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“You’re just saying that because you’re jealous,” he retorted.
“Of what?” My voice rose a notch. “I’m going to be drafted by the NFL next year!”
“Sure, but you don’t have these abs, and you don’t have hordes of thirsty ladies on the internet loving on them either.”
And just like that, the tension disappeared as the conversation wandered in stupid directions, like what color his emotional support vest should be and whether being my official idiot came with travel benefits. Eventually, we wandered over to a clearing and sprawled out in the grass. We stayed there most of the night, talking about things that didn’t matter—things that didn’t change the world but did make it easier for a little while.
CHAPTER 66
Rhodes
Thanksgiving morning started with a mix of coffee and chaos as Jude and I took over the kitchen. Between the two of us, we had just enough confidence to tackle being in charge of everything—literally everything. The goal was to keep Mom out of the kitchen unless she wanted to watch. She wasn’t allowed to touch a thing.
Unfortunately, Jude had the impressive ability to burn anything he touched. I wasn’t sure if it was because he sucked at cooking, didn’t care to learn how, or just tried to wing it instead of reading the instructions. I, on the other hand, needed all the damn instructions. I had a whole damn binder put together with each dish’s recipe in its own plastic sleeve. I had a schedule printed out and taped to the cabinet. He’d already scoffed at it and determined we didn’t need it.
Yeah, this was either going to be a disaster, or we were going to pull this off in the most chaotic way possible. It was really up in the air.
During a lull in the busyness, I went to find Mom. She hadn’t shown up to supervise or try giving advice wherever she could. That had been her promise since the moment we told her we were doing the cooking, so her absence was felt.
I found her in her bedroom, sitting quietly at her vanity. She wore her favorite oatmeal-colored cardigan, the same one that had mismatched buttons because both Jude and I had plucked them off as kids. She leaned toward the mirror, dabbing makeup beneath her eye with careful concentration as she tried to hide how tired she was.
It didn’t work. She looked exhausted no matter what she tried lately. It wasn’t the kind of tiredness that had nothing to do with needing a good night’s sleep. I saw it in the way she moved, the way she sat down more often, and the way she just stopped sometimes, no matter what she was in the middle of doing. I could see just how hard her body was working to do simple things.
But there were other little things too. She was already so thin, but lately, it was worse. She held onto things more when she moved, like she needed the extra support, and she fell asleep in most places—just nodding off, even in the middle of talking.
I noticed every single one of them because that was what I did—track little deviations from the norm and changes in patterns. Unfortunately, knowing that information did me no good. I couldn’t fix this like other problems.
Mom caught my reflection in the mirror, and that familiar weary smile softened her face.
“Are you okay?” I asked quietly. She stared at me for a long moment, and I could see how she debated what kind of answer to give me.
“Oh, I don’t know, baby boy,” she replied with a sigh. She set down the makeup sponge. “It’s a trivial issue.”
Nothing about how her shoulders sagged made it feel trivial. I wandered closer, a little desperate for a problem I could realistically fix—just one thing to make me feel useful.
“Tell me,” I said. “Maybe I can help.”
At least, I hoped I could help.
Her fingers brushed over the edge of the scarf folded beside her wig. She toyed with the corner before neatly refolding it.
“It’s silly,” Mom whispered. The embarrassment on her face broke my heart, and I crossed the room immediately. My hands landed on her shoulders, squeezing gently to reassure her. “I want to wear my wig since Alice, Henry, and Theo will be here, but I also want to wear my favorite scarf, and honestly… I’m just a little tired, Rhodes. I can’t figure out what I want to do or how to do it.”
The simplicity of it broke my heart. Not because it mattered whether she wore a wig or a scarf. Because months ago, this would’ve been nothing. She would’ve stood in front of the mirror, changed her mind three times, laughed about it, and eventually walked downstairs looking exactly how she wanted.
Now, even choosing how she wanted to look for Thanksgiving felt like one more uphill battle with her body.
“I can help,” I told her. I didn’t know how, but I could figure it out. I pulled out my phone and started searching before she could argue—and thankfully, she didn’t. It took a few minutes of scrolling through tutorials and photos before I found a way to make both work. I picked something that would hopefully make her feel pretty, rather than something her son had just thrown together.
The entire time, Mom just watched me through the mirror. I couldn’t quite decipher the look on her face, but I didn’t linger on it. I just focused on what I could do.
“Okay,” I murmured mostly to myself. “I think I can do this.”
Setting the phone down, I helped her put on her wig, working carefully to make sure I didn’t hurt her. Even the slightest discomfort was unacceptable. My hands felt too large for the task. I’d worked with delicate equipment worth more money than I wanted to think about, built things where millimeters mattered, and handled components that could be ruined by the smallest of mistakes.
And yet, none of that made me as nervous as making a headband out of a scarf for my mother.
She sat perfectly still while I folded the soft fabric the way the tutorial showed, twisting and wrapping it around her head. I loosened it twice because I was afraid it was too tight and that I’d hurt her, only to tighten it when it slid right off. She sat through it all without saying a word, her gaze fixated on me. Every now and then, I offered her a smile before going back to work.
