Chapter 25
Jack

“You’re not going to believe what’s happened, Jacky!” Mom exclaims, jumping right in without even a Hello or an I missed you. “Go on. Guess!”

“Ummmmm.” I scan through the possibilities. You’ve reconnected with your ex-imaginary friend, found out your mother is sick, learned that your absent father may in fact want to be with you, and run away from your temporary home to find him at a mystery barbecue restaurant? That doesn’t seem right. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, you’re no fun,” she jokes. It stings a little.

My arms shake, and my pits drip as I wait for the big reveal. “Come on. Tell me,” I plead, trying to match her enthusiasm but dreading another bombshell.

“Okay fine, fine, fine,” Mom agrees, before singing, “I’ve fallen in loooooove!”

“What?!”

George flinches with surprise when I shout. The furry lady and the freckled fruit kid stare at me, too, anxiously waiting as if they understand the half of it. I hear Morgan’s mocking swoon replay in my mind, and now I know exactly why Jason deleted that voicemail at Aunt Rachel’s house. Mom’s found someone special, too. “Mom, are you serious?”

Mom laughs gleefully. “I’m excited, too, sweetie. And it’s all because of you.” Well, I’m glad someone’s finally said it. “I told you I’d make you proud.”

“Mom, how does falling in love—”

She doesn’t let me finish. “I knew you wanted nothing more than to find your friend, so when I got out at the rest stop off 95 to pee, I went around calling his name, until this dream man, MY Greg, heard me and responded. He rides a bike.” She giggles.

“It’s George,” I correct her for the five-hundredth time.

“Oh my God,” Mom says. “Hon. Hon,” she calls to somebody on her end of the line. “The wombat’s name is George.” A man snorts. Mom laughs so hard she begins wheezing. I pull the phone a few inches away from my face and wait for her to finish sharing a laugh with some biker named Greg. I can almost picture him now. Silver hair that swishes in the breeze when he removes his helmet. A heart tattoo with the name of someone else’s mom he’s previously stolen peeking out beneath a tattered black sleeve.

“What’s the joke?” George asks, able to hear Mom’s ecstasy.

I frown. “I am.”

George bristles at this and reaches out to steal the phone from me. “Why I oughtta—!”

“Stop!” I shout, pushing him back.

“Stop what?” Mom says, returning to our conversation.

“Nothing,” I say.

“I’ve missed you, Jacky,” she says, still recovering her breath. I feel like a chump when my insides flutter. It’s the first kind thing she’s said to me so far, and I totally eat it up. “What’ve you been up to?” she asks.

My mind races through everything that’s happened. Everything she’s missed. Everything I’ve learned. I’d get in so much trouble for ninety percent of it, and who knows how she’d respond to the rest. “Nothing,” I say again instead, before deciding to press my luck. “Are you okay, Mom? Aunt Rachel says you’re sick.”

“She said what?” There’s a shocked silence. “Who does she think she is, turning you against me like that?” Her tone instantly softens. “Oh, sweetie. I can’t believe she would say that to you. You don’t need to worry. I’m fine. I’m great.” After a pause, she adds. “If I were sick, could I do this?” I wonder what in the world she’s doing on the other end of the phone as she cries out, “Woohoohoohoo!” Standing on her head? Juggling flaming batons? Whatever it is, it sounds like a healthy woohoo.

Maybe she’s right, but why would Aunt Rachel lie? To keep me from running away? I look around the park. That went well. I change the subject: “Are you coming home soon?”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as Mom mulls the question around in her mind. The pause is all I need to confirm I’ve made the right decision. Sick or not, Mom doesn’t want me. I need to find Dad.

“I have a question,” I say, saving her from the struggle of finding a polite way to say I’m all set never seeing you again.

“What’s that?” she asks.

I have to do this carefully. “So. I was talking to, uh, Morgan,” I begin. “And she wanted to know if there were any, um, barbecue restaurants, that you could recommend.”

George catches on to my scheme and gives me a grinning thumbs-up.

“What kind of barbecue?” Mom asks with a hint of suspicion.

I bite my lip as I try to figure out the best way to get the answer I need. “A sentimental one. Any you used to go to with, um, oh, I don’t know . . .” I nearly whisper as I finish, “Dad?”

Any sort of bouncing-on-the-couch-in-love sweetness is gone when Mom replies, “I swear to God. Did your father call you?”

“No. He doesn't have my number,” I say, which is true.

“Oh my God, Jack. He’s turning you against me, too. Just like Rachel. That son of a—”

“MOM,” I snap back. “Tell me the damn barbecue!” George, furry-face, and freckle-fruit all gasp. I’ve never spoken to anyone like that, especially my mom.

“I want to speak to Rachel,” she insists.

“She’s at work,” I spit back, which is probably true by now.

“Dave, then,” she commands.

“He’s . . . busy right now.” Mom’s clearly onto me and is about to ask for Jason or Morgan. “I have to go play cards with Jason,” I say, ending this before it gets ugly.

“Jack, if I find out you’ve gone to Daddy-O’s, I’ll . . .” She trails off. I think I hear a sob. “I have to call your father.” With a click, the line goes dead.

“Mom?” I say to the empty phone. A series of beeps confirms that once again, she’s gone. I drop my arm.

George looks at me expectantly. “So how’s yer mommmmm?”

“In love,” I respond. “And about to ruin everything.”