Songs For Your Mother Gordon MacMillan (good books for 7th graders .txt) 📖

so angry, she might have stuck around long enough to give me a proper briefing. I’ve no idea what five-year-olds know or don’t know. First, however, I am going to wait until Susan arrives and see if she has any brilliant ideas. Or at least a half decent one as to what I do next. Right now, I seriously do not know what to do.

The waitress brings our drinks. She places the orange juice down in front of Luke and smiles. The way she looks at him, it’s like she wants to cuddle him, and it warms my heart, and I kind of wish she would. She looks at me and says quietly that she’s watered the juice down.

‘So, it’s not so strong,’ she says, and I smile and thank her.

Luke has both hands around his glass of orange juice although he doesn’t seem to be drinking it.

‘Do you want a straw?’ I ask.

Luke nods. Yes, he would like a straw. I walk to the counter and get a straw, which I hand to Luke who places it in his glass and wraps his mouth around it. He then starts to blow, and the juice bubbles and spits onto the table like an orange cauldron. I’ve no clue what to do. I pick up my coffee and take a sip.

‘Great bubbles,’ I say.

Luke shrugs. He’s like the shruggiest kid ever. Or maybe all kids shrug like this? Luke continues to blow bubbles while looking up from his glass and watching me. I think I am being tested or challenged and I’ve no idea what to do or how to react. Is this an automatic parent fail? I notice people glancing over, and I avoid their looks as Luke’s juice continues to spit onto the table. I’ve seen other people do this and now I know why. We’re the fly in their ointment, disturbing their Saturday morning chill out. They are probably asking why am I not in the child friendly area, and can I please leave the adult zone. On any other day I would be asking the same questions, except today I do not care, and I am not moving.

There is by now a fair bit of orange splatter on the table, and I take a couple of serviettes from the chrome dispenser and start to mop it up.

‘Does Mommy like it when you blow bubbles like that?’ I ask.

Luke shakes his head and continues to blow bubbles and watch me, waiting to see how I’ll react.

‘Well, maybe you could stop, please. Mommy would probably like it if you did,’ I say.

Luke blows a few more bubbles, and then he stops. He sits up and back in his chair and looks at me.

‘Did you know my mommy?’ he asks.

‘I did,’ I say.

‘When was that?’

‘It was a long time ago, before you were born. I didn’t know your mommy for very long. I wish I had, but I didn’t,’ I say, shaking my head.

‘Why?’

‘Why? Well, that’s a great question. It’s complicated,’ I say.

‘What’s “complicated”?’

‘Difficult to answer,’ I say. ‘Where is your mommy now, Luke?’

Luke shakes his head. ‘She went away.’

‘To the hospital?’

Luke nods. ‘She isn’t getting any better. She’s real sick. Will she go to heaven?’

I don’t know what to say next. We’ve graduated from the basics, from burgers and fries, to dark stuff, to metaphysics, to sickness, death and the afterlife. I don’t know what to say; is there a playbook for this? I need serious help. This is way beyond my skill set. I’m no good at complicated, or even mildly problematic. So, I do what I do best, I tread water, and try not to drown.

‘She said that?’

Luke nods, ‘Uh huh.’

‘What else did she say?’ I ask.

‘She said I had to go and live with Daddy. She said he lived a long way away and that was why I’d never seen him before. I went on the plane with Josie. Are you my daddy? That’s what Josie said. Where is Josie?’

These are all excellent questions. I’m flummoxed and, again, I don’t know what to say. So, I continue to tread water and hope for the best.

‘I’m not sure where Josie is. Did Josie or Mommy say anything else?’ I ask.

Luke shrugs. ‘She gave me a picture of you. You have a guitar. Can you play the guitar? I can play. Mommy showed me. She says I have to practise and then I’ll be good.’

When Luke says this, I am rushed at the speed of light back to Lauren’s bedroom as we sat next to each other on the bed, and I held her guitar.

‘Mommy was really good, wasn’t she? I can play a bit. I can help you. Would you like that?’

Luke nods, blows some more bubbles, looks up at me, and stops again.

‘She said she was going to write you a long letter. I helped her,’ Luke says.

‘You helped? That must be why it’s such a good letter.’

‘What did Mommy say in the letter?’ Luke asks.

‘She said she wanted me to look after you, which is why we’re having breakfast. That cheeseburger will be here any second,’ I say, ‘any second’, I mouth to myself. I stare at the envelope sitting on the table in front of me that I’ve yet to properly delve into; I’m putting it off. I know what I am waiting for. I am waiting for Susan to arrive. I play with my phone. As I’m doing this, the waitress walks over with our food. She sets the cheeseburger and fries down in front of Luke. The waitress asks Luke if he would like ketchup, to which he nods, and she says she will be right back.

‘That looks good, doesn’t it, Luke?’ I say.

Luke grins, and the waitress brings the ketchup over and leaves us again. Luke picks up the bottle of ketchup and struggles with the lid.

‘Do you want me to help you with that?’ I ask.

Luke nods. ‘I think so,’ he says.

So, I take the bottle from his hands and