took his time stretching and cooling down on the walk over, only to find the doors locked. Well hell. They closed at seven on Sundays apparently. Maybe he could catch Canaan at the bus stop, offer him a ride home.
He cut through the parking lot, intent on finding the bus stop—
“Renzo!” He turned at the sound of his name. Canaan was crouched next to an older Chevrolet sedan, usually carefully styled hair sticking to his forehead, and dark T-shirt rolled up with grease marks on his forearm.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” He jogged over. “You drove today?”
“Yeah. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Canaan groaned. “But you don’t need my lame ass tale of a flat tire. You out for a run?”