Page 16 of Money Shot

“I had a phone and now I don’t. No worries, I know where she lives,” I said. “I could always stop by.”

“Don’t be a stalker, Stephen. It’s not nice,” she said as she reached for her glass of tea. “I saw on Bluebloods the other night what happens to stalkers.”

“Jesus…” I sighed as I reached for my chicken.

“Take her some flowers, tell her thank you, and ask her to go to dinner. That’s what a proper man would do. In the same situation, it’s what your father would have done, and you know it,” she said.

As I ate my chicken, I considered her advice. She was right. So far, I’d troubled Sienna twice with my problems, and had never really taken time to thank her properly for everything she had done for me.

“I’ll take her some flowers,” I said with a nod of my head.

“And dinner. Take her to dinner, Stephen,” my mother said as she lowered another chicken bone below the table.

Bradley took the chicken bone from her hand, waddled toward the refrigerator, and flopped down on the floor beside his bowl of food. As he gnawed on the bone and grew another few ounces fatter, and one step closer to choking to death, I shifted my eyes toward my mother.

“Fine,” I said. “And dinner.”

“You’re a good boy, Stephen. Now eat the rest of your salsa,” she said as she pointed her butter knife at my plate.

I had no intention of eating the remaining salsa, but I did think taking Sienna flowers and going to dinner was a good idea. My mother might have been difficult to bullshit, and impossible to win an argument with, but she always gave good advice. Her only concerns were, and had always been, what she believed to be in my best interest.

As I sat and ate the remaining portion of my Fourth of July meal and mentally prepared for the fireworks display we were certain to discharge in the driveway later, I knew one thing for sure.

I would always be her little boy.