“What about you, Santos? Settling in okay?”
I blinked.
I hadn’t been paying attention to the last…what, ten minutes of conversation? I cringed inwardly. Hopefully, it hadn’t been more. Ever would want to run commentary on everything once they were gone, or once we were alone in his room, depending on how heated he was getting.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat while doing my best attempt at a smile. “Ever is pretty easy to keep safe.”
Was it my best joke? No. His mom laughed amicably, though. It was her default laugh, so I allowed myself to relax. One quick glance in Ever’s direction didn’t show more than the faintest of blushes that came every time I used his name, or someone said something nice about him while he was within earshot.
All was good.
“I sure hope he’s not making you work overtime.”
“None of that,” I promised. If I thought I was actually working overtime, it wouldn’t be for his mom to hear. It wasn’t for her to understand how working for him was the one thing that filled my days with purpose. How it rejuvenated me whenall the focus was on him and his pleasure, and juicing as much of it from him as I possibly could. “We have a good routine set up. It’s really working for me.”
Usually, Ever was the one stuck with words, the one who left sentences unfinished because that was all he could say in one go. I tried not letting it get to me, that I was the one shortening my lines now. Hoping with bated breath that his mother wouldn’t think anything weird out of it.
I couldn’t control it if she did, and I knew it wouldn’t change anything. Maybe it was about not disappointing her like I had other maternal figures in my life, the way my therapist had said, but maybe…maybe I needed to be in the right headspace to accept another failure, and today I was so not in it.
“Good.” She smiled. “You two were always so close, I figured if my son was going to accept anyone in his space, it would be you.”
Ever covered up a snort. I took a drink of the glass of mosto that came with the territory of being in Spain and not drinking alcohol. If anyone asked, my excuse was that I was technically on the clock, and not that I was desperate not to slip up and say something I’d regret. Something that would put this whole thing in jeopardy. Just because I was certain we all knew this was little more than a ruse didn’t mean I wasn’t going to play the long game.
“I still don’t think I need a bodyguard,” Ever mumbled.
I didn’t have time to freak out because his mom simply dismissed it with a laugh and a flicker of a hand. It took her less than two seconds to go back to the story she must’ve been in the middle of before she decided to include me. Any other day, I would’ve been more appreciative of the gesture. Today, I was glad the focus was off me; that I could just keep existing like therapy wasn’t wrecking a number on me, bringing up to the surface shit that I’d convinced myself I’d buried long ago.
Apparently, just burying things wasn’t a good idea. It didn’t help long-term or something.
It was later in the evening that all the feelings bubbling up in my chest got worse. Harder to keep under wraps. Ever’s mom suggested they take a walk around the yard. She mentioned something about checking in the summer palace they managed the maintenance of. I’d been ready to let them have their alone time, to find an excuse to stay behind and not encroach on them too much.
But Ever had grabbed my arm and didn’t let go. His mom hadn’t said a thing or made any sort of gesture that would mean she was uncomfortable by this, so I got to lurk into their time some more.
I got to witness it as she broached the topic that had had Ever stressed out all week.
“I’ve been talking to people,” she said, “about gender and identity and all these things.”
Ever cringed right away. I didn’t sense that she was about to say something malicious, but I couldn’t blame him.
“You could’ve asked me,” he whispered.
She either didn’t hear him or pretended not to. I gave his hand a squeeze. It was nowhere near enough of the display of affection I wanted to shield him with, but it would have to do while his mom only thought of me as the best friend turned bodyguard. It wasn’t like we hid how prone to touch we were around her. By the time we’d started to think it might be wise—around the time my own parents had made it clear it would be—it had been too late.
The first dinner we’d tried to spend without even nudging each other, she had pulled both of us aside to ask if we had gotten into a fight.
“You said… I mean, is your name the same? And you’re still my…son, right?”
“Right.” Ever scratched the back of his neck with the hand I wasn’t holding. I saw him try to deliberate which route to take, how much to say, and how much to keep to himself because he didn’t think it would be of any use to open up. To reveal more layers of everything that made him who he was, everything that made him so fucking easy to love. “I just like clothes. And makeup.”
“But why?” Ever’s mom moved her hair out of the way as she let the question out in the air. I focused on the two of them, the way both realized almost at the same time that it was the wrong phrasing. The wrong thing to say. “I mean, there’s lots of high couture for men, too. We could raise your salary if that’s the issue.”
“It’s not,” Ever said right away, eyes widened. I focused on calming my heart rate. On projecting the confidence he needed. I was the steadfast one, the one who wouldn’t hesitate to get in the middle of something if I thought he was in danger. He read me like a book, too, knew when I tensed, rearing up for attack. It would only make it worse if he thought that was how I felt right now. Not that I wouldn’t do it, all my feelings and mommy issues aside, but I didn’t know if I could see a reenactment of the last time I talked with my own. “Why do you wear pantsuits?”
“What do you mean?”
Ever took a fortifying breath. I stood still, wondering the same thing.
“I’ve never seen you wear pencil skirts, or traditional blouses, or even dresses outside of your own wedding. It’s always pantsuits. Why?”
