Page 6 of Mom Com

We’re silent for a long minute, her tidying the counter and me waiting for her fancy coffee machine to spit out my frothy single cup. Normally I would brew a double, but all her coffee cups are small 8 oz things. She doesn’t possess a shelf of mismatched mugs of varied sizes with cartoon cats, bad wine jokes, and keepsakes from Yellowstone like the rest of the world. Hers are a matching set, too small to support coffee fiends and too delicate to give to children for hot cocoa; they’re basically useless.

Mom seats herself at the small breakfast table in front of the large window overlooking her backyard. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” she asks.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, opening the refrigerator to survey my milk options. “Jake is coming to get Spence in a few minutes to take him to lunch, which means I’ll probably spend the afternoon job hunting.”

“Jake?” my mother says, her eyebrow lifted in objection. “That’s a surprise.”

I close the refrigerator door, opting to drink my coffee black over using the 2 percent. At home, I make my own creamer, a decadent mixture of coconut milk, cinnamon, vanilla extract, and dates, and while I didn’t expect her to have anything like that, I was hoping for the farm-fresh heavy cream Dad always kept.

“Yeah,” is all I say. “He seems to have grown up a bit.”

My mother harrumphs into her cup, and while I agree with her that Jake isn’t winning any prizes in the responsibility department (given the nonexistent child support that he always promises to pay, but doesn’t), I also don’t want to have that conversation with the possibility of Spence overhearing. He doesn’t need my mom’s take on how Jake screwed up my life and then didn’t have the decency to marry me. Not that I wanted to marry him.

As if we spoke him into existence, the doorbell rings and my mother frowns. I swipe my coffee off the counter, unwilling to let it get cold, and make my way toward the front door.

“I’ll get it!” Spence yells from the stairs as he barrels down them. He flies past me and yanks open the front door. “Dad!” he exclaims, diving in for a hug.

Jake’s dirty blond hair is relatively short and very neat in comparison to his younger surfer days, perfectly highlighting his gold-hued skin. His smile is big and warm—probably his best feature—and he eagerly embraces Spence. “Hey there, kid.”

“Come in,” I offer.

He steps into the foyer, which is really just a slightly wider section of the hallway that houses the staircase, closing the door behind him. Jake looks from Spence to me, his grin widening. “Hey, Maddi.” He has a way of saying my name, emphasizing it, that is so charming that I have a flashback of him as a teen, tanned and glistening in the waves at our town beach.

“Would you like some coffee?” I offer, raising my cup.

But it’s my son who answers. “No time, Mom. Too much to do.”

Jake and I both laugh, which feels odd. We don’t have a strained relationship the way many separated parents do, most likely because we didn’t have much of a relationship to begin with, but we don’t have a congenial one, either. While I never expected Jake to step up given the circumstances, I also didn’t realize how much his lack of involvement would affect my kid, or me for that matter. Because that’s the thing about being a parent—someone hurting your kid’s feelings is so much worse than that person hurting yours. And for reasons unknown to me, Spence idolizes Jake, making the situation feel all the more precarious.

“You heard him, Jake. No coffee for you,” I say with an ease I don’t feel.

Jake rubs Spence’s head, a gesture he probably picked up from dads in movies. “Why don’t you come with us, Maddi? After pancakes, we’re going to the holiday market.”

I shake my head. I know Spence was hoping for some alone time with his dad. Not to mention there’s no way I’m going to the packed holiday market on a Saturday afternoon, no matter how much I enjoyed it as a kid. I know my presence there will only inspire gossip.

But again, it’s my son who answers, “Mom has this benefit thing,” quickly dismissing my possible intrusion on father-son time.

I hear my mother’s steps falter behind me and I wince. I didn’t get around to telling her about the benefit, and I’d really rather she didn’t know about me hitting Liv’s car.

“Jake,” my mother says coolly.

“Mrs. DeLuca,” he replies. “You’re looking lovely as always.”

Leave it to Jake to try to sweet-talk my mother of all people.

“Enjoy your afternoon,” Mom replies, not responding to his compliment.

Jake’s eyes find mine. “Maybe you’ll join us next time?” he says and there seems to be some unspoken question there, besides the obvious one, that is.

But I don’t find out what because Spence is already bundled up. He gives me a fast hug, agreeing to call me in a few hours with an update, before flying outside with his dad.

The second the door closes, I feel my mother’s eyes on me. “Benefit?” she says, her interest piqued. “TheBuenaventuraBenefit?”

I give her a wary smile. “That’s the one.”

“I wasn’t aware you were in touch with—”

“I’m not,” I say, cutting her off before she can say Wilder’s name. While in my mother’s estimation Jake is a reprehensible scoundrel of the highest regard, Wilder Buenaventura is a god among men. Cue the mental eye roll. “I ran into Liv on my way into town.” For a brief second, I consider telling her the double meaning of my sentence, but it would involve admitting exactly how broke I am, so I decide against it.