“I don’t think she’s a particularly maternal person. She loves me as well as she can.” He swallows. “I think she would rather have had another Sebastian, if you catch my drift.”
“No.” I blink.
Finn looks like he’s struggling for words. “I just mean, my mother cares more aboutwhatI am thanwhoI am. Does that make sense?”
“Sort of.” A memory of Mother flashes across my mind—one where she’s staring down at me with pure, unadulterated horror. I squeeze my eyes shut to banish it and turn away.
Finn is uncharacteristically quiet as I pick up a log and shove it into the coals. We watch as the flames consume it. Then I retake my seat.
“My mother’s not the most nurturing, either,” I finally offer. “Truth be told, I’m not really sure she everwantedto have children. Sometimes, I wonder if she regrets it.”
We lock into another one of those staring contests that seem to go on forever. Finn looks empathetic, and for the first time, I notice a flicker of pain behind his eyes, like a crack in a mask. I wonder how much of his joviality is a front. Could he be hurting as much as I am?
“Nobody deserves to feel like that,” Finn says softly.
I do.
An old wound burns in my chest, reminding me of all that I’ve done. All that Iam.
But those truths stay unspoken.
When the sun rises the next morning, I watch it through my attic window, just as I did on the morning Mother left. I’m filled with resolve once again, but it’s not the hopeful kind. It’s cold and heavy.
It’s time to send Finn away. I’ve probably been selfish by waiting this long to call it. His wounds are little more than scars now, and his limp is almost imperceptible. I’m certain I have to let him go.
What I don’t know is how to find the strength to do it.
I creep downstairs to start breakfast before he wakes. I tell myself he shouldn’t leave on an empty stomach, but really I’m stalling for time. Maybe something of Mother possesses me, because I find myself cooking the same meal she always leaves me with. The eggs are sizzling when I notice the change in Finn’s breathing that tells me he’s awake. He stays quiet for a while, but I can feel his eyes tracking me. I pretend not to notice. It’s an unexpectedly pleasant feeling.
Finally, he cuts the silence.
“What do you think your mother will say? When you tell her about me, I mean.” His voice is lower than usual, still rough from sleep.
I look up, then back down at the frying pan. “I’m not sure I’m going to.”
“You’re not going to tell her? Why not?”
“Why should I?” I dish the eggs onto a plate and cross the room to deliver them.
“I dunno, it just seems like something that would come up.” Finn shrugs.“Hello, Mother. I hope you’ve had a nice trip! By the way, there’s been a very handsome young man sleeping in your bed—”
I jab his shoulder amiably with the dull end of a fork. “I’m thinking about it.”
He snatches it from my hand. “Are you scared of what she’ll say? Is that what’s happening here? Because I can personally vouch, you’ve been averygood warden. Kept it all aboveboard. Shared no damnable information. Major points for moral fiber. You’ve even managed to divest me of all my secrets.”
“I wasn’t divesting you of your secrets.”
“And why not? Again, a mystery. What an enigma you are.”
I cross back to the kitchen, returning with a plate in one hand and a large carving knife in the other. Finn eyes the blade as I approach. “Is that in case I make another comment about your cooking?”
“That’s for this.” I cut his ropes.
Incredulously, he massages his wrists. “What did I do to deserve such an honor?”
“My mother’s going to be back in three days. I’ve decided you should probably be gone by then.”
“You’re evicting me?” I must be imagining the disappointment in his voice.
