“Hey, Ma, I’m making your mac and cheese recipe—you know, add more butter, no milk,” I said when I answered her call.
“Uh-huh,” she said as if I hadn’t spoken.
Uh-huh? It was a placeholder for what she really wanted to talk about.
“So what’s up?” I asked.
“Well, my oncologist said it’d be okay if I worked part-time. Of course, as soon as he said that, he placed me on a new medication, so we’ll see. But for now, the legislative services office needed some help, and they chose me.”
“Ma, that’s great. So you’re working with LSO?”
Her voice seemed to perk up. “I am. It’s amazing I even got hired with the way I look, and… well, there’s my reputation….” The sudden lift in her tone shifted, and it felt like someone elbowed me in the stomach.
“Ma, that happened four years ago. And you were smart enough to move away. What happened at that shithole college in Casper isn’t news in the state’s capital. The city of Cheyenne is progressive. They don’t care if you tanked one early admission applicant. Ashley Bailey got into Wyoming State University and got to carry on the Bailey tradition. Shit, she’s about to graduate with Branson, so what you did is old news—if it ever was news to begin with.”
“Aaron, I appreciate your optimism, but when I purposefully targeted Senator Bailey’s daughter, it was a thing in the state’s capital. The man’s charming, arrogant, and has enough handlers around him to remind him that I’m the one who almost torpedoed his daughter’s chance of carrying on the family tradition.”
“So he’s basically a career politician. Shit, Ma, there’s nothing new about that.”
Her laughter was good to hear. My mom hadn’t laughed much since her regular mammogram appointment turned into a three-year battle against breast cancer.
I swallowed, but the knot in my throat wouldn’t go away. Focus. She needs you to be strong.
“Ma, Senator Bailey’s only popular because he’s an anomaly. He’s a second-term Democratic senator in a red state,” I said.
“Aaron, where would I be without you?”
I would do anything for you.
When I didn’t say anything, my mom did what she always did and filled in the silence.
“Well, sweetie, I called because I was hoping you could explain how the legislature passes a bill and stuff like that, because that looks like what I’ll be helping with.”
I smiled. I know this. While I explained to my mom how the Wyoming House of Representatives and Senate worked, the pot of water reached the boiling point, and I dumped the box of macaroni into it. I liked helping her. I’d bet money she was taking notes while I gave her a broad overview of how the legislative process worked.
My knowledge of Wyoming legislative procedures was based off a summer at Wyoming Boys’ State, an annual event for high schoolers across the state. For one week in June, I got to serve as state auditor and learn firsthand how the government worked and how to enact laws. Boys’ State was known for its emphasis on civic engagement and turning out future leaders.
Of course, my idiot twin brother referred to my weeklong summer event as nothing more than a group of political history nerds in a circle jerk. Still, I learned a lot about politics.
“Sweetheart, all of this is so helpful,” she said when I stopped talking. “And really, you should have this job instead of me.”
I laughed.
“I’m serious. Have you ever thought of returning to Wyoming?”
“Hold on, Ma, I’ve got to lower the heat on the stove. I don’t want the water spilling over the side.” I turned the dial.
“Good for you,” she said. “There’s nothing worse than over- or under-cooking mac and cheese. Either way, you end up with soggy or crunchy noodles. And who likes a soggy noodle?”
I laughed as my mom chuckled at her own bad joke.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry to bug you on the start of your weekend,” she said. “This whole legislation stuff is Greek to me.” She exhaled, and her frustration grew louder. “And my new boss expects me to know how the legislature operates and what to expect, and I don’t have a clue.” Her voice dropped, and I could tell the newness of it all—the job, the legislature, her boss—bothered her.
“Ma, don’t stress. You always end up on your feet.”
She half laughed, and I knew it was for my sake.
“If you don’t like working at LSO, you should quit.”
That time her laughter sounded like her. My ma had this crazy laugh that was goofy as hell, but it always made me think of happier times, a time before schizophrenia and cancer imploded the life I knew and the people I loved most.
“Uh, that’s not quite how it works, son. When you have a mortgage payment, tuition times two, and two other children at home who like to eat, you go to work, even if it’s part-time.”
My mom tanked her career at the college because of Trevor, my twin brother’s crazy delusion, who took over his thinking during his senior year of high school. It took a full year after we discovered who and what Trevor was before Branson eventually got Trevor under control, but not until after he’d fucked up his senior year and my mom’s livelihood.
Fucking Trevor.
My cell phone beeped, alerting me that there was a call waiting. “Hey, Ma, hold on.” I glanced at the screen. “Branson’s on the other line.”
“Oh, tell him I said hi,” she told me before I switched over.
“Hey, bro, what’s up?” I drained the macaroni in the colander that was perched in the sink and tore the cheese packet open with my mouth.
“I’m just hanging out at the apartment,” he said. “Whatcha doing?”
“I’ve got Mom on the other line. You okay?” I poured the drained pasta back into the pot and added a spoonful of butter before I sprinkled the cheesy packet of goodness into the mix. People ruined mac and cheese by adding milk. All you needed for perfect mac and cheese was a spoonful of butter and the cheese packet. A cheap, fatty college meal made in an instant. Tasty vittles ahead. “You got any plans for this weekend?”
“Nothing much, just homework and working,” Branson said.
“Yeah, sometimes I wish I was still there,” I said of Wyoming State University, which I attended for two years.
“Well, you’re the idiot who decided to switch schools for a girl,” Branson said jokingly.
But it wasn’t funny. It pissed me off that everyone in my family, including my twin, was under the assumption that I transferred colleges for some girl. She wasn’t even part of the equation. The reality was that I moved away so I wouldn’t have to be my brother’s keeper anymore.
Yet here I am.
“Hey, Jeffrey, can I call you later?” I asked.
He chuckled, and I grinned.
“Yeah, sounds good. Talk to you then.”
When I switched back to my mom, I knew the first words out of her mouth would be about Branson.
“So, how’s Bran doing?” she asked when I knew what she really wanted to know was whether my identical half was sane or not.
“He’s doing great, Ma.” I paused, knowing she’d still worry. “And so am I,” I added, not that it would mean anything. Ever since Trevor entered our lives, my mom was consumed with Branson’s well-being. She had four kids but only one she focused all her attention on. I was a resource and reassurance, not someone she worried or seemed concerned about.
“That’s wonderful,” she said, clearly not hearing me.
That empty, left-out feeling sank to the pit of my stomach. My role in this fucked-up family was to be the caregiver to my twin. And when I wasn’t taking care of his sorry ass, I had my mom to consider. I loved Branson, but we were twenty-one years old and in our senior years of college. When was my mom going to realize that Branson was an adult in charge of his mental health and his life? When was she going to get it that if he stayed on his meds and saw his doctor, he’d be fine? When was she going to stop babying him?
Hell, for that matter, when is she going to see me?
I glanced at the pot of cheesy noodles. Suddenly the thought of mac and cheese turned my stomach.
“Hey, Ma, if you don’t have any more questions regarding the legislature, I’m going to go.” I dumped my dinner into the trash can.
“Oh.” The drop in her voice actually sounded like she cared.
“Ma, you’re going to do great. LSO is lucky to have you.”
“Aaron, seriously, where would I be without you?” she said, and I knew she meant it. My family relied on me, and normally I was okay with it. Lately it was just getting to me. But that wasn’t part of the script. My role was to act like everything was okay.
“Ma, anytime I can help….” I didn’t have to finish the sentence because it was assumed. I was the helper, the go-to guy, the fixer. “Hey, listen, sorry to cut this short, but I have a lot of homework.”
“Senior year, kid. You’re almost through. And just think, a double major.” My mom couldn’t mask her love of education, and in that respect, I always got her attention. Didn’t matter that having a double major about killed me; I was at the top of my class, and no one—not even Branson or the evil third twin, Trevor—could ruin that.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said, and I couldn’t help but smile. It didn’t matter how old I got, getting her approval meant more to me than anyone else’s.
“Thanks, Ma. Love you.”
“Love you more, son. Thanks for all your help this evening.”
“Anytime.”
I hung up the phone, grabbed my backpack, and headed out. It was Friday night, and there was no reason to stay home. Besides, I needed to clear my head.