1Patrick sped his truck down the quiet suburban streets on his way home. It was his mom's day off, so he'd promised to be home by dinnertime and he still had a couple of errands to run. On the way home, he stopped by the local biker bar and then made a quick trip to a stationery store.
Patrick parked his truck behind his mom's, careful to avoid Gary's Geo Prism on the other side of the cramped, shared driveway. As he stepped out of his truck and onto the gravel below, he heard a screen door slam nearby. It was too close to be coming from his house. He heard heavy boots crunching the gravel behind him and groaned internally, steeling himself for the conversation likely coming. Sure enough, when he turned towards the nearest of the two ranchers on the property, he saw a large, denim clad figure lumbering towards him. Patrick set his jaw and gave him the best glower he could muster.
"Hey, Verona."
"Gary."
"So, how you doing?" Gary eyed Patrick for a second and then smirked. "Just got back from your girlfriend's house I see?"
"What?" Patrick furrowed his brows in confusion and gave himself a quick once over. His clothes were clean and unrumpled. "What are you talking about?"
"Nevermind. Look, I haven't wanted to bother your mom with this, but she still owes me $100 from last month's rent."
"Yeah, I know. We'll get it to you."
"You know, I cut your mom a lot of slack because I've got a soft spot in my heart for single moms -"
"Yeah, you're a regular saint," Patrick said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You'll get it this week."
His mom was lying on the couch reading a magazine when he loudly clambered through the front door a couple of minutes later with a card in hand. He guessed she hadn't been there long; she was still wearing her painting overalls and her shoes were lying by the couch as if she'd just thrown them off. She sat up, smiled at him, and set the magazine down next to her on the couch, her finger still keeping the page.
"Hello, dear."
Patrick walked up to his mom and moved a lock of dark hair streaked with yellow paint out of her face to give her a kiss on the forehead. "Hi, Mom. Thought you weren't working today."
She waved her hand dismissively. "Just an odd job."
"By the way, I got the mail." Patrick held out the card towards her. "Grandma Kathy sent us a little money again. A hundred and fifty bucks."
His mom sighed. "Well, that'll help with the bills. She really shouldn't be doing that. I can't even imagine where she's getting all this money from. She's on a fixed income."
"I could get a job."
She pursed her lips. "Thank Grandma Kathy for me."
"I'm eighteen now."
"And still in high school."
"Only for -"
"We've discussed this." She clenched her jaw in the way she did when she was aggravated and about to shut down the conversation and Patrick held up his hands in mock surrender. She shut her eyes, ran her fingers across her forehead and the tension slowly worked its way from her face. "How was your day?" she asked.
Patrick made a few steps across their cramped living room and into the open kitchen. "Oh, you know." He sidestepped their small kitchen table to get to the fridge and then opened it, grabbed a carton of milk, and took a swig. "It was fine."
His mom watched him and her lips upturned into a funny little smile. "Did you just get back from your girlfriend's house?"
"What?" He put the milk back into the fridge, wiped his mouth, and took the couple of steps back into the living room. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"Your shirt's on inside out and the buttons are crooked."
Patrick ran his hands along the sides of his torso and quickly felt the tag's soft, looped fabric. "Oh." His fingers move deftly to undo his buttons.
"You two started dating, what, about a month ago? Are you already rooting?"
Patrick clenched his jaw and looked away, embarrassed. He finished undoing his buttons, turned his shirt right side out, and slipped it back on.
His mom sighed. "Alright, alright. It's none of my business. Just... be careful, alright? If you're too young to work, you're definitely too young to have another mouth to feed." She laid back down on the couch and picked back up her magazine. "And I'm way too young to be a grandma."
Patrick grinned. "Far too beautiful to ever be called 'grandma'."
His mom snorted out a laugh, then leaned down and grabbed one of her shoes and half-heartedly threw it at him. "Oh, good on ya, ya larrikin. I'm going to go get washed up in a few. Dinner's in the oven. Can you take out the chicken in," she checked her watch, "ten minutes. The potatoes need an extra five after that."
They began their dinner in silence. Patrick hastily stuffed chicken and mashed potatoes into his mouth as he thought about something – anything – to talk about that would allow him to sidestep the conversation he knew his mom was trying to figure out how to start. She had let it drop earlier, but by the pointed looks she was giving him as she swirled her fork through her mashed potatoes instead of eating them he had a feeling that his putting his shirt on the wrong way when he'd hastily left Kat's earlier was going to cost him dearly.
"I, uh, I saw Gary today," he tried. "I could get that hundred bucks for the rent to him on my way in to school tomorrow morning."
"Sure." She brought a small forkful of chicken to her mouth and chewed. "Or I could do it later on my way in to work."
"No." Patrick shook his head. "No, I don't..." he trailed off. "I'll do it."
She raised an eyebrow and gave him a sardonic smile. "You don't what? Like it that he's asked me out a couple dozen times?"
Patrick shook his head. "I don't like the way he looks at you."
She snorted. "How he looks at me?"
"Yes, how he looks at you." This wasn't going much better than the conversation he was trying to avoid. "Like you're some kind of wounded gazelle in a National Geographic special. He's a creep."
She laughed. "Well, yes, I can tell that. What? I can take care of myself, you know."
He looked at her – determined eyes and a strong chin on a small, delicate face, a body that couldn't be more than 100 pounds soaking wet, legs just barely long enough to touch the floor in their kitchen chairs. He gave her a forlorn look and sighed.
"Okay, okay. Take it to him in the morning." She looked down at her plate and then back up at her son with an earnest look on her face. "So, about today." Oh no. Patrick shoved an entire dinner roll in his mouth and chewed slowly. "I know you don't want to talk about it with your mum, but are you using protection? Look, I understand. You're eighteen now; I remember what that was like." Patrick continued to chew and stared at her with wide eyes. "Look, I'm trying here. I wish you had a dad to talk to you about this stuff, but all you've got is me. So just please tell me you're using protection." She pointed at him. "And from STDs, too." Patrick swallowed his roll and gulped. His mom's eyes grew wide. "Oh god. That's a 'no.' That look says 'no.' Patrick, what are you thinking? You have to use a condom – at least a condom – every time you have sex. I wasn't much older than you are now when I had you, and that is not going to happen to you."
Patrick weighed his options. She wasn't going to let him leave the table without an answer. He could just tell her he and Kat were practicing safe sex and hopefully end this terrible conversation but it felt weird to make up a sex life for himself, and especially to his mom.
"I'm not," he said slowly, looking down and flicking an imaginary piece of lint off the black and white checkered tablecloth, "because we're not." He glanced back up at her, then cocked his head to side and gave a single firm nod while holding his hand up in a nebulous gesture. "Yet."
His mother raised her eyebrows and blinked in surprise. "But… the shirt."
Patrick looked away towards the front door, cleared his throat, and clenched his jaw. "We do," he paused and felt his ears flush, "other stuff. Never that far."
"Oh." He heard his mom's fork clank against her plate. "Well, good." Another long pause. "But you should at least carry one in your wallet, just in case."
He'd been carrying the same condom in his wallet for months, long before he'd ever even met Kat; he was an optimistic guy. He looked down at his plate and stuffed a large forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
The next morning, Patrick went to the kitchen counter to pick up the hundred dollars for the landlord. Instead of the money he was expecting though, he found a ten dollar bill aloingside a note written in his mother's messy scrawl: Gary came by to get the rent while you were out after dinner. This ten is for just in case.
Patrick rolled his eyes, but grabbed the ten and ran out the door. As he climbed into his truck, Gary stepped outside his house and waved at him. Patrick scowled. He'd spend that ten dollars, alright – on a baseball bat for his mom to keep around the house.
