Cameron pauses, and though I can’t see it from where I stand behind him, I’m pretty sure he’s nervously wringing his fingers together.
“I don’t have that much in cash right now,” he mutters.
“What?” his mother seethes.
“He need to be taught a lesson again, Sher?” the man on the couch asks, all too happy to bud in.
“No!” Cameron interjects, sounding extremely nervous and slightly scared.
“Just get the fucking money, Cameron. Useless.”
I have about three seconds of self-restraint left. It sounds to me like both of these assholes have been mistreating Cameron, using him for money. And from the state of the living room, I’d say that money is not going anywhere beneficial.
Beer cans, fast food wrappers, and stray clothing are thrown around. I’m not one to judge, but the place looks dirty.
“But I don’t have a hundred—” Cameron starts.
“What did Isay?Alright, James, teach him a lesson,” his mother snaps.
Cameron goes rigid, and I immediately know whatteaching him a lessonis supposed to mean. They’ve completely lost their minds.
James stands from the couch, grinning.
“Take one step, and I’ll break your arm,” I say, calm and collected.
Finally, the two—potentially living on borrowed time—dumbasses finally look at me. Both of their eyes widen, clearly glazed and intoxicated.
“You’re… You’re a Chastain,” Cameron’s mother gasps.
“Andyou’redone belittling my boyfriend,” I counter.
“Boyfriend,” she repeats, slowly, as if she’s learning the word for the first time. And then again, full of surprise. “Boyfriend?!”
Cameron squares his shoulders, sending his mother a confident nod. “Yes, Mom. My boyfriend. Atticus, this is my mother, Sheryl, and her, uh, friend, James.”
Sheryl stands stock still, looking between the two of us. And then she glares at her son.
I prepare myself to defend, to shut down her bombardment of homophobic insults and her violence.
Instead, she says, “You didn’t tell me you had arichboyfriend, Cameron?! How dare you keep this to yourself while your own flesh suffers?!”
She sounds betrayed, appalled.
“What?” Cameron breathes out. “What does his money have to do with anything?”
“Don’t be naïve, son,” she chastises, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. “Now we can be comfortable! No more barely getting by and working shitty jobs!”
“But you don’t even work,” Cameron mumbles, which only earns him another glare. “Plus, I’ve never taken Atticus’s money. It’s not about that.”
He’s right. Other than the one time I bought him a milkshake—or when I brought booze to his party or provided groceries for our time in the townhouse we would meet at—I’ve never actually spent money on him. Or straight up given it to him.
“Well, don’t be dumb. It’s time to start,” Sheryl insists. And then she turns to me, smiling sweetly. “Hello, Atticus. It’s wonderful to meet you! Do you intend to keep my son? We should have met sooner if you had planned on being together.”
My calm demeanor stays intact, my expression carefully blank. “I do intend on keeping him. He’ll be moving in with me.”
“Wonderful!” Sheryl gasps, her eyes lighting up and her hands clasping together. “I’ll begin to pack my—”
“No,” I interrupt. “Hewill be moving in with me. And you will not contact him again.”
