Page 10 of Masquerade Mistake
I mull this over. When we were kids, Maren was infamous for making promises she never intended to keep. But that was before she got sober. Now that we’re older, Maren’s word is solid. She’d also never do anything that would jeopardize Finn’s or my safety and comfort.
“One date, and you’ll lay off?” I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. I peek at the guy again, losing myself in the way his cheek creases when he smiles, kind of wishing I could get a closer look.
“I promise. Oh my God, I can’t believe you said yes.”
“You didn’t really give me much choice,” I say, wrinkling my nose. But I also can’t stop the butterflies from swirling inside my belly.
As soon as Maren starts her next set, I flag the waiter for a box and the check. While I wait, I steal glances at the bar. The guy looks like an Ethan, whatever that’s supposed to mean. At least he’s nice to look at, which assures me that even if he’s a dud, this one and only date of ours will have a nice view.
“Mom, I have to go to the bathroom.”
I tear my eyes away from Ethan to see Finn clutching himself. The waiter shows up with my receipt as Finn runs from the table, and I grab the receipt and the box of food and tail after him. But Finn is too quick. I want to take him in the girl’s bathroom with me, but he bolts into the boy’s bathroom before I can stop him.
“Ugh, Finn,” I mutter. I wait outside the bathroom, the mama bear in me staring down every man that exits while Finn takes his sweet time.
“Is this the line?”
I turn, and there’s Ethan staring down at me. Now that he’s close, I see that his eyes are a rich chocolate brown, and I can see my reflection in them. I stumble backwards, and he quickly grabs hold of me and keeps me upright.
“Thanks, I’ve only been walking for a few days now,” I stammer, and he laughs at my attempt at a joke.
“They say it’s like riding a bicycle,” he jokes back. And then he flashes me a grin and I swear my knees go wobbly. Luckily he doesn’t notice as he skirts around me and heads into the bathroom.
Finn comes out a minute later, and I tuck his hand in mine and make a beeline for the exit, resisting the urge to glance behind me.
“Damn you, Maren,” I mutter once Finn is buckled into the backseat of the car. But I’m smiling. “One date. That’s it. Then it’s over.”
Finn is hungry when we get home—big surprise—and apparently only waffles will do. With just half a salad in me, I assess there’s a small pocket in my own belly for a treat. So I pull out the waffle iron and whip up a batch. As a special treat, I scoop a little ice cream on each of them, topped with a dash of maple syrup. I’m sure I’m going down as the worst mom in the world after a dinner of French fries, but I can’t resist his dimpled smile as I set the plate in front of him.
“Today was fun,” he says, then spoons a huge bite into his mouth.
“Smaller bites, please. And what was so fun about it?”
He finishes chewing, then wipes his mouth on his arm. I want to correct him, but I’ve learned through trial and error that too many corrections make his ears close.
“I got to be line monitor at school today, and Miss Lane said I did a good job leading the class. Then at recess, Kala chose me first to be on his kickball team. We finished all our work in class so I didn’t have homework. And then I got to eat French fries for dinner, and now waffles for dessert.” He flashes me his gummy smile, and I can see one of his adult teeth is starting to grow in.
“Know what I loved best about today?”
“What?” he asks, his mouth full of ice cream. A little drips on the table, and he wipes it with his hand. I shake my head but laugh it off.
“I liked being with you.”
“Like when we went to eat at Auntie Maren’s?”
“That was Hillside restaurant, but yes. When we went to see Auntie Maren sing, and I got to sit with my favorite person in the whole wide world.”
“Me?” His eyes light up as I nod. He finishes off his ice cream, then swings himself down from the chair. Carefully, he picks his bowl up and brings it to the sink. The rare gesture makes him seem years older, and I have to will myself to not tear up.
“Can I take my own bath tonight?” he asks. This was a change. Usually he argues against taking baths at all. Still, the question rocks me a little. It’s just another step at him asserting his independence.
“How about this. I will let you bathe yourself, but with the door open, and only if you promise to wash really well.” I know that last one was a long shot, but it doesn’t hurt to try. He runs from the table before I can change my mind, though I follow him in so I can start the water and make sure it’s the right temperature.
“I got it, Mom,” he sighs, and I give him a sideways look.
“I said you can take your own bath. But I still get to run the water and make sure you don’t make waterfalls in the bathroom.” He grins, then runs to his room to get undressed. I shut off the water just as he comes back, wearing a robe and looking way too old to be my little guy.
“Okay, Mom,” he says, looking up at me with exasperated eyes. It hurts my heart a little to know he wants privacy, but I guess it’s all part of growing up. I’m not ready for this. I shrug my shoulders in a teasing way as I exit, and he nudges the door behind me, though I note how he keeps it slightly ajar. Both of our bedrooms are on either side of the bathroom, and I sit on my bed pretending to read a book, when really I’m just making sure he doesn’t drown. He hums while he’s washing, and I smile as his little voice echoes off the walls.