Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(49)

“Didn’t you just have dinner an hour ago?”

“Fractions make me hangry,” he grumbled.

“Hangry?” She smiled when he sat down beside her at the kitchen table. He did that so infrequently anymore, willingly sitting with her. He was growing up, and Mom was no longer the coolest person in his life.

“Yeah. Hungry and angry. Hangry. It’s a portmanteau. We learned about them yesterday.” He beamed at her.

“Grammar and math all wrapped up in one night. Very nice.” She wanted so badly to run a hand over his hair, but she knew he would duck away and make an aggravated sound. So she let him open his snack and went back to reviewing a blog advertising request. But she felt his stare on her, so after another moment, she looked back his way.

“Mom?” He glanced down at the wrapper of the granola bar he was eating, fiddling with it between his fingers.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Is Graham coming back sometime?”

“I’m sure he is. Why? Did you want to invite him to dinner again?”

“No. I mean, yeah, sure. Just, I mean I wondered . . . is he . . . are you . . .”

Oh, boy. She nudged her chair out a little to better face him. “Are you wondering if we’re dating?”

“Sort of. I guess you are, since I’ve seen him kiss you.”

Thank God that’s all you’ve seen.

“But then you guys don’t go out a lot, and I don’t know.” He sounded miserable, as if talking about this was the last thing he wanted to be doing, but couldn’t resist knowing.

“Honey . . .” She sighed. Giving false hope would be pointless. “Graham and I are friends. We like hanging out. I hang out with a lot of adults, like Marianne and Reagan.”

“You don’t kiss them,” he said defiantly, then the corners of his mouth twitched as if the idea was funny.

“No . . . it’s a complicated thing, adult friendships. It’s—”

“Why don’t you want to date him? He wants to date you. I like him. What’s wrong?”

She fought hard not to cry. This part was the worst. She’d vowed early on she would never say anything negative about her son’s father, or her parents, in front of Zach. It served no purpose to poison the well. But it was moments like these—moments when she longed to explain why she couldn’t move on with her life—when she could cheerfully murder Henry six different ways with her bare hands and not think twice about it.

“Nothing is wrong. It’s just not . . . the timing . . . it’s . . . not going to work. Graham is a great guy. And I’m so glad you two have become friends. I hope that continues. But he and I . . .” She lifted her hands, let them fall back into her lap again. Fought hard against the tears. “It won’t work.”

“You won’t let it work,” he accused, his hand fisting hard around the wrapper. The crinkle of the foil sounded harsh in the kitchen. “You won’t let it. He could have been my dad, and you won’t let it work. I hate you.”

He stood back so fast the chair tipped over, clattering to the linoleum floor. He flung the wrapper at the trash—missing by a mile—and ran back to his room where he slammed the door.

Some mothers might have stormed after him and demanded he apologize. It was tempting. But Kara knew far too well what that would do . . . push him further away. He was a preteen, and going through changes that must confuse him daily. Given his normally sunny nature, she knew it would soon pass. Giving him time alone before approaching him would be the best option. Everyone was entitled to feel their own emotions. Kids just didn’t know how to hide them like adults.

A tear escaped before she could stop it. She used the heel of her hand to wipe it away. Stupid, pointless tears would do nothing to make the situation better.

She wanted Graham to call now more than ever. She wanted him to never call again. She wanted . . . so much. Too much.

Almost as if by design, her phone rang. Graham’s smiling face appeared on the screen. It would be better to let it go to voice mail, especially when she was this upset. He didn’t deserve to be burdened with her emotional junk.

The phone stopped ringing before she could make up her mind. And then it started back again. She’d missed calls from him before, and she knew his score. He’d try twice, then text and say he’d try back later. Graham wasn’t one for playing games when it came to following through.

So she answered, because what else was she supposed to do?

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, beautiful.” He groaned, and she pictured him sitting on the couch or stretching out in bed. She wanted so, so badly to be there with him. Curling up beside him on the couch, or tucked against his shoulder in bed. “How was your day?”

“Boring. Busy. The usual.” She wiped another tear away. Maybe she should give herself a break. Like Zach’s ever-changing hormones, she couldn’t forever battle back her emotions and walk around like ice.

There was a long silence, then, “Kara? Everything okay?”

“Fine, yeah. Everything’s fine. We’re all . . . fine.” Lame, so very lame.

Graham must have agreed because she heard the squeak of his bed rails—a sound she was intimately familiar with after their lunch hour rendezvous—and he obviously got back out of bed. “I’m coming over.”