I Wish You The Best

25 - Mason

"Want me to knock for you?"

Delilah stands behind me, her presence made known by the flap of her hair on her winter coat. We arrived at the address just minutes ago, I took a minute to breathe it out in the car before having the guts to actually get out.

I look up at the chipped shingles of the three-story home. There's no light shining through the dirty windows and even a few side shutters hang off their hinges. The thought of my mother living here, alone, while I sit comfortably in a high-rise apartment in the city sends traitors' guilt through me. I knew she couldn't have been off well, I knew that she wasn't living the best life. But actually seeing it makes me sick.

"No," I answered Del's question. "I'm good." I step forward and knock my left fist on the door. There's no doorbell from what I can see, so I knock a couple of times and hope there's someone home.

I stand back, waiting.

Delilah doesn't say anything and neither do I. Both of us were probably thinking the same thing, wondering if she was really here or if this was another scam somehow. But, before I can let my mind wander, footsteps are heard from inside.

I swallow and tighten my hands into a fist, bracing myself. The sounds of clicking from a lock being undone is loud enough to hear. I step back into Delilah, wanting to shield her body with mine. She wordlessly pushes her arm around my left, gripping it reassuringly.

The door slams open, and standing on the threshold is my mother.

Or, someone who resembles her.

I rake my eyes down her frail body, the sweatpants, and shirt she wears hang loosely over her frail state. I look up at her face, eyes sunken in and pupils large enough to fill her green irises–ones that look strikingly similar to mine.

"Mason?" My mother's shocked voice snaps me back to the present. "Oh my god, baby. I didn't expect to see you!" She launches herself forward and before I can resist she's throwing her arms over my shoulders. I stiffen and force myself to relax, her touch making me uneasy on top of the anxiety that already clings to my nerves.

Delilah moves back but doesn't drop her arm, squeezing even tighter. I mentally thank her for it.

"Hi, mom," I say, reluctantly bringing my healing arm to tap her on the back. She steps away, and I drop my arm. She scans me from head to toe, eyes wide like she can't believe I'm actually standing here. I watch her realize we're not alone when her gaze lands on the body behind me.

I clear my throat and divert her attention back to me, not wanting Delilah to get too involved.

"It's so good to see you, baby boy. You're so grown." She marvels at my size, h and races out to squeeze my bicep. I ignore it and step aside.

"I got your note," I say, getting straight to the point already feeling uncomfortable with being her. I watch her face drop as if she's remembering reality. Yea mom, I'm here because I got your note asking for more money, more money for the meth, heroin, or whatever is your ball and chain this time.

"Oh. That was meant for your father." She swallows and starts to look around frantically. "Did he uh," she pauses and looks up. "Did he give you something to give me?" Her eyes look up at me full of hope, the happiness of seeing me already clouded by the need for drugs. It makes me sick.

"No. We're not here to give you money. I'm here to take you to lunch, to talk." I say, feeling Delilah squeeze my arm once more in reassurance. "I have a driver waiting. Would you like to come?" I keep my voice level and emotion out of it.

I already see her panic start to fester, watch her look to the ground and pick at her torn shirt. She flashes her eyes to me and then back to Delilah.

"Oh baby, is this your girlfriend? She's so beautiful, Mason." She smiles, changing the subject. I feel Delilah step closer to me and I pull her to my side carefully.