The College Spreads: Mom and Graham

Your mother’s Oldsmobile pulls into the driveway at 7:29 the next night. You know because you’ve barely taken your eyes off the clock since Rebekah went into hospital. Every minute that passes is another one closer to whenever you get to see, or at least, talk to her again. Somewhere, you’re aware that you should have gone to school today, but anything that isn’t about your fiancée and your baby just seems irrelevant. As soon as you hear the tires on the dirt outside, you dash to the door and throw it open.

“Mom!” you call out, almost crying with relief at her presence.

She’s carrying three full bags marked with the local diner’s logo. Your stomach growls, reminding you of how long it’s been since you ate. Jada arrives just behind you and takes the bags from her, leaving the two of you to greet each other. You throw your arms around her and hug her tightly. She pats you on the shoulder, soothing you.

“Let’s go inside, honey,” she says.

Once inside you see Jada has laid out the food containers on the table. Three full meals, desserts, side salad, bread, soup containers. She hasn’t held back.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say.

“Nonsense,” she says. “You two probably haven’t eaten much since they took Rebekah in, right?”

“I made sandwiches earlier,” says Jada as she starts plating the food.

“But didn’t eat them,” your mom replies, looking directly at the five remaining ham and cheese rolls by the window.

“I had one,” says Jada. “And I ate something at the campus this afternoon.”

“You didn’t?”

Your mom looks at you knowingly. Her lips are tight, but her eyes are soft. You’ve seen the look before, when there was a pregnancy scare with Maddy. Frustration mixed with compassion.

“I didn’t feel like sandwiches.”

“Did you eat at school?”

“No…” you answer, and know she can see through your evasiveness at once.

“He didn’t go to school,” says Jada.

Your mom pauses a moment, her eyes locked on yours. Her mouth twists into a lop-sided, pained grimace and she seems to sag for a moment. Then she pulls out a chair from the kitchen table and orders you to sit. You try to rest, but the sweet and tangy mixed aromas of a steak dinner and hot toffee pudding make your stomach growl.

“Eat, now,” she says. “I haven’t had to feed you since you were three years old. Don’t make me start again.”

You laugh at that, you can’t help it. Reluctantly, you slump into the chair and pick up the knife and fork. Jada passes you a loaded plate and you thank them both.

The meal passes quietly. Nobody talks beyond a request for a condiment. There’s no tv, no radio, no internet to interrupt things. The only noticeable sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall and food being chewed. The savory taste of the first piece of meat you put in your mouth is enough to drive you on through the meal. Beside you, your mom focuses on eating too. She must have been traveling all day, so her hunger is more than understandable. She casts an occasional glance at you, concern heavy on her brow, but she leaves you to your food. Finally, when the last bite of pudding goes down your throat, and you set the spoon down for the final time, she reaches for you and Jada. She takes you both by the hand and squeezes gently.

“It’s been rough,” she says. “It still is. I know. Tomorrow, you’re going back to school.”

“Mom!” you whine. “No. I need to call the hospital again. Maybe they’ll let me speak to her, or at least tell me something!”

“They haven’t said anything?”

“No.”

She takes a deep breath and pulls out her phone. For a couple of minutes she types and scrolls in silence.

“I’m going to message Graham,” she says.

“Graham?” You’re confused.

“Graham West.”

“Why?”

She turns a knowing look on you, her mouth curled in a crooked smile. “Because he’s not just on the board of the University.”

“I don’t get it,” you say, trying to work out what she means.

“I know. You really haven’t understood the College Spread Universe yet have you? He’s a local billionaire, got his finger in all sorts of pies including the hospital.”

You blink, repeatedly, as your mind reels. Graham West, the player Rebekah helped you knock out of College Spread, the man who spent his time buying sexual challenges, is connected to the hospital? It makes sense. Though him being willing to help now really doesn’t. Your mom seems to read your thoughts, like she so often has.

“He’s not competing in the game now,” she says. “But he is part of the Universe and I guarantee he’ll help.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but understand something. He won’t be able to do much. Whatever care she needs is what is important, no matter how uncomfortable waiting makes any of us. I suspect he might at least get them to open up a bit more, as long as she’s okay with it.”

You exhale long and slow. It feels like the first time you’ve been able to breathe in days.

“I need her parents’ address too.”

You give it, watching her carefully, unable to see why that would be useful to her. She continues typing silently on her phone. You lean over to see what she’s doing and she shelters the screen from your view.

“Mom,” you say. “What’s going on?”

She holds up a finger to tell you to be quiet and concentrates on her typing. The phone pings with the arrival of a text message. Jada begins to clean up the dishes as you stare, confused and impatient, at your mother. A few minutes more pass and there’s another ping. It takes about ten minutes until she looks at you again.

“Right, that’s taken care of.”

“What is?” you ask.

“College Spread,” she adds, cryptically. “You really don’t get it yet do you? It’s not a game. It was at one point, but now that’s as much an initiation ritual as anything else. No, what it’s become is a network of people who’ve been through the same thing and remain in contact. And in a situation like this, you work the network.”

“How?”

“Well, put it this way, Titus won’t be falling through the cracks in the system. One of the assistant commissioners at the Arizona DCS was a Lady of the Deck years ago and is still part of the Universe. I let her know what’s happening. She’ll make sure a note is put on his file. It won’t fix everything, but it will make sure he’s monitored and if a fitting placement comes up, well… let’s just say his name might be a bit higher up the list than normal.”

“That’s impossible!” you say.

“Is it? Son, one day you will understand that the most useful thing you can have in this world is contacts. CS gives you some of the best.”

“Thanks,” you say.

It doesn’t seem sufficient. Even if she’s right that what can be done is only to make things smoother, that’s still more than you could have hoped for. It’s hard to believe it could be real though.

Your mom’s phone pings again. She types a quick message in reply.

“As to Rebekah’s parents,” she says. “Let’s just say I don’t think they’ll be abusing anybody ever again.”

You stare at her open-mouthed.

“What the fuck have you done, Mom?” you ask.

“You didn’t think everyone in the Universe had clean hands, did you?” she replies.

“Mom…?”

Her expression is enough to sink a battleship. Her eyes are narrowed slits that could slice steel, her lips so tight they would crush rocks.

“I run a DV shelter, son. I know what abusers can do. Let’s just say I haven’t set anything in motion they don’t deserve. Now drop it and go to bed, because tomorrow you’re going back to school.”

You start to object but she shakes her head firmly.

“You sitting here stewing isn’t helping anyone. It certainly won’t get you in to see Rebekah faster and I am not going to let you ruin your future together by dropping out of school when she’s trying to recover.”

That thought hits like a brick to the brain. You pushed Rebekah not to give up on her schoolwork, and your mom is right. There is no reason you should let her down by failing yours now.