A Very Badd Christmas (The Badd Brothers #19)

2. Hayden

CHAPTER 2

hayden

" M om—will you listen a second—yeah, I know it's a big deal for you guys, but I'm not going on the cruise, you are…so? So it doesn't matter which excursions I think you should do, Mom. Because it's not my cruise!" I clapped my hand over my face and did some deep breathing in an attempt to keep from tossing the phone across the room. "Yes, Mother. I'm sorry for raising my voice. But you've called me six times in the last four hours about my preferences for a cruise I'm not going on. I have to get this work done—my boss is all over my ass about it."

She yammered at me about work-life balance for another ten minutes, during which I put it on speaker and tuned her out.

When she sounded like she was running out of steam, I picked it up. "Mom, listen, okay? You and Dad have been saving for this cruise for years. It's your fiftieth anniversary. You should do whatever you want to do. Not me—you and Dad. If there are too many to choose from, which seems to be the case, then pick the ones you know you want to do and leave some room for spontaneity. Yes, I know, Dad likes to have things planned out down to the minute. But it'd be good for him to try to loosen up and bit and let fate pick a couple of excursions. Yes, I think seeing a moose would be amazing. Yes, I know they're much bigger than you expect. Ride one? Mom, good lord no—no one is riding moose in Alaska." Before she can start in on her next subject, whatever that may be, I cut her off. "Mom, I love you. I love you like crazy. But I have to work. You have to stop calling me and just make the decisions with Dad. Okay, awesome. Yes, I'll come over for dinner one day this week, I promise."

It took another fifteen minutes to get off the phone. But, true to her word, Mom didn’t call back for another two hours. Which, for her, was a record.

I did manage to finish the latest batch of analyses my boss had been hounding me for, so there was that. But he also wanted the firewall buffed, in his words. And he wanted me to look at the latest data breaches from, like, everywhere, to see if we're susceptible…you'd think he'd have a little more trust in my abilities, seeing as he hired me for this job.

I knew I shouldn't think this way, but I just wanted Mom and Dad to go on the cruise already. They’d been planning and saving and talking about it for literally a decade, and now that it was right around the corner, Mom in particular was going a little batty with excitement. I mean, I got it, as much as I could—it's not every day you get to go on a fiftieth-anniversary Christmas cruise to Alaska.

By the end of the day, I got through most of the work Mr. Cox sent, so I shut down my home office and got changed for the gym.

That’s the nice thing about my job: I'm a cybersecurity engineer for a Silicon Valley tech startup, which meant I worked from home in good old West Lafayette, Indiana. I could finish work and be at the gym in five minutes because my apartment was just down the road from the gym.

On the way home from the gym, my phone rang. I expected Mom's name on the screen, but it was Dad.

"Hey, Dad, what's up? You good?"

Dad rarely called. Mom? Every day, several times a day at minimum. Dad? Once a month, maybe. He figured since I live ten minutes from them and see them multiple times a week, calling was redundant. I agreed, but try telling that to Mom.

"Hey, kiddo." His voice was slow and tired.

"Dad? You all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, just under the weather."

"So what's up? You need something?"

"Oh, well, I know your mother has been going a little crazy about the cruise."

I laughed. "Yeah, well, she's excited. She should be. Are you?"

"God, yes. We haven't had a real vacation since you were in high school." A pause. "I just wanted to make sure she wasn't driving you nuts. I know she can…um…suffocate you sometimes."

I chuckled. "Dad, I wouldn't know what to do without her suffocation. I just tell her to stop calling for a bit, and she does. She knows I'm not mad. We have a whole thing.”

He sniffed a few times, his version of a laugh—they're opposites, my parents. Mom was loud and a chatterbox and made friends with every clerk, teller, and person behind her in line, whereas Dad was reserved, quiet, and careful.

"Well, that was it, kiddo. Just checking on you. We'll see you for dinner this week, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm thinking Friday." I hesitated. "You're sure you're okay? You sound different."

"Ehh, haven't been sleeping too well. Get to my age and sleep gets tricky. I'm alright, son."

A twinge of worry settled in my gut. The last time Dad said not to worry, his appendix burst and he almost died.

"Dad." I hunted for the right words—get on his case too much about his health, and he'd clam up. "No bullshit. You're sure you're good? This isn’t another appendix thing, is it?"

A gruff sigh. "No, Hayden, it's not. I’m okay. Swear."

"All right, just, you know, don't be a hero. I'm a phone call away if you need anything."

"I know, I know. I just hate to worry you. I just need to get some rest and I’ll be right as rain. You'll see."

We agreed to see each other Friday and hung up as I reached my door. After a shake and salmon-quinoa bowl, I headed for my office, thinking I'd get a head start on the work for tomorrow.

But Mom's advice earlier about taking time for me that's not working out or sleeping rang in my skull, so I left the door closed, plopped on the couch, and put on Diablo. I was close to level seventy with my barbarian, and I knew my online raiding party would be getting on soon.

So, fuck it. Work could wait.

Friday evening found me at my parents' house, the house I grew up in, at the counter chopping cucumbers for the salad. See, weekly dinner with the folks wasn’t just a “show up for dinner" thing. It was a whole day affair for the three of us. I’d come over after lunch and we'd plan the meal, go shopping, and spend the afternoon hanging out, talking, doing a puzzle, or playing Scrabble, and then we'd cook together. Dad did the meat, I did the salad, and Mom handled the sides. Every once in a while, we'd switch things up, mainly because Mom insisted I know how to cook more than hot dogs, Mac 'n cheese, and ramen.

"So, Hayden." Mom's voice had that tone.

My shoulders hunched, and I suppressed a sigh as I used the knife to scrape the cucumbers off the cutting board into the bowl and then started on the red onions.

"So, Mom." I didn't turn around. I knew what was coming.

"Meet any pretty girls lately?"

Dad, coming in from the deck where he was grilling the steaks, gave me a sympathetic look and a head shake.

"Yes, Mother, actually, I'm engaged. Her name is Candi with an I, and she's a stripper with a heart of gold. You'll just have to give her a chance." I couldn't stop the sarcasm—I tried.

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

"Oh, you." She slapped me across the arm with a towel. "So saucy, Hayden. Not nice."

Nope, not yet.

I traded glances with Dad.

He held up three fingers…

Two…

One…

He pointed at Mom exactly as her mouth opened and the expected diatribe emerged.

“It’s just that I'm not getting any younger. You know we had you late, and I'd love to have some grandkids before I go to be with Jesus."

There it was.

Mom was at the stove, peeking under the lid at the broccoli, poking it with a fork. I set my knife down and slid up behind her, holding her delicate little shoulders.

Mom was a tiny woman, barely over five feet and slender—despite the classic chin-length gray bob, she was the farthest you could get from a Karen. I have her eyes—bright green, the color of pine needles and holly leaves.

"Mom." I turned her around. "I'm twenty-six."

"I know, Hayden," she says, reaching up to pat my cheek. "But I'm almost seventy. Time is running out for me." She even had the shimmery eyes going, damn her.

"Mom… The tears, Jesus." I palmed my forehead.

"Language, Hayden Reginald McCaffery."

"You know, I'll never forgive you for saddling me with that middle name," I said.

"It was your great-grandfather's name. It's a regal name."

"Regal for the nineteenth century, maybe."

She just rolled her eyes at me. "You're changing the subject, Hayden."

"Yes, yes, I am." I cupped her face. "No one is going anywhere, Mom. I will give you grandbabies, I promise. I'm just…"

"You spend all day in front of those computers. How can you expect to meet a nice, pretty girl to marry if you're always in front of a computer?" She turned away from me. "This is almost done, so get a move on with that salad. You'd think you'd be faster at chopping after all these years of making salads."

I pinched the bridge of my nose; when I looked at Dad for help, he studiously avoided looking at me as he pulled the chicken for Mom out of the marinade. "You know, Mom, sixty percent of couples meet online now. So, I actually could meet a girl while sitting in front of a computer. Also, my job is computers."

" Sixty percent?" She stopped what she was doing and turned to look at me. "You made that statistic up."

I laughed. "No, Mother, I did not. I can show you the report. Sixty percent of all couples now meet online."

"Through those apps, right? Bimble and Kindle? No, Kindle is the e-reader. What's that other one?"

I spluttered a laugh. "Bumble and Tinder."

"Yes, those. Are you using those apps?"

I just barely resisted the urge to decapitate myself with the knife. “No, I'm not. I'm focused on work. The cybersecurity field is viciously competitive. I can't get distracted."

"Your career is supposed to support your life, Hayden, not be your life."

"Kaye." Dad moved up behind her and kissed her cheek. "Enough, sweetheart. He'll meet a girl. You'll get grandbabies. You just have to be patient."

I spluttered in an attempt to cover a laugh, and Mom whirled to glare at me. "What is that laugh about, young man?"

"Nothing. Nothing." I went back to slicing onions.

"I teach kindergarteners all day," she said, poking me between the shoulder blades with each word. "I am a very patient woman."

"Different kinds of patient," I muttered.

"When we were young, twenty-six was old to be unmarried, let alone without kids. We didn't have you till I was forty-two, which was positively ancient. It's still old to have kids these days, but back then? I may as well have had one foot in the grave." She waved her hands in a wild gesture. "Nowadays, you kids aren’t even getting married till thirty! It's ridiculous."

"It was a fertility issue, Mom, not a choice. And who cares what other people think?"

"I do! All my friends at my book club spend the whole meeting talking about their grandbabies walking and talking and all these funny stories, and I've got nothing. Oh hey, guess what? My son debugged another line of code! Or…something."

I looked at Dad for help, but he vanished out the door with Mom's piece of chicken. Nice.

"Mom, please. I know it's important to you—it's important to me, too. I want to have a family, I promise. But I'm not gonna rush into it. Things are different now. I can't just snag some random girl off the street, drag her to the nearest church, marry her, and knock her up just so you can have something to talk about at book club!"

Oops—that may have been too far.

I turned just in time to see her shoulders lift and her head duck. "I'm sorry, Hayden. I know I shouldn't push you. I just…I'm feeling my age and starting to think about things."

I set the knife down and pulled her into a hug. "That was rude, and I'm sorry. The truth is, I…" I huff into her hair. "Meeting girls is hard. I'm not…it's just not that easy. Even online."

She frowned up at me. "Why? You're handsome, successful, and funny. What's not to love?"

"Extreme social awkwardness?"

"So what if you're not the typical swaggering alpha male jock? You have plenty to offer!"

I choked on a laugh. "Jes—“ I caught myself and course-corrected. "Geez, Mom, backhanded compliment, much?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

"What? What did I say?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

"Hayden."

I sighed. "It's just that not being the typical alpha male swaggering jock is something I've been self-conscious about my whole life. It's what women want. Not computer nerds."

She snorted. "Hogwash. Not all women want that, Hayden. I didn't. When I met your father, he was the poster boy for extreme social awkwardness. He had an actual pocket protector, always wore a tie and penny loafers, and could barely say two words to me without blushing."

“Nice."

She chuckled. "I loved it about him. It was endearing. And once he got comfortable with me, he opened up and I saw a whole new side of him. And once he opened up, he couldn't keep his hands off me."

"Mom! Jesus crickets!”

" LANGUAGE !"

"Would you two stop yelling at each other?" Dad said, coming through the door with the meat.

I almost missed it. And even though I saw it, it didn't register, even though it should have.

As he set down the platter with our steaks and Mom's chicken on it, he rubbed his left bicep.

But Dad was a lefty, and he played tennis with a few of the other professors every Friday morning before classes, so I just figured he had a sore arm.

He flexed his arm, shook his hand, rolled his shoulders, and started setting the table.

And I didn't think about it again.

Not until two weeks later.