Page 20 of Sing Your Secrets
six
Miles
“You’re visibly sweating,” Sienna says as she throws her fancy Audi in park in my parent’s generously sized driveway. It’s large enough to accommodate all of my dad’s work trucks. “What’s your problem? Your mom and dad are the nicest human beings on the planet.”
Pulling my beanie down over my eyebrows, I groan from the passenger seat. “I really don’t want to do this.”
Sienna ruffles her bangs and checks her makeup in the rearview mirror. “You’re being overdramatic.”
“Sienna,” I deadpan. “The last face-to-face conversation I had with my dad, I told him I was destined to do bigger things than construction. Now here I am, asking for his help with my new construction job.”
For the past two weeks, I’ve been at The Garage from sunup to sundown, trying to clean up as much of the wreckage as I could on my own. I’m physically sore from hauling trash, scrubbing walls, and scraping the floors. I’ve put in at least fifty hours of manual labor and I’ve barely scratched the surface. Even with a back strap and a dolly, no way I’ll be able to pull the old kitchen appliances out myself. Not to mention the bar counter needs to be stripped, broken to pieces, and completely replaced. I hate to admit it, but I need help.
I need Dad and my brothers. It’s the only reason I called yesterday and told him I was back in town. Of course, Mom insisted the entire family get together for an impromptu welcome home party.
I have no idea how to explain the closest I got to getting paid for my music was the time a homeless guy tipped me at a karaoke joint. A homeless guy tipped me. Hence, a man living on the street, that smelt like a rat crawled up his ass and died, felt sorry enough for methat he gave me his last dollar. That just about sums up my musical career.
“Well, you have exactly two seconds to pull it together because here comes your mom.” Sienna slaps a dramatic toothy smile on her face and opens the car door when Mom comes hurtling down the entry steps and over to the car. Mom’s still in an apron that’s covered with white powder. Of course, she’s baking. Dammit.
Sienna embraces my mother with an enthusiastic hug which buys me a brief moment to collect myself and put on a happy face for my sweet mother, who still makes a homemade pie every time her sons come over to visit. She dedicated her life to the men in her family. For years she packed lunches, did mountains of laundry, scheduled every single doctor’s appointment, drove us to every soccer or football practice and game, and helped with homework. She was everything for me and my brothers. My dad worked really hard at his blue-collar job to provide for all of us. My mom worked even harder taking care of us. I wanted to make it big and buy her a Maserati or a diamond necklace worth more than Sienna’s house. She deserves it.
“My baby!” Mom squeals with her arms open wide as I step out of Sienna’s luxury SUV.
“Hey, Mom.”
She hurls herself into my chest with such force I almost stumble backward. She’s a mess of emotions as she hugs me. Toggling from laughing to crying, to screeching in glee, I can’t quite make out what she’s saying, but it’s something along the lines of, I missed my baby boy so much, and I made all your favorite foods, your brothers are already here, and how dare you not tell your own mother you moved back home?
We walk awkwardly into the house because she refuses to release me from her arms. I barely shuffle my feet so I don’t trample her, but once we’re through the door, my big brother, Ray Junior, comes to my rescue.
“Geez, Ma. Give the boy some room.” I’m tall at six feet, but Junior still dwarfs me with his six-foot-five height. He’s built like a Harlem Globetrotter—tall, athletic, and kind of awkward. “What’s up hot shot?” he asks as he pulls my beanie off my head before slapping it against my chest. “Old rule still stands.” He ruffles my hair in that dickish way big brothers do.
“That’s right,” Mom agrees, “no hats in the house.” She pushes me from behind, ushering me into the dining room where she’s laid out a feast that could more than feed the entire Denver Broncos defensive line.
“Mom! Please tell me you didn’t do all this for me.” She prepared what looks like a twenty-pound roast. All the fixings too. There are at least four casseroles on the long wooden table.
“Yup, you spoiled brat,” my brother Lucas says, rising from his chair to greet me. “Mom pulls out all the stops for her baby,”he mocks. Asshole. But he hugs me warmly. My brothers aren’t actually assholes. They are just, for lack of a better description, big brothers. More accurately they are big brothers with full-time jobs, wives, and children, and worried the youngest member of their family has his head stuck in the clouds and is never going to grow up.
“Where is everyone?”
“Rachel and the girls are out back with Dad. They can’t get enough of that swing set,” Lucas says.
“Molly will be on the way once the baby wakes up,” Junior adds as he walks into the dining room. Pulling the lid off a CorningWare dish, he swipes a baby potato and pops it in his mouth whole before Mom smacks his hand. Snatching the lid from Junior’s hand, she quickly replaces it before too much steam escapes.
“How’s the newest Lorren?” I ask Junior.
“Handsome little thing. Light of my life. But I barely get to hold him. He’s a mama’s boy—on the tit twenty-four-seven,” Junior responds through a mouthful.
“Junior!” Mom scolds. “Don’t you speak about my grandbaby like that. He’s only eight weeks old. Of course he’s nursing around the clock.”
“Hey, hey, there’s nothing wrong with a mama’s boy.” He points at my chest. “They always turn out to be the favorites anyway.”
Grumbling, I roll my eyes. “I’m going to say hi to Dad.”
Dad’s pushing my youngest niece on the swings. Her squeals of delight fill the air. It’s a picture-perfect Sunday afternoon. The sun is shining. The sky is clear and the air is crisp. The kids are gleefully playing. With everything in me, I wish I craved this kind of suburban peace. I’m not sure if I’m different, or just a fool, but I always imagined my life on stage, doing what I love.
Maybe that’s the problem.
I’ve spent too much time chasing what I love instead of being a man. A man like my dad who came from the bad part of a trailer park and worked his ass off for thirty years just to give his sons a better life than he had.