Prompt(s): Toss, moss, loss
We're a day behind in prompts. Currently working on the next one. :)
It's two days before the Whitlock benefit. I'm meeting her at the venue in a few hours to go over some last minute details with the manager, and even though Alice doesn't need to be there, she's asked to tag along. She seems to like to be involved which has been… entertaining. Alice still owns her nickname, but I've gotten used to her close-talkingness, like how a tree gets used to moss.
I'm staying home this morning since the hall is in the opposite direction of work, and I've been so busy with preparations my house kind of looks like a cyclone swept through—domestic goddess, I am not. But, western omelets are being flipped, bacon is sizzling, fruit has been sliced, and oranges have been squeezed for breakfast for Garrett and me.
It's really not as gourmet-esque as it sounds. The omelets are in pieces because I can never flip them just so. There's pulp and a few seeds in the juice, and the bacon is, well the crispier the better. Garrett is upstairs getting dressed for school. He's been moping around the house for the past few days and won't tell me what's wrong. It's not his dad, thank goodness, but it's something. So, I'm making a bigger than usual breakfast to spend a few more minutes with him, hoping to draw out whatever it is that's going on.
I can hear him walking, then jogging, then quickly walking above me from my bathroom to his room. "Garrett?" I yell over my shoulder. "Whatcha doing up there? Breakfast is ready." He has his own bathroom, so I'm not sure why he keeps going back and forth to mine.
"I'm coming!"
I plate the omelet pieces and bacon and carry them over to the table. "All right. Hurry up before it gets cold." Eggs really do have a remarkably fast hot to cold drop in temperature thing going on. It's odd and annoying.
"I'm here," he says at the bottom of the steps.
"Wow. Don't you look nice today."
"Thanks." His mouth moves into an uncertain, tight-lipped smile and he walks stiffly, as though he might wrinkle his khakis and blue button-down on the way to the table. He even has gel in his hair, not a lot but enough to make it spike up in a non-purposeful, non-style. But my son has never used gel—aside from a Halloween costume or two. And because we are not going to a wedding, church, graduation, or any other function that would require a 10-year-old boy to even want to properly comb his hair and add product to it, I have the distinct feeling I now know what has been going on with him.
My baby has a crush, and that thought is both adorable and unsettling.
"Anything special going on at school today?"
He shrugs. "No, not really. Mom, does this have onions in it?"
"Yes."
"I can't eat it."
"Why?"
"Onions smell."
"So brush your teeth after," I say, trying really hard not to smile.
He sighs. "That doesn't work. The onion juice settles in your stomach and then it floats up out of your esophagus all day until it's digested."
"Really? That's interesting. Did you just learn this? You never cared before when you've eaten them."
"I don't know," he says, picking out the bits of onion in his omelet.
"Do you want me to make you another one?"
"No, it's okay." Garrett puts down his fork. "I'm not that hungry anyway." He sips his juice then crinkles his forehead.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
Again I ask what's bothering him, he assures me it's nothing, but I've got to get it out him. He looks so nervous and unsure, not the confident, happy-go-lucky boy that he is. But I don't want to push him either, or at least not make it obvious.
This horrible image pops into my head where the recipient of Garrett's affections—her face is kind of blurry in this scenario but she has blond braids and is wearing a really cute ruffled orange top and pristinely white sneakers. I have no idea why, but that's what she's wearing. Anyway, blurry face laughs at him after he's told her that he likes her then goes off and tells her friends and they laugh, too. Garrett's teased during recess. Picked on during lunch. They don't let him live it down, lasting throughout elementary school, into middle school. Maybe even high school.
"Let's stay home," I say, surprising us both.
"Why?"
But then blurry face could turn out to be a nice girl. I mean, who wouldn't want to be the recipient of The Professor's affections? They'd be crazy.
"Never mind," I say. "Are you sure there's nothing at all you want to tell me?"
Garrett snaps his bacon in half and stares at the two pieces. "Well, maybe later," he says. "Will you drive me to school?"
"Of course! Eat some fruit before we go."
The entire ride Garrett is quiet and stares out the window. We pull up in front of his school and after he hops out, his backpack hanging loosely from his hand, I roll down the passenger window and lean across the console. "Hey. You're going to be great. No matter what just be yourself, okay?"
"Okay," he says, a little confused. He glances to his left and freezes, and I look too.
Garrett's best friend, Kate, is saying goodbye to her mother. She catches Garrett staring at her and she barely waves, smiling, before scurrying off toward the entrance of the school. Garrett watches her the entire way in and then, like he's remembered that I'm still here, he quickly turns back around.
"Kate's a lucky girl," I say.
His cheeks pink up, but then he smiles and heads into school. I take my phone out of my purse, snap a picture of Garrett, and toss it onto the passenger seat.
As I pull away from the curb, I reach over and pick my phone up again, wondering if Sam might have known that Garrett likes a girl. If because of some guy code or newly formed fatherly bond he's formed with Garrett is the reason why Sam didn't mention anything to me. And that's okay, I think. But on the other hand, if Garrett didn't say anything to his dad, I have this urge to tell him whereas before it would never have crossed my mind.
An hour after I left a message on Sam's phone, he called back. As it turns out, he had no idea, and thanked me for keeping him in the loop. I said you're welcome, the conversation very formal in a progressive sort of way. And then he said the trip into town he was scheduled to fly next month was canceled. I huffed, said something like he was unbelievable and then he said "Hold on a minute, Bella." Said that he's trying, he really is and had swapped with another pilot to come in two weeks from now.
Slowly, I guess, we're getting there.
And then, turning onto my street and into my driveway, I think about Edward and his knots and the unraveling of them. He hasn't avoided me recently, not at all. It's as if he's been… focused. So, I have no idea where I stand or what the end result will be. Rather, I won't allow myself to think about it.
There've been no rumors other than Rose's thoughts of him getting another job – which he squashed after she asked him. And definitely nothing about him and Leah floating around the office. The only thing I'm certain of is that Leah is still leaving for New York in two days and Edward is still staying here.