No More Sharing My Mother

The preschool dressing room was absolute chaos, a frantic blur of pint-sized performers running around in bright, stiff costumes.

Todd, take your suit off. Let Sammy wear it.

My mothers voice was clipped, her fingers already reaching behind my back to tug at the Velcro strap.

I instinctively clutched my chest.

The miniature blue cadet uniform was special. My dad had taken me to a local tailor shop to get it custom-fitted, measuring my shoulders and inseam with a yellow tape measure. I had waited two long weeks for it to be finished.

"Dad bought this for me," I said, taking a step back, my heel hitting a pile of plastic props.

"Sammy doesn't have a mom, Todd. His dad cant afford a costume like this. Hes the lead soloist today, and you need to be the bigger person."

Without waiting for me to answer, she lunged forward and grabbed my shoulder. "Rrrrrip." The Velcro gave way with a sharp, ugly tear.

The uniform slid down my arms, leaving me in just my undershirt. The draft from the air conditioning hit my bare skin, raising goosebumps. Nearby, three other kids stopped playing to stare at me.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my chest from heaving. I looked up at her, my vision blurring slightly, and said, "Mom, I don't want the suit anymore. Why don't you go be someone else's mom?"

My mothers hand froze in midair.

She looked at the crisp blue cadet suit in her hands, then down at me.

"Todd, that is incredibly rude."

She turned away, sliding the uniform onto Sammys shoulders. She pulled his sleeves down, adjusted his collar, and placed the matching pilot cap on his head, gently patting the brim.

"Mr. Sullivan has a hard enough time raising Sammy on his own," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Were fortunate. We should help where we can."

Sammy spun around in front of the vanity mirror, admiring himself. He was a little chubbier than me, and the waist of the trousers looked tight, the fabric straining.

My mother knelt down, loosening the adjustable tabs at his hips.

"Look at you," she said, her voice softening into a warm, adoring tone I hadn't heard in weeks. "You look like the handsomest little pilot in the world."

"Thank you, Ms. Davis," Sammy chirped, his voice sweet and clear.

Gary Sullivan walked over, his eyes shining with gratitude as he looked at my mother.

"Rebecca, I honestly don't know how to thank you. If it weren't for you, I don't know what Sammy would have done today."

My mother stood up, waving her hand dismissively.

"Oh, Gary, don't worry about it. Were neighbors. Todd can wear anything on stage. He doesn't mind."

The coordinators voice boomed over the intercom, calling the kids to the wings.

My mother scanned the clothing racks quickly, pulled down an oversized white backup t-shirt from the choir surplus, and tossed it to me.

"Put this on. Quickly. You're going to be late."

The shirt was massive. The neckline slid halfway down my collarbone, and the sleeves completely swallowed my hands. I slowly worked my fingers out of the cuffs and tucked the massive hem into my waistband, trying to make it look intentional.

When the lights went up, I was standing in the back row of the choir, tucked away in the far corner. Every other child around me wore tailored little blazers or matching dresses.

Sammy was front and center.

The stage lights caught him perfectly, making the thirty-six polished brass buttons on my cadet uniform gleam like tiny stars.

I looked out into the darkened auditorium and found my mother. She was standing near the stage, holding her DSLR camera, her finger constantly clicking the shutter, capturing every angle of Sammys solo.

During the second song, we were supposed to sway side to side. The boy next to me took a step and accidentally trod on the hem of my oversized shirt, which had escaped my waistband.

I lost my balance and tumbled sideways, scraping my palm hard against the splintered stage floor.

It stunga sharp, hot burn as a patch of skin peeled away. But I forced myself not to cry. I scrambled back up, tucked my shirt in again, and kept singing.

My mother never saw it. She was too busy recording a video of Sammy's high note.

When the show ended, we all went back to the classroom to wait for our parents.

My dad finally arrived, running through the door, his face flushed. Hed had a crucial board meeting but had promised to meet me the second the curtain fell.

He knelt in front of me, his eyes instantly locking onto the ridiculous white shirt.

"Todd, wheres your cadet suit?"

Then he saw my handthe raw, red scrape on my palm. His brow furrowed deeply, his jaw tightening.

I pointed toward the far side of the classroom.

My mother was sitting at a desk, pouring water from a thermos for Sammy. Gary was standing right next to her, holding her trench coat over his arm. Sammy was still wearing my blue uniform.

"Sammy has it," I said quietly. "Mom took it off me."

The warmth drained from my dad's face.

He stood up, took my uninjured hand, and walked straight toward them.

"Rebecca, what the hell is this?"

Several nearby parents paused their conversations, turning to look.

The smile on my mothers face stiffened. She snatched her coat back from Gary and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper.

"David, don't start a scene here. Sammy was the soloist. He needed to look presentable."

"So you stripped your own son to dress someone else's kid?"

My dad stepped closer, lifting my scraped hand so she could see it.

"Todd was tripping over a shirt three sizes too big because of you. He fell on stage and tore up his hand. Did you even notice?"

My mother glanced at my palm, her expression barely wavering.

"Kids fall down, David. Its a scratch. If Sammy had gone on stage in his old clothes, the other kids would have made fun of him. Todd is mature. He understands."

"I don't understand," I said.

My mother blinked, momentarily speechless.

"I don't understand," I repeated, looking her in the eye. "You ripped the Velcro off my back. It hurt, and it made me sad."

Gary stepped forward, looking intensely uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck.

"David, please don't blame Rebecca. Its my fault. Im a screw-up who couldn't even get his kid a decent outfit. Sammy, take it off right now. Give it back to Todd."

Gary reached for Sammys zipper, but Sammy immediately wrapped his arms around my mothers leg, hiding his face.

"Ms. Davis, I don't want to. I love this suit."

My mother instinctively shielded Sammy behind her.

"Its just a piece of fabric, David. Are you really going to hold a grudge against a motherless child? Ill buy Todd an identical one tomorrow."

"You can't," I said. "The tailor said those brass buttons were the last ones he had."

My dad let go of my hand and took a slow, deep breath.

"Rebecca, you rob your own son just to play the saint for an audience. You make me sick."

Without waiting for her reply, he turned and led me out of the school.

"David!" she called after us, her voice echoing down the hallway. "When are you going to grow up? You don't have a single drop of empathy in you!"

My dad didn't look back.

In the passenger seat of his car, I pulled the seatbelt across my chest. My dad pulled a sanitizing wipe from the glove box and gently dabbed at the dirt in my scraped palm.

"Does it hurt, buddy?"

"No," I lied, shaking my head.

I looked out the window. My mother was walking out of the school gates, flanked by Gary and Sammy. She unlocked her car, and Gary and Sammy climbed into the passenger seats as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

This wasn't the first time she had given my things away.

Last month, my dad had waited in line with me for two hours to get a limited-edition dinosaur balloon at the street fair. We had barely walked a block when we ran into my mother and Sammy. Sammy pointed at the balloon, and my mother simply took the string out of my hand and handed it to him, telling me I was a month older and needed to be a good big brother.

But I didn't have a brother.

The week before that, she had promised to take me to the adventure park to ride the giant rainbow slide. But at the entrance, Gary called to say Sammy had a fever and was crying for her. My mother left me in the park's sandbox, telling me to play by myself.

I sat in that sand for three hours.

Eventually, a park security guard had to call my dad. By the time my dad left work and rushed over to get me, I had fallen asleep in the corner of the sandbox, my hair full of dirt.

"Dad," I said, turning to him.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I don't want anything Mom buys me anymore. I only want the things you get me."

My dads hand stopped moving. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest.

"Okay, Todd. From now on, whatever you want, Dad will get it for you."

Three days later, my mother brought home a massive cardboard box. Inside was a limited-edition Lego castle set.

I was sitting on the living room rug, working on a puzzle, and didn't look up when she walked in.

She knelt beside me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

"Todd, are you still mad at Mommy?"

I slotted a blue puzzle piece into place, keeping my mouth shut.

"I didn't think things through last time. Tell you whattomorrow is the weekend. Just the three of us. No one else. Well go to the Westside Adventure Park and ride those double go-karts you've been begging to try. How does that sound?"

The double go-karts required an adult to drive with a kid. My dad had been working late on a massive project and couldn't take me, and I had begged my mother for weeks, but she had always claimed she was too busy with work.

I stopped touching the puzzle and looked at her.

"Just the three of us?"

"Mommy promises." She held up three fingers. "Tomorrow morning at nine. Just you, me, and Dad. We'll drive out to the park."

I glanced at my dad, who was standing by the kitchen door, holding a glass of water. His face was expressionless, his eyes cool. He didn't say a word.

"Okay," I agreed softly.

My mother smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. "That's my good boy."

The next morning, I was up by eight, fully dressed in my sneakers and athletic gear. My dad had cleared his morning schedule and put on a casual pullover to join us.

But when we walked down to the parking garage, my mothers SUV was already running, and the front passenger seat wasn't empty.

Gary Sullivan rolled down his window, looking slightly embarrassed as he nodded at my dad.

The back window slid down, and Sammy leaned out, clutching a giant rainbow lollipop.

"Hi, Todd! Good morning!"

I stood frozen beside the car door.

My dads hand lingered on the door handle. He slowly turned his head to look at my mother through the drivers side window.

She offered a bright, easy smile.

"David, Garys water main burst this morning, and the landlord has plumbers working in their apartment all day. Sammy was going stir-crazy with all the noise, so I thought itd be nice to bring them along."

She pushed her door open, stepped out, and opened the back door for me.

"Todd, sweetie, get in. You and Sammy can sit together in the back and share some snacks."

I stared into her eyes. "You said yesterday it would only be the three of us."

She knelt down to meet my gaze, her voice perfectly patient.

"Todd, plans change. Sammys apartment is a total mess right now, and he was really scared by the plumbers. I know you're a sweet, generous boy. Having a friend along will make it more fun, won't it?"

She always did this. She used this incredibly gentle, reasonable voice to hand my happiness over to someone else.

"The go-karts only have two seats," I pointed out.

"Mommy can buy two tickets," she said, squeezing my shoulder. "I'll take Sammy for a spin first, and then I'll take you right after. Deal?"

"No."

I pulled my shoulder away from her touch, taking a step back.

"I don't want to go anymore. Let's go home."

Her smile faltered, but she kept her voice level.

"Todd, it's a beautiful day. Don't throw a tantrum. I kept my promise, didn't I? Im taking you to the park."

"You didn't keep it," I said, shaking my head. "You said just us. There are other people in the car. You lied."

I grabbed my dads hand. "Dad, let's go home."

My dad squeezed my fingers tightly. He gave my mother a cold, hard look.

"Go ahead without us, Rebecca. Todd and I are staying behind."

My mother stood up, her brow knitting into a sharp line.

"David, don't encourage his bad behavior. Gary and Sammy are already in the car. If you refuse to go now, do you know how uncomfortable you're making them feel?"

Gary quickly opened his door and stepped out.

"Rebecca, maybe we should just head back. We don't want to ruin your family day."

"Don't be silly, Gary. Your place is completely unlivable right now." My mother put a hand on Gary's arm, pushing him gently back toward the car, before turning her sharp eyes back to me. "Todd, stop being difficult. Get in the car."

I looked down at the gravel beneath my sneakers.

"Mom, just take Sammy. He doesn't have a mom, so you can just be his. I don't want the go-karts anymore. And I don't want you."

My dad didn't take me home that morning.

Instead, he walked me out of the neighborhood, hailed a cab, and took me to a pottery studio downtown.

"Todd, you can mold whatever you want today. Dads right here with you."

I sunk my hands into the cool, wet clay, shaping a clumsy little cat and then a lopsided car. I didn't cry or throw a fit, but when we went to get lunch, I could only manage a few bites of my food.

By three in the afternoon, my neck started to itch.

I scratched at it, feeling a cluster of raised, bumpy welts under my collar.

My dad noticed me scratching, pulled my collar down to look, and his face turned pale.

Ive had a severe seafood allergy since I was a babythe kind that triggers intense, sudden hives. Something in the broth at the restaurant must have been cross-contaminated.

Within minutes, the red, swollen hives spread down my arms and onto my face. I was shaking from the intense itching.

My dad scooped me up and ran out of the mall.

"Don't scratch, Todd. Dad's getting you to the hospital."

The pediatric ER was a nightmare of weekend crowds.

When my dad rushed me to the triage desk, the screen showed over forty people ahead of us.

He pulled out his phone and dialed my mother.

The first call went straight to voicemail.

The second rang for a long time before she finally answered.

"Rebecca, Todd is having a severe allergic reaction and the ER is packed. You know the chief of pediatrics here, don't you? Call Dr. Henderson and see if he can fit us in immediately! Were on our way up to the clinic."

The background on her end was noisythe loud, mechanical roar of the amusement park rides.

"Hives? Is it really that bad?" her voice sounded distant, competing with the noise.

"He's covered from head to toe, Rebecca! He's clawing at his skin! Call Henderson now!"

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'll text him. Take Todd straight to Room 3 on the second floor. I'll meet you there."

My dad carried me up the stairs to the outpatient wing. Outside Room 3, about a dozen anxious parents were waiting.

My dad gave the nurse our name, and she checked her tablet.

"Yes, Mrs. Davis called ahead. Dr. Henderson said you can go in as soon as the current patient leaves."

My dad let out a ragged sigh of relief, sitting down on a vinyl bench and holding me close. I was miserable, my fingernails digged into my arms, leaving angry red tracks. My dad gently pinned my hands down, blowing cool air onto my skin to soothe the burn.

The heavy wooden door of Room 3 clicked open, and a family walked out.

But before my dad could stand up, a small group came rushing down the hallway.

It was my mother.

She was leading the way, with Gary close behind, holding Sammy in his arms.

My mother marched straight to the clinic door.

My dad stepped forward. "Rebecca, thank god. Get Todd in there, hes miserable."

My mother looked at me, then put a hand on my dad's chest, blocking him.

"David, wait a second."

She turned, ushering Gary and Sammy forward.

"Dr. Henderson, could you take a look at Sammy first?" she called into the room. "He had some ice cream at the park and hes been vomiting and having diarrhea. Hes running a fever, and Im terrified its acute gastroenteritis."

My dad stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Rebecca, are you out of your mind? Todd is covered in hives and can barely breathe from the itching, and you're letting Sammy go first?"

My mother turned around, her voice remaining smooth, measured, and entirely reasonable.

"David, keep your head. Hives are just an itchy skin irritation; its not life-threatening. Sammy is different. He's throwing up and feverish. Small children dehydrate so quickly. If we wait, he could end up on an IV."

She pushed Gary into the examination room.

"Dr. Henderson, please, look at him first."

Gary glanced back at us over his shoulder, his face a mask of awkward apology. "David, Im so sorry, Sammys really in bad shape..."

The door clicked shut in our faces.

I sat back down on the bench, staring at the sterile white door.

Strangely, the itching on my neck didn't seem as bad anymore. A cold, heavy weight was settling deep in my chest, pushing everything else out.

Beside me, my dad was trembling with a quiet, terrifying rage.

Finally, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Rae," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "Where are you right now?"

Five minutes later, a tall figure in a cream-colored trench coat came rushing down the hallway.