Serious Moonlight(77)

“We didn’t fall in a perilous pitfall, did we?”

“If we did, we can pull ourselves out.”

And for a moment, as I drifted off to sleep, listening to the soft thump of Daniel’s heartbeat, I believed that we really could.

Until I woke up the next morning to find his mother standing over us.





“We always know when we are awake that we cannot be dreaming.”

—Ruth Rendell, One Across, Two Down (1971)





24




* * *



“Get up,” Cherry said. “Now.”

Heart pounding, I flew off the couch and practically tripped over the blanket before I had time to realize that I wasn’t wearing pants. Daniel made a loud noise and jumped, but he saw his mom and immediately covered his boxers. “Jesus Christ,” he complained in a deep, sleep-rough voice. “What the hell, Mom?”

“What the hell is that you lied to me,” she said angrily. “You said you were taking her home last night. Now I come over here to find you two sleeping together?”

I wanted to die. I also wanted to put on my jeans, but she was standing next to them.

Daniel groaned and pulled his hair back out of his eyes. “We weren’t—we were only sleeping.”

Cherry snorted. “Sure. That’s what I’d tell Baba when I was your age. She didn’t believe me either. And I don’t think Dottie let you watch this place so you could have sex parties with your girlfriend.”

“Did you not just hear me?” he snapped back.

“I heard you just fine.” She pointed to the coffee table, where, next to the wilted lily from my hair, the box of condoms still sat. “And I see plenty fine too.”

Chum bucket!

“I know what it looks like,” Daniel said. “But it wasn’t even opened. See for yourself. Go on. Nothing happened. I asked her to stay here because—” He glanced at me. “It doesn’t matter. It was for her safety, and it’s none of your business.”

“I’m your mother. It will never stop being my business,” she said, throwing his shirt at him. “Go get dressed in the back. I want a word with Birdie alone, please.”

“Mom—”

She made a sharp hissing noise, and he relented, angrily snagging both pairs of jeans off the floor. As he handed mine over, he looked at me with big, sorrowful eyes, but I couldn’t even hold his gaze. I just shoved my feet into my jeans and quickly pulled them up while he walked past me. I was breathing so hard, it felt like I might collapse.

Cherry walked to the kitchen. I followed, and when she got to the counter, she turned around. “What are you doing with my son?”

I shook my head. “We didn’t do anything,” I said, voice breaking.

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do. I asked you a question. What are you doing with my son?”

“Um . . .” I didn’t know what she wanted me to say. We’re solving a mystery together at work didn’t seem like the right answer. Neither did I accidentally ate a bunch of weed candy last night and had a cataplexy episode, or the one I’m sure every mother loves to hear: I lost my virginity with your son, and now I might have feelings for him.

After a few awkward moments, she finally gave me a clue about what was going on in her mind, saying, “I know he told you about his self-harm incident.”

Is that what we were calling it? I nodded. “Yes, he did.”

“Then you can understand why he doesn’t need fair-weather girls in his life,” she said. “He needs stability. If you’re one of those girls who wants to have a wild weekend, find someone else. Because he’s a good kid, and he doesn’t need that right now.”

“What? I don’t even know what a wild weekend is,” I said, perplexed and defensive.

“I don’t know you, but I know my son. He’s emotional. He gets attached. I’m trying to keep him steady so that he doesn’t plummet into another depression. Do you really want to be responsible for that?”

How was I supposed to answer? I was confused and panicked, in a strange place with a strange woman. My eyes welled with tears. Don’t cry . . . Do. Not. Cry.

Daniel rushed into the kitchen. “What the hell? What did she say to you?” he asked me. When I shook my head, he said to his mother, “Seriously? What is wrong with you? You can’t keep pulling this shit. This isn’t normal!”

“Don’t tell me what’s normal. I’m your mother. I’m responsible for your well-being. You weren’t answering your phone.”

“So, you broke in here to check on me—”

“The back door was open.”

“—when I specifically asked you never to do that?”

“I will not talk about this now.”

Not in front of me. That was the implication. I could take a hint; I strode away from the kitchen to gather up my things.

“Birdie,” Daniel pleaded.

“It’s fine,” I said, feeling as if my heart were being shot with a dozen arrows—prick, prick, prick. “Talk to your mom. I’m going home.”

“I’ll take you,” Daniel said.

I shook my head. Prick, prick, prick.