I start taking my clothes out of my bag and hope she’ll be gone by the time I’m finished unpacking.
“Since when do you call me Ma?”
“Since I could talk,” I shoot back.
I chance a look in her direction. She flares her nostrils, squaring her shoulders. The sightshould be ridiculous. She must weight one-hundred pounds soaking wet. But she’s my mother. The last thing I want to do is make her mad.
“Have you been with him?”
My face is burning when I ask, “Who?”
“You know who. Evan.”
“Honey,” Bryce calls from downstairs. “The car’s here, we’ve got to go.”
Mom stares at me from the doorway, waiting for an answer.
“Pamela?” Bryce shouts, more insistently this time.
She takes a deep breath and puffs her chest out. “We’ll talk about this when we get back.”
I grit my teeth and force myself to stay quiet as she leaves.
The second the door slams shut behind them, I sag with relief. But my mind is on overdrive as I wait for Evan to arrive. Telling me I’m fucking it all up. This opportunity. This life. I keep telling Evan it’s not me. That it doesn’t matter. But when was the last time I had nothing? Can I even remember what that was like?
Evan hasan early shift at the warehouse, so he’s coming over straight after. I remind myself why he’s worth the trouble. Think about him in his work pants and boots in that car. The smell of something unfamiliar on his clothes, like cardboard and dust. I want to take care of him. I want to run him a bath and get him a beer, but something tells me he wouldn’t like that. He’d see straight through me, push away my attempts to try and make everything better.
Instead, I put a couple of pizzas in the oven and makesure there are chilled beers for us to drink if Evan wants one.
My mom or Bryce will probably notice they’re gone, but they don’t make a fuss about me drinking so long as I don’t get sloppy or throw any wild parties. It’s all about image, of course, I now realize. Do whatever you want, so long as you’re quiet about it.
I don’t like to think that’s what I’m doing with Evan. But it’s not like he’s exactly open about what we’re doing, either.
Evan’s taking longer to get here than I thought he would. I’m pacing the living room, flipping through the channels for a movie or something to put on when the doorbell rings.
“Hey!” I can’t keep the dopey grin from my face as I answer the door.
He isn’t dressed in his work clothes. The thought of him going home to change before he came here makes my stomach flip.
He runs a hand over his shaved head and follows me into the house.
“Did you find the place okay? I would have picked you up from work-” I’m chattering on, I know, but I can’t believe how nervous I am now he’s actually here.
“It’s fine,” he interrupts.
“Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
When I get to the kitchen, I take a deep breath, give myself a moment. Back in the living room, Evan’s found the controller and is flipping through the channels. It’s nice to see him semi-relaxed.
I hand him his beer and take a seat beside him on the sectional.
“Take your shoes off if you want. Make yourselfcomfortable.”
“I’m good.”
He lands on an episode ofBob’s Burgersand I smile to myself.
