Page 41 of Masquerade Mistake

“I’m not done,” I say, then spoon some “cheese” sauce over the broccoli. Ethan had suggested nacho cheese sauce, and I just couldn’t bring myself to buy the processed canned stuff to put over something healthy. So I made my own vegan version using cashews and nutritional yeast.

“What is it?” he asks, inspecting the faux cheese. I say nothing as he dips his finger in the sauce and then touches his tongue. His face relaxes as he spears a small piece of “cheese” covered broccoli and puts it in his mouth. I expect to see him start gagging, but instead he just chews. Then he tries another one. I dip my own finger in the sauce and realize it tastes nothing like cheese. I decide it’s best if I don’t tell him what it’s supposed to taste like.

“You like it?” I ask, and fight hard not to grin when he nods his head yes. Outwardly I act as if this is no big deal, but inside I’m throwing a party for one, celebrating that my kid is eating actual grown-out-of-the-ground vegetables. I pick up my phone to text Ethan that his plan worked. I get as far as typing out the first few words before I remind myself—again—that we’re not speaking.

Damn, this hurts.

Instead, I text Maren. But the text remains unseen and unanswered. That isn’t a surprise since Maren is at a gig—her third one this week. I’m happy for her, but not for me since this means I’ve been mostly on my own this week.

Finn cleans his plate, even going so far as to lick the “cheese” from the surface until there’s nothing left. Then he brings his plate to the sink without complaint. I’m so happy, I undo all the health benefits of the broccoli by serving us both a double scoop of ice cream, topped with chocolate syrup. Finn takes his own bath, which has become our new normal, though he still lets me wash his hair. Then, once he’s snuggled in his bed, I read him another chapter of Mrs. Piggle Wiggle before kissing him goodnight. I leave the door open a crack and the hall light on, then pad to the kitchen to finish washing the dishes before I start working.

On the counter is a flyer Finn brought home from school, advertising the traveling carnival that’s in town right now. I’d noticed them setting up earlier this week in the giant parking lot outside the Sunset Pavilion Strip Mall and thought it might be something fun to do this weekend. Sunset Bay doesn’t have a traditional fair like other towns do, and the carnival only comes around every few years. The last time I brought Finn, he was too little to enjoy many of the rides. We’d spent most of our time at the petting zoo, riding the merry-go-round, and eating the container of healthy food I brought while kids around us ate corndogs. But this year I know he’s tall enough to ride the roller coasters, and I can’t wait to see his face. And maybe I’ll also lighten up on the healthy food for one day.

I’d been to the carnival on my own several times as a teen, but only once with my mom. I must have been around Finn’s age, and I remember feeling annoyed that she brought Hal, a guy she was seeing at the time. What I remembered most about him was how handsy he was. If he didn’t have his arm around my mom, he was always rubbing my shoulders, playing with my hair, or trying to hold my hand. Every time he touched me, I’d move a little further away, only to have him laugh at how shy I was. At one point, he tried to sit me in his lap, but my mom told him to save our table near the live music while she took me on some rides.

I clung to my mom’s arm as we navigated the crowd. She purposely chose rides we could go on together, including the huge Ferris wheel at the end of the park. We rode so high we could see into the backyards of the neighboring houses. Mom would point things out, but I was too busy watching her face. Often when she smiled, it disappeared somewhere in her cheeks, and her eyes held a distant look. But on that Ferris wheel, my mother’s laugh radiated over her face, her eyes crinkling as the breeze caught her chestnut hair and swirled it around her face.

Growing up, I never really thought about whether my mom was pretty or not. She was just my mom. But the mom of that moment was the most beautiful woman I knew, and I spent years trying to find that smile again. It never came. It disappeared just as quickly as Hal did after that day.

I finish straightening the kitchen, then spend another hour in my office epoxying keychains and magnets for one of my regular authors. The Romance Lovers Book Expo is happening in San Francisco in a few weeks, and while spending this week alone has been torture on my nerves, it’s been excellent in getting ahead of schedule so that all the authors who have ordered through me will have their swag ready in time for the event.

I work until my eyes start burning and the back of my neck aches from hunching over. Rolling my head to relieve the pressure, I head to bed, grabbing my phone on the other side of the room on my way out of the office. I’ve started doing this to keep from checking it every five minutes, which has allowed me a reprieve from wishing Ethan would just break the silence. When I glance at the screen, the only text I have is from Maren, answering my earlier text.

Maren: I hardly think vegan cheese is a win, but whatever makes you happy.

I grin, then text her back about the carnival tomorrow.

Me: Do you want to go?

Maren: Can’t. Work, and then I have another gig at Hillside. Want to come see me after the carnival? I’ll save you a table.

I’m tempted. I still have a lot of work to do before the expo, but I’m also way ahead. I’m about to tell her yes, but then I read it again, seeing where it’s going to be. Hillside. My thoughts immediately move to Ethan. He’s sure to be working, since it’s Saturday night.

Me: Can’t.

I don’t give any reason, and I know Maren knows why—especially when I see the three dots signaling she’s typing, then see them disappear, then see them appear again.

Maren: OK

Ugh. Why do people ever type OK? There’s so much loaded into those two letters, including all the things she’s said about our situation over the past week. Mostly, she thinks I should break the silence and apologize for treading on his past, but also let him have it for dating a single mom and not preparing himself to meet my kid.

What Maren isn’t saying is that I should move on. I know if this were her, she’d drop him in a heartbeat and already have a date lined up for the weekend. But it took too many years for me to get to this point of actual dating, so I know she won’t suggest I forget about him and find someone who’s open to dating with kids.

And I don’t want to find someone else. Beyond the whole DNA thing, I see something in Ethan that he obviously doesn’t see in himself. When I’m with him, I know I have his full attention. It’s like he studies me, wanting to know everything there is about me. I think back to our date at the bookstore, how he “cheated” by having the clerk tell him which book I wanted. I love that he did his research instead of just assuming his opinion would be right. Like I did with my ulterior motive book. Ethan isn’t like this, though. He asks questions. He moved his schedule to fit around mine. He respected every boundary I had when it came to Finn. If he would just lower his walls a little, he would hit it off great with Finn, and probably be the dad Finn deserves.

It kills me that I have to push that last thought away when it comes to Ethan because no one should have that kind of pressure before they’re ready…even if Ethan is Finn’s dad.

Maren doesn’t text back after her paragraph of an OK, and I let that word close our conversation. My mind is swimming with wishes and regrets, but my heavy eyelids tell me to let it go until the morning. So I put my phone on silent and roll over, staring into the empty darkness of my room until sleep finally takes over.

Chapter 17

Morning light streams through my window, easing me out of sleep and into a reality of Finn’s feet at my back. Again. This kid. I scoot him over as he remains asleep, and then stretch to ease my aching pretzel spine. Then I reach for my phone to see the time. 7:40 a.m., and a text from Ethan.

My stomach does a slow roll, and I fight the urge to open it right away. I need coffee. I need to get my wits about me before I read whatever he has to say.

Scenarios scroll through my mind on the short walk from my bedroom to the kitchen. He could be breaking up with me. He could decide silence is overrated, and he’s now ready to tell me off. Or maybe he’s just letting me know when I can gather the various things I’ve left at his apartment, from my yoga pants to the toothbrush he gave me.

I pour my coffee, one eye still on my phone as if it’s going to do something. Part of me doesn’t even want to open the text. I sit at the kitchen table, placing my phone in front of me, and then clutch my coffee as I take a cleansing breath in and then let it out slow. Finally, I grab my phone and unlock it, then click the message open.

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