March 14, 2014

Things that make me feel old: the fact that my back hurts when I do crazy things like sleep. I mean, seriously why does my back hurt when all I did was sleep? My back hurting is the least of my problems. The only thing that makes me feel old that matters is the simple fact that it’s Chris’s birthday. My dear, sweet, adorable, little baby son is thirteen years old today. THIRTEEN! How did that happen?

I sat on the couch wearing jeans and a hoodie, waiting for my son to wake up. It’s Friday morning, well almost afternoon, it’s already 11 o’clock and I’m on my second cup of coffee. I’m getting impatient. Chris definitely likes his sleep, like his mother,  but this is getting ridiculous. 

When I finally heard footsteps I sat up, and watched the birthday boy emerge from upstairs.  He was wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, his usual attire. One leg of his sweats was up to the knee, and the other was halfway down his shin. He had on  one sock and his dirty blonde wavy hair was all over the place. I couldn’t help but chuckle as he plopped down next to me on the couch. 

“He’s alive! Happy Birthday!” I shouted, holding my arms out. 

My son stretched his arms over his head, instead of giving me a hug, and put his legs up, reaching over my lap on the other side of the couch. Why does he keep growing? 

“Thanks,” he answer groggily. 

“I can’t believe you’re thirteen. Already. A teenager. No longer a child.”

He reached to grab his hoodie that was left on the floor, as usual,  and pulled it over his head, “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“You’re moving out?” I faked excitement.

He rolled his eyes, and pulled the hood up over his head. “You’re old. It means you have a thirteen year old son so you must be ancient.”

I pushed his legs off my lap, “Yeah, but I was young when I had you so I’m still young and hip. Do you even realize how lucky you are to have such a young and smart and beautiful mother when all your friends’ parents are old and boring?” I stopped speaking as the string of my hoodie fell into my coffee.

“Did that really just happen?” Chris laughed so hard he dramatically fell to the floor. God, I love this kid so much.  “Yeah, not everyone can have a mother as cool and hip as you. Who even says hip anymore? I swear Gramps doesn’t even say hip anymore.”

“Ha. Ha. So funny,” I playfully kicked him and watched as he got himself together and climbed back on the couch.  “So what do you want to do on your annual bunk day? Now that you’ve spent the majority of it in bed. You really are getting older, although you’ve always appreciated a good sleep. I love that about you.”

“I am your son, aren’t I?” 

“Sure are. So?” I’m more excited than he is, “Wanna go shopping? Wanna get lunch? Wanna try coffee?”

“Presents and cake.” 

“We’re going to do that later, when Nana and Gramps come over. You know how it works.”

Chris moved his feet to the floor and turned to the coffee table full of presents. He’s spoiled, I know that. But at least he’s not a brat. He picked up the presents, one by one, and shook and felt each one carefully. 

I laughed at him, “First of all, it’s very rude to do that. Second, I wrapped everything in boxes so you can’t tell what anything is. Good try.”

He chuckled and fell back on the couch, “I bet I could still tell.”

“I’m sure you could, so don’t touch!”

“Fine. Just the iPhone then,” he gave me a half smile that reminded me of his father so much it still surprises me.

“Well I hope you’re a magician then, cause there’s definitely not one of those in there.”

He growled, “Lunch.”

“Cool, put some clothes on and figure out where you want to go.”

“Enchiladas. And nachos. And fried ice cream.”

“It’s your day.”

Chris headed towards the stairs but turned to the front door as the mail fell on the floor. He picked up the pile, tossing what wasn’t his back to the ground. When he found what he was looking for he slowly made his way back to the couch, with a teal envelope in his hands.   

“New York, huh?”

“New York?”

“He’s in New York.”

“Who’s that?”

“Gee Ma, I don’t know. A card. On my birthday. With no return address. Who could it possibly be from?”

My heart broke as he tapped the envelope on the edge of the couch. He’s old enough to understand the pattern on his annual birthday and Christmas cards. He used to only care about the money inside the envelope, not really giving much thought to the person who actually sent them.  But now, he’s sitting in front of me tapping the envelope, putting the clues together.

Slowly, he opened the card and read it aloud, “Happy thirteenth! Love, your father.”

I watched as Chris carefully studied the card before realizing I should say something, “That’s really nice of him,” I answered. 

“Oh yeah, sure. Really nice,” he answered sarcastically before shouting, “Holy shit, there’s like a grand in here!”

“There’s what?” He couldn’t have possibly said…

“A thousand dollars! Holy shit!”

“OK, wait. Don’t talk like that. You’re not…” There’s no way there’s that much in there. Who gives a thirteen year old a thousand dollars in cash? in the mail? “Give it to me.”

“It’s mine!”

“I’m not going to steal it, but you’re not keeping it in your pocket and spending it on candy.”

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” he smiled smartly.

I rolled my eyes and held my hand out, waiting for him to finally place the pile of hundred dollar bills in it.

“I’m totally getting an iPhone.”

“You’re totally not getting an iPhone. We’ll talk about it later, but you’re not spending it on something stupid.”

“Since when is technology stupid? You’re really aging yourself, Ma.”

I wanted to slap that smug smile off his face but alas, he is my son. “Are you going to get ready?”

He nodded his head and picked up the card again. I watched the smile slide off his face and felt my heart sinking as he studied it before speaking softly, “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What?”

“Why does he even send a card? What’s the point? He doesn’t want anything to do with us, so why bother sending a card?”

I should have responded faster, but the truth is we’ve somehow managed to stay clear of this conversation. I haven’t prepared for it. Just thinking about it makes me anxious and I’ve successfully managed to steer the conversation away from his father any time it’s even gotten close.

He continued, looking up at me for the first time, “What does he, like, feel bad about it twice a year and send a card to clear his conscience?”

It was stupid of me to think this didn’t affect Chris as much as it obviously does. For some reason, I thought I made up for it, and managed to fill that hole in other ways. Honestly, I just thought his father was something he didn’t think about that much. 

I grabbed onto Chris’s hands to get his attention, “Sweetie, it’s very complicated, but your father loves you very much. It’s difficult, he cares about you and this is his way of staying involved.”

“It’s not really staying involved. It’s sending a card.”

I nervously bit my lip, “He loves you very much.”

“How do you know that? Do you talk to him?” he continued before I could answer, not that I would answer that question anyway. “I mean, he’s my father, I’ve never even met him, and the only thing I know about him is his handwriting.”

I wiped my eyes to stop them from tearing before they began, “So let’s talk about him.”

“Really?” Chris asked out of shock.

I nodded my head, “You’re getting older, and I think you’re ready to talk about him. I can’t tell you everything, believe me I would love to. But you have to trust me on this. I’ll answer what I can.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, ask away.”

He looked at me as if it were a trick, but began with his first question, “OK, fine. What’s his name?”

I felt my heart beating in my throat, suddenly regretting everything. Something as harmless as a name makes me have the beginnings of a panic attack. My son is thirteen and doesn’t even know his father’s name. “His name is Justin.”

“Last name?”

“Just Justin.”

“Do you even know his last name?”

I slapped his arm, “Of course I know his last name.”

“Then why can’t I know his last name? What do you think I’m going to look him up in the yellow pages and egg his house?”

“White pages, yellow pages are for businesses,” I ignored his attitude, “I’m actually impressed you know what the yellow pages are. Do you have any more questions?”

Chris gave me a look before continuing,“What does he do? Like, for a job?”

I smiled as I remembered the night while I was pregnant that Justin made me promise if this question came up that  I’d tell our future child that he was a secret agent, “He’s a secret agent.”

“Seriously Ma,” the look on Chris’s face told me he was not in the mood for jokes. 

“He’s a musician.”

“What kind of a musician? Like, in a band or something?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“What does he play?”

“A lot of things, actually. Definitely the guitar and the piano. Some drums, some bass, probably some other things. I’m afraid I’m not too sure.”

“Is he any good?”

I smiled, “Yeah, he’s alright.”

“Were you like a groupie?”

I slapped the side of his head, “You little brat, I was not a groupie!”

“Fine,” he chuckled, “Did you meet him at some nerdy piano camp or something?”

I laughed, glad we’re able to find some humor in this conversation, “No, I did not meet him at some nerdy piano camp. We met at a party in college.”

“Did you guys date then or just—“

“Of course we dated,” I broke in before he could finish, “It wasn’t just a random thing, Chris. He wasn’t some stranger I met once. We were very happy together.”

“Then why’d you break up?”

“That’s a very difficult question to answer. We were young and things were complicated.”

“Like you got pregnant and he ran away?”

“He didn’t run away. It’s complicated.”

“He did run away. I mean, he’s not here, is he? Oh right, I forgot. He sends me birthday cards so, that makes him father of the year.”

I licked my lips, carefully studying my son and trying to figure out what I can tell him, “he didn’t run away,” I repeated.

“Did you love him?”

“I did.”

“Do you hate him now?”

“No, I don’t hate him. And I really hope you don’t hate him. I understand how confusing this is of you, but he loves you very much and wishes things could have gone differently.”

“I don’t get it. I don’t get why he left if he didn’t want to. If I’m supposed to believe he’s such a great guy then I’d know him, wouldn’t I?”

“There’s a lot more to it than that. It’s not that easy.”

Chris let out a sigh, “Then tell me why it’s not that easy! Why are you making excuses for him?”

“I’m not. It’s not as simple as it seems. He really wanted to be part of your life but it just wasn’t possible. I know it doesn’t make sense right now, but I can’t really explain more.”

“Now I’m more confused than I ever was.”

“I’m sorry.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I watched him carefully and he looked at the ground, letting everything sink in. 

“Do you have any more questions?”

He shrugged, “Do you think you’d still be together if you didn’t get pregnant?”

“No, absolutely not,” I answered before I could even think about the question, “we didn’t break up because of you. Don’t you dare think that you are in any way responsible for that. I am extremely happy with the way my life turned out. I wish you could know your father, but I’m so happy that I have you and you’re the only one that matters to me. Now go get changed, this isn’t how we should be spending your birthday. We need to go celebrate. We can talk about your father some other time.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night I took a warm bath and changed into my pajamas before falling in bed. That was a long, emotional day. It was hard enough dealing with the fact that my dear, sweet son is now officially a teenager, but all those questions about his father made my heart hurt. 

It was stupid of me not to prepare answers for his questions, I knew it was only a matter of time before he asked. The situation with Justin is anything but ordinary, that’s something I learned quickly. I wish I knew how to handle this whole thing, I wish I didn’t have to figure it out on my own. 

I turned the light off and laid wide awake, with my eyes open looking into the darkness. I need to figure out how to handle this, I’ve been avoiding it long enough. 

My cell phone rang and I quickly answered it, being sure not to wake Chris, “Hello?”

“Hello? Am I too late? Are you sleeping? Shit. I’m sorry, I meant to call you earlier but I had a show and I got caught up and I —“

I smiled as he rambled, “It’s fine, I’m up.”

He chuckled, “Good. OK, cool. Hi Mac.”

“Hi Justin, how are you?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Things have been hectic, but you know, the usual. How are you? How’s Chris?”

“We’re good.”

“Happy… Labor day? Day of labor?” he laughed, “What am I supposed to call it? I never know what to call it.”

“Definitely not Labor Day. How about Chris’s birthday?” I chuckled, “It was good. We went to lunch and went swimming and played some basketball.”

“Ah, the annual bunk day, huh?”

“Yup. Then my parents and Kelly came over for dinner and cake. He’s having some friends over tomorrow and we’re going to laser tag.”

“Sounds like fun. How’s he doing?”

“He’s good. I swear he turned into a teenager over night.”

“Well yeah, I bet. It’s crazy. Thirteen. Can you believe it?”

“No, not at all. How is that possible?”

“I feel like we were at that frat party a year ago, tops. How did we get so old?”

“Speak for yourself, I’m still extremely young and hip and cool.”

He laughed on the other end of the phone, and I could almost see him throwing his head back as he did, “I’m sure. Although using the word hip is kind of a dead giveaway you’re not all that hip anymore.”

I smiled, remembering Chris told me the same thing earlier. It’s pretty cool how they’re so far away from each other, and Chris has no memory of his father, but there’s still so many ways they’re alike. 

“I swear to god these last few years I’ve aged ten times as fast. By the end of the show I’m limping off the stage. My back hurts, my legs hurt, I’m out of breath,” Justin continued.

“Rough life, Timberlake.”

There were a few seconds of silence, immediately making me wish I’d chosen my words better. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” he spoke up softly and took a noticeable breath, “Did he get my card?”

“Yeah, are you out of your fucking mind?”

Justin chuckled, bringing us back to the conversation, “I know. I was just thinking of what I would have wanted at thirteen. It’s a big birthday, a teenager and all that. You know I’m just—” he continued softly, “overcompensating.”

“Well, he’s very grateful.”

“Good, send me pictures.”

I pulled my laptop off my bedside table as we spoke, “On it. I don’t have too many from today because he was getting annoyed with me, but there’s a couple from his basketball games.”

“Awesome, thanks. What else is going on?”

I wasn’t sure what exactly I should tell him. It’s a weird situation and technically, Justin and I aren’t even supposed to be talking. I feel the need to shelter Justin from a lot of things, because I know how difficult it is for him to be away from Chris. There was a time Justin had some serious depression because he couldn’t see his son grow up, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure that doesn't happen again. 

“You there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” I answered softly, “What are you doing?”

“Now? Nothing, just got out of the shower and laying in bed. What’s going on?”

I nervously licked my lips, “Chris has been asking a lot of questions. About you, I mean.”

There were a few seconds of silence before he spoke up, “Like what?”

“Well he just wants to know about you, he’s getting older and he wants answers.”

“Is he upset?”

I nodded my head, “He’s confused and doesn’t understand. I’m not sure how to handle it, to be honest. I mean, I’ll figure it out.” There was a pause, “Justin?”

“Yeah,” he finally spoke up, “Listen, I’m in New York but I’m heading back to LA  Sunday night. Want to grab lunch Monday? We can, ya’know, figure it out?”

I smiled, surprised at his offer. It’s been at least five years since I’ve actually seen him in person. “That would be great.”

“Yeah?  Cool. I’ll see you at the diner then? Around noon?”

“The diner, gosh,” I laughed, thinking of the diner we used to frequent when we were dating, “Yeah, the diner sounds good.”

“I hope it’s still there,” he chuckled, “It’ll be good to see you and catch up. It’s been a while.”

“It sure has.”

“I’m excited.”

“Me too.”

“Alright,” he paused,  “I’ll see you soon.”

“Sounds good.”

“Goodnight, Mac. Sweet dreams.”