Page 234 of Just for the Cameras
I wait as Mom sets down the album on the stool next to her, where she usually keeps her paints, and then she turns around, her weary eyes confused as they connect with me.
No, please, Mom. Please not today.
Clearing my throat, I let go of Maple’s hand, then squat in front of my mom, trying not to tower over her and scare her. I feel Maple take a step back, but not too far that I can’t still feel her presence.
“Hey, Mom,” I say softly. “It’s me…Saint.” I speak in a soft tone, trying to hide the timbre of my voice and the pain from her not recognizing me.
“It’s Graydon,” Rhonda says sweetly. “See how he’s grown, like in the album?”
Mom’s eyes flick to mine, confusion infused in them.
She shakes her head, and I can feel my heart plummet, crashing into my ribs and breaking off another piece of my soul that I’m not quite sure will ever heal.
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “I understand how this can be confusing. I’ll let you get back to your—”
Her hand lifts and connects with my cheek, the warmth of her palm nearly bringing tears to my eyes as her head tilts to the side.
She studies me.
Confusion is still in her expression, but there is a hint of recognition. The smallest hint, so I don’t move. I don’t even fucking breathe. I just let her process.
Please, Mom, please recognize me.
Please see me.
Please…
“Saint?” she asks, and my legs almost give out on me.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer quietly, tears springing to my eyes.
“Oh, my boy, you’re so…you’re so big.”
I chuckle as my emotions fill me to the brim. My tears spill over my lids and to my cheeks. “Yeah, I kind of grew.”
She slowly nods. “You’re so handsome.”
“Just a product of you, Mom.”
A small smile presses against her lips as she wipes away my tears. She picks up the album and brings it to her lap. She flips to the pictures of me from high school. My football pictures are the first on the page, next to my senior pictures and graduation.
“I missed you graduating.”
“You didn’t. You were with me,” I say. “Grandma sewed a picture of you into my gown, right over my heart, so you were with me.”
Her eyes find mine. “Really?”
“Really,” I answer.
She moves to the next pics of me in college, playing football, draft day, and some of the most important moments where she wasn’t physically present.
“And here,” I say. “You were sewn into my jacket when I was drafted, so you were there too. When I got the call, you were the first person I hugged.”
Her eyes well up.
I turn the page. “And here, in my helmet, I keep a picture of you while I’m playing, so I always have you with me.”
She stares down at the picture, her tears matching mine. “You play for the Foghorns, like your father.”
