Off Her Rocker. Jennifer Archer

      “What are you trying to do? Catch me at something?”

      “I wanted to surprise you. I see that’s exactly what I did.” My throat aches with disappointment as I motion to his crumpled beer can and the littered floor. “I believed you, Troy. I came to fix things with your economics professor and to help you get over your cold.”

      “You were supposed to call him, not show up at his door.”

      “I did call him. He was adamant about you taking the test, so I thought it might help if I spoke to him in person. And you said you needed someone to go to class and take notes for you since you’re so sick.” I cross the room and pick up Kate’s beer. “I didn’t realize this stuff cured the flu.”

      “You drove all this way to take notes for me?” His voice rises an octave.

      Someone pounds on the door and shouts, “When’s the party?”

      Troy walks to the door, cracks it, pokes his head out. He talks quietly before shutting it again and moving around me to stand beside the bed.

      “I came to take care of you,” I say.

      He tugs at his hair and groans. “I’m not ten years old. Couldn’t you have gone over the teacher’s head and called the dean or something? And mailed some antibiotics? I don’t need you to wipe my nose anymore. Stop trying to run my life like you always have.”

      His words slash like a knife and the last of my self-esteem bleeds out of me. My certainty that I’ve always been good at one important thing. The most important thing. Being a mother. I have prided myself on always giving him and Taylor what they need, but have I? The expression on his face seems to indicate otherwise.

      I stare at Troy and realize I don’t know him. Not completely, as I did when he was a little boy. But he’s not that little boy anymore. An entire segment of his life exists that is separate from the one we share. That segment is off-limits to me, and he wants it to remain off-limits.

      Reluctant understanding dawns when I consider my relationship with my own mother. It’s normal for Troy to pull away from me. He needs to, in order to become an adult. I can’t remain the center of his universe.

      Still, it hurts to think he hasn’t missed me at all. Am I the only one struggling to let go of our prior relationship and move on to a new one? Is it easy for him? I should be happy he and Taylor are growing up. Isn’t that the whole point of raising a child? But I’d like to think that I’m more to them than a bank account, a complaint department and a repairman; someone to call only when they want money, have a problem or need something fixed.

      “Why did you call me?” My voice breaks. “What did you expect me to do?”

      “Not make me look like a freakin’ geek in front of everybody. You always have to butt in.” He turns his back to me.

      Trembling and fighting tears, I reach behind me for the doorknob. “You want me to butt out? Okay. I will. But your dad and I didn’t send you here to party night and day, then skip your classes, Troy. We expect some effort on your part. The money we give you isn’t to blow on beer. It’s easy to let yourself get distracted and before you know it, you’ve flunked out. Or lost motivation and dropped out.”

      “Maybe I should drop out. I’m only here because…” He flushes a deeper shade of red and looks away.

      “Because why?” I ask softly.

      “It doesn’t matter.”

      “Talk to me.”

      “Why? So you can spell out what you and Dad expect from me?”

      Torn between wanting to shake him and wanting to hug him, I stare at Troy for several more drawn-out seconds. I sense he’s as conflicted and confused as I am. “Maybe we should postpone this conversation until we’ve both had some time to calm down.” I open the door. “Good night, Troy.” Leaving his room, I dodge a string of gawking students in the hallway.

      Cold wind bites my cheeks and blows hair into my face when I exit the building. I move quickly down the sidewalk, anxious to escape the chill and my own humiliation. Halfway to the lot where I’m parked, Troy catches up to me, matching my pace so that we’re side by side.

      “Mom…I didn’t mean—”

      “Yes, you did.” I keep walking.

      “It’s just…you treat me like I’m still a kid. I’m sick of it.”

      “Then quit acting like a kid, Troy.”

      “The beer’s no big deal. It’s not like I drink all the time or anything.”

      “I hope not.”

      “I don’t need you to do every little thing for me anymore.”

      “No, just the things you choose not to do.” He and Taylor both. I reach the car and fumble in my purse for my keys.

      Troy fidgets beside me. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

      I turn to him, grieving what we’ve lost, the closeness we once shared that I’m desperately afraid we won’t ever find again. “I’m sorry, too, Troy.”