A Mother Would Know (24)

“What?” His words were muffled behind his napkin, and I’m certain I misheard him.

“Yeah, we should go after dinner,” he says as if he’s already made the decision.

“I don’t know.” I uncross my legs under the table, bounce the toes of my shoes up and down on the floor.

“C’mon, it’ll be lit.”

Lit? “I don’t know about that.”

He laughs. “You gotta live a little, Mom.”

I’m about to protest again, but I don’t want to erase the broad smile from his face. I also have no desire to cut our night short. It’s the first night in many that he hasn’t been out with friends. I have him all to myself. “Okay, but I don’t wanna be out too late.” I have to maintain some semblance of control. I know how late Hudson usually stays out.

“Me neither. I have to work in the morning.”

From over Hudson’s shoulder, I’m distracted by a family entering. The little girl talks loudly, her lips moving swiftly, reminding me of how fast Kendra used to talk. I recognize the look on the mom’s face—semi-interested, semi-annoyed. Returning my attention to our table, Hudson is leaning over his plate, clamping his mouth over another large piece of pizza.

I’d been about to say something, hadn’t I? Or ask him something? What had we been talking about?

I rack my brain, but it’s blank.

Sighing, I take a bite of my pasta, savoring the creaminess of the sauce, the richness of the flavors.

“So, we’re on, then?”

“On for what?” I ask after swallowing.

“The Tavern after dinner?”

Oh, that’s right, we’d been talking about stopping by the Full Moon. “Sure,” I say, even though I’m not sure at all.



* * *



When Hudson pulls into the parking lot of the Full Moon Tavern, I hold tightly to the door handle. Hudson guides the car into an empty space, and I instinctively find Suzanne’s pale green pickup truck in the far corner near the employee entrance.

I see the ghost of my former self, helping the guys load equipment into the van after a gig. Sitting on the edge of Suzanne’s pickup truck, smoking a cigarette, puffs of smoke evaporating into the black night sky. Laughing with Suzanne as she regales me with stories of customers’ outrageous demands. The guys teasing each other, laughing and joking as we headed to our cars. A slap on the back, “Good job tonight.” A round of winks. Smiles. Thumbs-up.

And Mac. Always Mac.

Following me to my car. Whispering in my ear.

Then heading to his car alone, a swagger in his step.

But he was alive. So alive.

Hudson turns off the engine, opens his door. A rush of evening air pours in, smelling familiar, of nights gone by. I tighten my grip on my door handle, wondering why I’d agreed to this. We could be on our way home, to warmth and wine and Bowie.

A couple emerges from the doorway, the girl stumbling slightly, the guy steadying her with a hand at her elbow. I swallow hard. This was a mistake.

Hudson appears at my window, cocking his head and throwing me a questioning glance. Through its giant picture window, the front of the bar looks exactly the way I remember it. Stained wood and large glowing sign. I’m being silly. Drawing in a breath, I release my death grip. Hudson reaches out, opens the door for me.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I climb out of the car and follow Hudson inside.

The bar is pretty dead. Then again, what had I been expecting on a Sunday night? There’s no band playing. Instead, the music is being piped in through the speakers. Some eighties station. The nights when our band played, this place had been packed. Wall-to-wall people gyrating and drinking, the smell of beer and sweat so strong it gave me a headache.

But other than the emptiness, nothing has changed. Still the same old mahogany bar, sticky black bar stools, small pub tables, a stage set off to the side. Same dim lighting, and neon sign blinking in the window.

“Valerie!” Suzanne flies out from behind the bar, tinkling like a wind chime. “And Hudson, too?” She hugs us both. “You should’ve told me you were coming by.”

“It was kinda last-minute.”

“I twisted her arm.” Hudson winks.

Suzanne smiles, nodding knowingly. “I believe it. I’ve been trying to get her in here for years.” Then she looks around, almost regretful. “There’s no band tonight.”

“That’s okay,” I assure her with a dismissive flick of my wrist.

There is a devious twinkle in her eye as she sweeps her right arm out, Vanna White style. “Unless you wanna sing a few tunes.”

“Oh, no.” I shake my head.

“Come on.” She waggles her brows.

I try another tactic. “I don’t even have an instrument or anything.”

“I can fire up the karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, Mom. Do it.” Hudson nudges me in the arm with his hand, but I can’t tell by his tone if he’s teasing me or not.

Either way, it’s a hard pass.

“You should get up there. Show ’em how it’s done.” Mac nodded toward the stage, where an ancient woman wearing a crop top and a leather mini-skirt was butchering “Like a Virgin.”

“No, I don’t think so.” I played with the straw of my drink.