Drumbeats into My Heart

28. Jordi the Therapist

Thank you doesn't seem like enough. Seth basically bared his soul to me.

Through a song.

A song with compelling lyrics and a beat that makes me want to dance or drum, or both! I really like his taste in music.

The clatter of dinner plates reminds me we aren't alone. "Need help, Dad?"

"I've got it. Will Seth be staying for dinner?"

I give Seth an inquiring look.

His brow wrinkles in surprise, like the thought hadn't even occurred to him. "I'd really like that. May I?"

I smile at his eagerness. "I'd like that too."

He grins back. "Thank goodness. I wasn't looking forward to going back home yet."

As if on cue, his back pocket begins playing a song. It's different from his usual ringtone. I recognize it as The Imperial March from Star Wars. It's the music that plays when Darth Vader makes his grand entrance.

His grin disappears. "My mom's calling."

I stifle a laugh. "Is that a special ringtone just for your mom?"

He nods grimly. "If you knew her, you'd understand." He pulls the phone out and refuses the call. "I'll just text her that I'm having dinner at a friend's house." He taps out the message and slips the phone back into his pocket.

When he looks up again, he's pasted on a too-bright smile. "So what's for dinner?"

"Turkey burgers," I reply and get to my feet.

"Turkey cheese-burgers, as agreed." Dad approaches the table with laden plates in each hand.

"Let me help you with those!" Seth rushes over to relieve him of one plate. "These smell great."

The three of us seat ourselves at the round dining table. It feels nice to have a third person here again. For all my young life, it had always been Mom, Dad, and me arranged around this old table. When Mom passed, her empty chair was a huge gaping hole.

Seth must have noticed only one of the chairs had a big, fancy cushion on it—Mom's cushion—and politely sits in a different chair. Add thoughtfulness to Seth's list of admirable qualities.

We converse as we eat. I'm relieved Dad is behaving himself, and equally relieved that Seth seems to be holding his own in the conversation. I rarely bring anyone home for dinner, but even though Seth had pretty much invited himself over, I'm glad he did. It's the perfect end to a not-so-perfect day.

After dinner, Seth and I retreat back to my room. I sit on the bed and he's on the chair again, closer this time. I hope Seth isn't expecting more kissing—at least not right away—because I'm wanting to get to the bottom of something.

"Seth, what happened with your mom? Why don't you want to go home?"

His face falls.

I don't know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. Not only am I denying him more kissing, we're talking about his mother instead. I understand how he feels, though. When I was with Dustin, I preferred kissing to talking about football.

But this feels important.

I take his hand. "Seth, you already admitted to being a mama's boy."

The color rises on his face and he drops his head toward his lap, eyes drifting to our clasped hands.

"It's not a bad thing," I assure him. "Mama's boys treat women really well. I think it works to my advantage, don't you think?"

A corner of his mouth lifts, so I press on gently. "What was this blowup about?"