Page 52 of Masquerade Mistake
“Don’t do that,” he says. I look toward him, but I’m too tired to brush any of this off with a smile. None of it feels funny.
“It’s true, though. Isn’t it?”
“Right, and I’m Mr. Perfect over here,” he says. “Neither one of us are our parents, even if they’ve done a great job trying to fuck up our lives.”
“And for me, it’s never going to stop,” I point out. “My mom is going to continue fucking things up, and I’m always going to be the dutiful daughter, ready to bail her out. What happens when it affects your life too? She just lost her home. What if she has to move in with me?”
“Then we spend a lot more time at my house,” he says.
“You don’t understand. If she moves in with me, I can’t leave her alone. Ever! The next house she burns down could be mine.”
Ethan reaches for my hand, but I pull it away even though I’m not mad at him. No, I’m just mad in general. I breathe hard, focusing on the cars we pass as he drives. Eventually, my breath slows, and my thoughts start to form into something I can touch.
“I don’t want her to move in,” I whisper.
“I know you don’t, baby. There are other options. When we get back to your house, let me help you with some research.”
The last thing I want to do is spend any more energy on any of this. I want to curl up in bed and sleep away the rest of the day. But I’ve been gifted twenty-four hours to come up with some solutions, and if I throw it away, I will be making up a foldout couch for my mom and saying goodbye to my peace of mind.
When we get home, I gather Finn from Beth’s house, then set him up at the table with a snack and his homework. He has a lot of questions about his grandmother, and I tell him what I can without getting into the darker details of her addiction. Finn doesn’t know my mom as well as he should, thanks to my boundaries with her. Still, I feel terrible seeing his brow crinkle with worry. He does his homework without complaint, and when he’s done, I let him watch TV in the other room.
Ethan and I get to work on researching solutions. He seeks out care homes in our area, and I make phone calls to every promising place. Most want me to come in and tour the facility before giving prices, but a few bypass that step when I explain the situation. All of them are out of my price range.
“So, we have your mom sell her house,” Ethan says. “Does she have a mortgage on it?”
“No,” I say. It’s something we were fortunate to have, even when everything else was out of our reach. My grandparents died before I was born, and my mom got their house. All she’s owed is annual taxes, and a modest trust took care of that for a while. But the trust ran out years ago, and she’s lived on borrowed time and money for years. Mostly, my time and money. “Who’d want to buy a partially burnt home, anyway?”
“You’d be surprised what people will buy,” Ethan says. “I saw a news article recently about a fire-damaged home in Northern California that sold for over a million dollars.”
That gets my attention for a moment, but then reality sets in. “She’ll never sell it,” I say. Of all the things my mom is, one of them is fiercely loyal to the memory of her parents. An only child, my grandparents doted on her until the day they died. Even though I never knew them, I’m well aware of the ghosts that live within the walls of my mother’s home. The memory of them runs deep, from the photos of them on the walls to the furniture from my mom’s childhood. Including the couch she just burnt.
Ethan mentions a few more avenues we can take, including a possible intervention. I feel like the walls are closing in. He takes one look at me, then closes the laptop. Without a word, he gets up and makes me a cup of tea. Once the steaming herbal liquid is in front of me, he stands at my back and gently kneads my shoulders. Despite my feelings of hopelessness, I lean into his touch, rolling my neck as he loosens the knots in my muscles.
“We can tackle this in the morning,” he murmurs, then smooths the hair from my neck so he can place a gentle kiss on my skin. His hot breath creates a trail of shivers down my spine. “It’s not like we’re accomplishing anything right now, anyway.”
I’m grateful for his help. I also feel the weight of truth in his words. We haven’t accomplished anything, except to see how much is out of my reach. Tomorrow will be no different. Meanwhile, my mom will be released from the hospital tomorrow, and the only logical place to take her is here. My home. Which she will taint with her addictions, because I’m just not strong enough to fight her on them.
I rest my hand on Ethan’s, my shoulders sagging in defeat. “Thank you,” I say.
Chapter 22
Ethan stays for dinner, and then stays the night after Finn goes to bed. I make a place for him on the couch, but I end up joining him on the tight space. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. He’s wearing only a t-shirt and his boxers, and I can feel him grow hard against me. But he doesn’t act on it, seeming to sense my need for comfort over passion. I drift away to the feel of his heartbeat against my back and the sound of his slow breath as we both succumb to sleep.
I’m still in his arms when I wake, and for a moment I forget everything from the night before. I’m so comfortable in the cocoon of his body, and I burrow closer to him, rousing him as he wraps his arms tighter around me.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, and it’s at the same time that I recall my mother in the hospital, the state of her home, and the impossible situation I’m now in. I turn, groaning as I crush my face against Ethan’s chest, wishing I can bury myself until everything works itself out. He strokes my hair, neither of us moving in the dim light of morning. But when I hear the coffeepot start on its automatic timer, I know I need to get up and face reality. At the very least, I need to get Finn ready for school. But I’ll have to deal with my mom today too, and I still have no clue what to do.
I pour us both a cup of coffee, then join Ethan again in the dimly lit living room. He inhales the steam from his cup, then rests his free hand on my knee.
“Thank you,” he says. “How did you sleep?”
“Surprisingly well.”
And it hits me how natural it feels for him to be here—as if I could wake up to his face every morning and greet the day together over a cup of coffee. In the midst of my busy mind, I’m grateful he’s there. His presence has a calming effect on me.
“I’m still not sure what to do about my mom,” I admit, and he squeezes my knee.
“Let’s hear what the doctor has to say,” he says.