Page 42 of Masquerade Mistake
Ethan: We need to talk.
Oh my God. This is the most infuriating text ever in the history of texts. Maybe even more than texting OK. This tells me nothing, and only makes me believe the worst. We need to talk? About what? About the end of whatever this thing is between us?
And suddenly, I’m angry. Why the hell am I putting myself through this torture when I literally owe him nothing? I have been raising his kid all on my own, and even when I discovered who he was, I never expected anything from him. I don’t even expect anything from him now that I know he’s Finn’s dad, and he should be glad of it! He doesn’t want kids, and I’m not burdening him with one. So what more do I possibly need to give him?
Me: I think we’ve said enough.
I put the phone down and get up, pacing across the kitchen as I clench and unclench my hands. I shouldn’t be surprised when my phone starts ringing, but I am. I want to detach from him, to just let him go and get back to simpler times when it was just Finn and me. But I don’t let all that stop me from retrieving my phone and answering his call.
“Don’t hang up,” Ethan says. I sputter a laugh.
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
He sighs into the phone, and the wounded side of me wants to indeed hang up and then ignore him for a week—just to give him a taste of his own medicine. But even stronger is my curiosity over what he wants, even if it’s to twist the knife a little deeper.
“I’m sorry,” he says. The apology smooths the jagged edges of my need for revenge, enough that I’m willing to hear him out. “I shouldn’t have hung up on you. I was mad.”
“I didn’t ask for Nina to tell me about your da…about your past,” I say.
“No, that’s not what I was mad about. I mean, yeah, I was mad that she told you, but I wasn’t mad that you knew. What I was mad about was the fact that….” He pauses, and I wait him out. I can hear him breathing, recognizing the emotion in his jagged breaths. “I was mad that my dad, who I haven’t heard from in over a decade, is still getting in the way of me moving forward with my life. I just…” He pauses again, and I can feel the last strains of my anger flutter away. “Claire, I need to see you. Today. I have so much to say to you, and I really don’t want to do it over the phone.”
“I can’t,” I say, wincing when I hear him breathe out into the phone. “I want to, but I can’t today. I promised Finn I’d take him to the carnival and I really need to focus on him.” I hesitate, but then continue. “The past few weeks have been amazing, but I’ve been really off balance when it comes to Finn. This week was especially hard not hearing from you, but it was also a wakeup call that I’ve been losing myself in you and neglecting my obligations as Finn’s mom.” I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths; thankful he doesn’t speak. “Look, I think you and I just aren’t going to work.” I keep my eyes closed, even as the tears drench my lashes before spilling over my cheeks. “I care for you. I love who you are and how you make me feel when I’m with you, but I don’t know how to balance being in a relationship with you and being a mother.”
“It doesn’t need to be two separate things,” he says.
“Right, like how my mom was?”
“You’re not your mom.”
“And you’re not your dad,” I point out. “But those ghosts are constantly going to haunt us, aren’t they?” I wipe my eyes, trying my best to keep the tears out of my voice. “I don’t blame you for taking a step back. I understand all too well how a parent’s missteps can affect their child’s life. This is why I need to take my own step back. For Finn. I owe him this.”
“Please don’t do this, Claire. Just let me see you, let me talk with you.”
“We are talking, Ethan. But I have to do this.” My chest feels like it’s caving in on itself. Of anything I could be saying to him, I never thought it would be this. It’s the right thing though.
“Mom?”
I look up and see Finn standing in the doorway, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“I have to go.” I hang up before he can say anything else, then I turn my phone off for good measure, not wanting to face his repeated calls back to me.
“Hey bud,” I say, getting up as I swipe away any lingering tears, “are you hungry?”
He nods, sitting at the table. His feet still aren’t long enough to hit the floor, and he swings them even as he lays his head on the table.
“Did you see that flyer the school sent home with you?” I ask, nodding my head at the paper he’s lying next to. I warm up the pan as he sits up and brings the flyer toward him, and grin when I see his face light up.
“The carnival? Can we go?”
My heart still aches, but I brush aside the pain as I soak up my son’s hopeful face.
“As soon as we’re done eating and your room is clean,” I say. He groans, but I know better. The best time for me to get him to do his chores is when he wants something. I would have hated having a mom like me.
No. I wouldn’t have hated it.
I make us sausages wrapped in crepes, and Finn wolfs them down in five minutes flat. Then he races from the table, leaving his plate behind, so he can start on his room.
“Wash your hands!” I call after him. The carnival gates won’t open for two more hours, but I won’t tell him that. Instead, I eat slow, trying to resist the urge to turn my phone on as I sit by myself. I can hear Finn’s toys being thrown in his bin. Other than that, it’s quiet.