She nods. “I know, but I want to know more. I know who you are here. Hot hockey player who doesn’t date. Mellow unless on the ice. Smart. Has friends, but beyond that, I don’t know.”
I continue to rub her feet, wondering how much I want to tell her, knowing that this friends-with-benefits thing has an expiration date. This weekend, her crush will be at a party where she’ll win him over. There’s no way a man could say no to a face like hers, a body like hers, and the success she has makes her the whole fucking package. If status means something to this rich kid, which, judging by his sister, it does, then I know he’ll have her wrapped around his finger. I’m interested to know who this kid is.
“It was my mom,” I admit, looking at her perfectly manicured toes.
“Your mom?” she questions. “Oh. You mean it was your mom in your bedroom?”
I nod, feeling all kinds of anxious thoughts coursing through me.
She sits up. “Your mom?”
I nod again, meeting her eyes.
She laughs. “Shit. When you said you weren’t fucking someone, I thought maybe it was your ex. Or a potential girlfriend. You were hiding your mom from me?”
She’s gaping, clearly not understanding why I would hide my mom from her. I nod anyway, pulling her feet back to my lap. I need something to do with my hands.
“One second,” she says, standing. She walks to the kitchen and throws me my shorts. Then she takes a minute in her bedroom. When she walks back out, she’s in a cute matching set that looks comfy. “Why would you hide your mom from me? You don’t want me to meet her or something?”
I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I’m embarrassed.”
She scoffs. “Dilly, I wouldn’t tell her that I’m using her son as a boy toy. Who do you think I am?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m embarrassed of her.”“Oh,” she says, and her entire body language changes. “Why would you be embarrassed of her?”
I run my tongue against my teeth, then clench my jaw. “Because…” I start, but I don’t know how to complete the sentence. “She has issues.”
Cecily grabs my hand. “What kind of issues?” she whispers.
We sit in silence for a few minutes while I try to gather myself. I don’t know how to say it without feeling like I’m pouring even more of myself into Cecily. I never want her to think any less of me, but I learned early on that when a mother isn’t the best, the first judgment is that her child must be just like her. Cecilywaits patiently, forgetting all about the protein smoothie she had planned.
“Dylan,” she grabs my face. “Where did you go right there?”
“She’s an addict, Ce,” I mutter under my breath.
There, I said it aloud.
I admitted it to someone.
It doesn’t hurt any less.
My mom came to me on Saturday for more money, and that’s the sick thing about people with an addiction: they burn through money day in and day out. There aren’t enough drugs out there for them, which means money is the key, even if she was whoring herself out while I was in high school. The phases don’t last long, and they rotate. Right now, she thinks I’m her cash cow. She stopped by unannounced to demand money I don’t have.
Cecily rubs her thumb on my hand. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about that,” she says. “Not with me, okay? It’s not your fault.”
“Even if I give her money for it?” I counter.
She grabs my cheek and searches my eyes. “If she’s asking for money, and you give it to her, what she does with it is her business. It’s not on you.”
I try my hardest not to pull away, but I can’t help it. I don’t like being comforted. “I’m enabling her. I know she has a problem.”
“Dylan,” Cecily says sternly. “Don’t be hard on yourself. This is a hard situation, and I don’t think there’s a right or a wrong.”
I fold my hands together and think about what she’s saying. Is she right? I shake my head, not wanting to believe it. I want her to question why I would give my mom money even though I know she’s using it for drugs, to accuse me of enabling her problem, and tell me that I’m part of that fucking problem.
“I’m sorry, Dylan. I had no idea.”
I shrug. “Only the guys know.”
