SHE LOCKED THE BEDROOM DOOR
“Okay.”
I stared at her.
“You’re officially frightening me.”
Mom faced me.
“You can go with Ethan tonight.”
I folded my arms.
“If this is about him having Down syndrome—”
“No.”
“Because I’m eighteen.”
“I know.”
“He’s my best friend.”
“I know that too.”
“Then what exactly is happening?”
Mom sat.
“Do you remember when your father left?”
That was not the question I expected.
“What does Dad have to do with Ethan?”
“Nothing directly.”
“Then why—”
“Something happened that year.”
I stopped.
“You were twelve.”
“I know.”
“You stopped eating lunch.”
My arms dropped.
“How do you know that?”
Mom looked straight at me.
“Ethan told me.”
ETHAN HAD FOUND MY MOTHER CRYING IN HER CAR
“One afternoon,” she said, “I was sitting in the parking lot outside school.”
“Why?”
“I had just spoken to your father.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I thought nobody could see me crying.”
“But Ethan did.”
Downstairs, faintly, I heard him laughing at something my aunt said.
Mom heard him too.
“What happened?”
“He came to the car.”
“And?”
“He asked if you were broken.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
“He said you weren’t eating.”
“You weren’t laughing.”
“You sometimes sat alone.”
I had forgotten most of those lunches.
Ethan hadn’t.
“What did you tell him?”
“That you weren’t broken.”
Mom wiped her cheek.
“And then Ethan said something I never forgot.”
“What?”
She took my hand.
“He said…”
Her voice cracked.
‘Good. Because I don’t know how to fix people. I only know how to stay.’
I couldn’t speak.
