Zach and Abby

42. - Edited

Zach - Edited

Once again, she was able to alter the way time passed. Since that night, it became ten hours since Abby broke up with me, five football practices since she told me to sort my shit out, the thirteenth person to ask me if I was single since she left me alone on that field. Everything was based off of her.

Three weeks, two days and nine hours after she walked away, I met my mom.

My old foster mom, Mrs. Vincent, said she'd been letting my mom stay with them for a little while until she moved into a motel nearby. Robbie called me twice that week, telling me he didn't think my mom was going to leave without seeing me. Eventually I caved knowing if I never saw her a small of piece of me would always wonder what if.

We agreed to meet at the diner in town and after an hour of me sitting in the corner booth, thinking my own mom stood me up, she finally showed.

The first thing I thought was that if I ever passed her on the street, I wouldn't think she was over thirty years old. Her hair was dark brown, pulled back into a long ponytail. She was wearing a wrinkled sun dress and flips flops, moving her sunglasses up on top of her head once she stepped inside. I stood up slowly, feeling shock set in. Her eyes found me right away and she broke out into a run, throwing her arms around my neck once she reached me.

I don't regret it but a small amount of guilt still sits inside me knowing I didn't have the heart to hug her back.

"Zachary," she mumbled into my shoulder. I didn't remember her being so short but the last time I saw her, I was three and a half feet tall. "My god, it really is you."

After a while, she let me go and took the seat across from me. She had that smile that I used to see on all the moms' faces when I was younger. It was the one that said how proud they were, almost proud enough to make them tear up.

"Look at the handsome young man you've grown up to be. You look so much like your father." My entire life, I never knew if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "I'm so glad I was able to find you. It's been so long, I didn't think you would even remember who I was."

I clenched my teeth. "I remember."

The waitress came by to take our orders. The only thing I thought I could stomach was a glass of water but my mom asked for what seemed like one of everything on the menu. I didn't say anything because I didn't know how much I could say without throwing up.

As a kid, my mom always had short blonde hair and even in the winter wore clothes that revealed at least fifty percent of her body. Her cheeks were permanently hollowed in around her cheekbones and she only ever called me boy or sweetheart, never my real name.

This person sitting in front of me wasn't my mother. This woman gave me up to make a better life for herself. While I should have been happy that she changed herself around, all I wanted to do was scream how much I resented her.

"So how have you been? Tell me about yourself, I want to hear everything." She sounded excited, completely oblivious to the anger I felt was radiating off of me.

"I play football." Simple, short, not too detailed.

She smiled wider. "I know," she said, dragging out the o. "That's how I found you, actually. I saw you on TV and the men were saying what a star you're going to be. I told all of the ladies at the grocery store that you're mine, you're my son."

"Was," I clarified, unable to keep quiet. "I was your son."

"Oh no sweetheart, please don't get like that. You are and always will be my son. I understand you're upset with me but I'm still your mother."