Page 8 of Emil

I had failed him, and I had failed our relationship, and now I was at my mom’s doorstep with my tail between my legs, asking to sleep on her couch. The bright spot was that she’d said yes.

“Well, come on in. You’re gonna get all wet standing out there,” she said, showing me into the living room. “I put a towel, some sheets, and a blanket out for you, and there’s a pillow around here somewhere. I’m surprised you didn’t stay with Rory. You two still thick as thieves?” she asked, but didn’t wait for an answer as she picked up the mail and flipped through the junk envelopes.

“Yeah, but you know— He and Gabe haven’t been together very long. They’re still practically in the honeymoon period, and I don’t wanna make it weird for them.”

“Speaking of honeymoon, are they getting married?”

“Yeah. They’re gonna do it this summer.”

“That’s nice.” She was already moving on. “How long did you say you’re gonna stay?”

“Just a couple of days, I think. I just need to find an apartment. Hopefully, if I can get a furnished one, it’ll make life easier.”

“Where’d you put your stuff?”

“I don’t have much—only my clothes. When I moved in with John, he didn’t really like my furniture. He said it would look strange in the apartment because it was shabby, so we got rid of most of it and kept what he had.”

Ma didn’t make much of a sound—just a noncommittal hum. It felt strange to be in her space because she’d always made it clear that her home belonged to her, and I was a visitor in it. Even when I was a kid, she never pretended she wanted to be a mom. On one hand, I appreciated that she didn’t hide it, but it would’ve been nice to feel something maternal from her. We’d always been more like siblings than mother and son, but she had always made sure I had clothes and food, even if she hadn’t felt the way a mom should.

I looked at Rory with his parents, who loved him and were ridiculously vocal about it, and I got more than a little jealous. Although his mom was known to get nosy, so I guess I should be grateful for that.

“I have to go to a work thing tonight. I won’t wake you up if I come in late, will I?”

“I probably won’t even be home. I’m meeting the girls for a late movie and dinner. Hold on, I’ll get the extra key so you can let yourself back in.” She went rummaging through the ever-present, overflowing junk drawer in the kitchen until she found it in the far back corner, as usual.

The house was messy and lived-in, but that was my mom. She swore she knew where everything was, yet she could never find anything. The house hadn’t changed much since I moved out years ago. The couch was where it had always been, with its faded green flowers. The matching chair was covered in an Afghan my grandmother had made for her birthday. Her shoes were piled by the front door where they’d be put away “tomorrow,” though tomorrow never came.

If I could get through this evening with any dignity, it would be a minor miracle. The microwave clock read six-ten. John said to be there at seven-thirty, but if I left now, I’d be there at least half an hour early, and there’d be no chance of embarrassing John or the company by being unprofessionally late.

It was the least I could do.

Rory

What’s shakin’, my favorite bacon?

Anders

Ya know, hanging out in parking lots, so I’m not late for a dinner meeting.

Kinda late for an office thing.

Dinner meeting, and I’m there to take notes.

I hope you’re getting overtime.

Yeah, I don’t know.

I need to tell you something, but I’m not ready to share with the group chat.

What did that d-bag do?

Dumped me.

What?!?!?!

Are you happy? ’Cause I’m super-duper happy.

I’m not there yet.