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Mrs. Lowe sweeps the cat up and cuddles it to her chest. “Her name is Petunia. Ethan got her when he was twelve.”
She seems to expect something from me, so I reluctantly poke Petunia’s head. She purrs and rubs my knuckles. Mrs. Lowe holds the cat out to Ethan. “Kiss her goodbye.”
A small smile cracks his mask and he gives the creature a peck on the head. “Ok, Mom,” he says awkwardly, voice thick. “Ana and Peyton will be here for you, and you can call me whenever you want.”
I stuff my hands deep in my pockets and wait to be elsewhere as he folds her in his arms and buries his face in her neck. I wonder if they’ve ever been apart this long in his life. It’s kind of a relief my own mom just abandoned me.
“Wait.” He squeezes her tighter, sounding scared. “I can’t do this.”
She gently pushes him away. “Go. I’ll be ok.” I stare at the plaster ceiling, looking for shapes. I find a horse and a cock. Then Ethan storms past me into the yard, carrying his bag, and I find myself standing alone with his mom, who has tears in her eyes.
“Okaay.” I sidle for the door. “See you around.”
“Wait, I forgot!” She runs into the kitchen and comes back with two small wax paper packets. “These are for you and Ethan, for the airport.” They warm my palm; when I look inside, I see two gooey chocolate-chip cookies. When I was in grade school, the moms were supposed to bring cookies the first Friday of every month. My mom, being in Germany with her new family, of course left me without cookies. One of the girls in the class gave me hers, and they felt like this. Hot, heavy, a little oily. Good.
“I don’t—”
“Take care of each other, ok?” When she reaches for my shoulder, I step back.
“You bet.”
I pick my way across the muddy, crabapple-strewn yard back to the car, snagging shotgun before Ethan can. I pull on headphones and lean against the door, closing my eyes.
If my life is as strange to you as yours is to me, maybe I understand why you hate me so much. Rest assured, it’s mutual.
On the freeway, I take off my headphones and hold up the cookies. “Your mom likes me.”
Just as I’m about to toss them into the back seat, he jerks forward against the seatbelt, glaring at me. “Don’t think about, speak of, or interact with my mother ever again.”
“Understood. Please forgive me.” I roll down the window and lob the cookies out onto the highway, watching the wax paper flutter away in the wind.
“Jesus Christ.” Gray presses a hand to his head as someone behind us honks. “Victor, can we not?”
I roll up the window and grin at Ethan.If that’s how you want to play, then let’s go. You’re on my turf now. Good luck.
