Page 9 of Masquerade Mistake

She nods, setting her coffee on the table next to her and grabbing her smokes. “I thought she disappeared, off on one of her drug binges. That girl was always trouble.”

“That was a long time ago,” I point out. I don’t point out the irony of her remark. I tilt my head toward her as she lights her cigarette. “Hey, you need to stay awake when you smoke. One of these days, you’re going to burn this house down.”

“And then I’ll be dead, and you won’t have to worry about me anymore, will you?”

I’m not shocked by this statement. She says something like this almost every time I see her.

“I don’t think we have enough money in this house to cover your funeral.” At this, I get one of her wide-mouthed grins. Despite the way her teeth have rotted in the front, I see the mom I knew from time to time. The one who brushed the hair from my face before kissing my forehead, and who made my lunches. The one who skipped drinking and dates so she could stay home with me to watch a movie. By the time I was fourteen, that mom disappeared completely. But for a time, I had her.

I stand, brush the few wisps of hair away from her face, and then kiss her forehead. Her skin feels like leather under my lips. “It was good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Claire. Don’t be a stranger.”

I brush the tears from my face as I drive away, feeling dirty for having been in that house for so long. Feeling guilty that I’m not saving her from it. Feeling shame that I don’t want to. For all the ways she’s wrecked me, I’m still tethered to her by some invisible string—a bond that keeps me from severing ties altogether. I have to know she’s okay, even as I resent her. And I’m not her keeper.

Why can’t I just let her go?

Chapter 4

Finn swings his legs as he dips a French fry in tartar sauce. How I made a kid who likes anything made with sweet pickles is beyond me. But when you have a picky eater like mine, you learn to never question the foods he does like. You just keep a healthy supply of it. Or pray that the restaurant has it on hand.

Thankfully, Hillside does. They also have a killer Sonoma salad, full of apples, walnuts, raisins, and feta cheese, topped with smoked chicken. I’ve made a serious dent in it, while Finn has only touched his fries and not his burger. I have a feeling I’m looking at my lunch for tomorrow.

Maren is on stage, her eyes closed as she grips the microphone. Her voice is powerful enough to not even need the mic, and honestly I think this place is too small for her. But her fanbase showed up, and they’re dancing at the foot of the stage while she nails every key. Every so often, she looks out at me and winks, and I blow her kisses. We’re seated at the back corner of the restaurant to save Finn’s little ears, but I’m thrilled when he takes time out from his French fries to watch his Auntie Maren sing on stage. She promised me tonight’s performance was family friendly, and I cringe as she sings the F word for the third time that night.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Finn sings softly as he scoops a mountain of tartar sauce onto a tiny fry.

“Finn, sweetie, we don’t say that word. And easy on the tartar sauce, that french fry looks like it needs a break.”

He pops the fry in his mouth and grins, showing me a slush of fry and sauce. I wrinkle my nose in mock disgust, then show him my chewed-up salad.

“Gross!” he laughs, and I’m pretty sure it’s because they’re vegetables, and has nothing to do with their masticated state.

On her break, Maren says hello to a few fans before heading to our table. She grabs my fork and starts in on my salad, eating as if she hasn’t had anything all day. I’m full anyway, so I push the plate toward her and nod my head, indicating she should finish it. I still have my mom on the brain, and if Finn weren’t here, I’d want to talk it out with Maren—even though the story hasn’t changed. My mom is a wreck, and I’m always going to be the one picking up the pieces.

“See that guy over there?” Maren murmurs, snapping me out of my thoughts. I turn my head in the direction she’s looking, noticing the guy she’s referring to at the bar. Noticing is too small a word. He’s wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt, but it doesn’t hide the shape of his hardened pecs or broad shoulders. His tan arms are completely covered with black and grey tattoos, only accentuating the fact that this guy is ripped. His dark hair is mussed like he’s spent the day surfing, which wouldn’t be abnormal here in Sunset Bay. But it’s his smile that gets me the most. He has a clean-cut beard that perfectly outlines his chiseled jaw, and as he talks with the bartender, his mouth melts into an irresistible smirk, as if he’s holding a secret. It makes me mentally lean in, wanting to uncover whatever he isn’t saying behind that smile. Maren nudges me and I realize I’m smiling, too. I quickly break my gaze only to notice her Cheshire Cat grin. I realize immediately who he is.

“Oh no,” I say, shaking my head.

“Oh yes,” she answers. “That’s Ethan Chance, the guy I was telling you about.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious. Look at him!”

“No, I mean you can’t be serious that you brought me here to meet him while I’m with…” I nod my head toward Finn who is too busy swirling a soggy fry in tartar sauce to even know what we’re talking about.

“No, you dolt. I know better than that. I brought you here so you could get a preview before you go out with him tomorrow night.”

“Maren, I told you…” I stop, look at Finn. “I can’t,” I hiss.

“Yes, you can,” she says. “I saw the look on your face when I pointed him out. You think he’s cute.”

“I think a lot of guys are cute. It doesn’t mean I’ll go out with any of them.”

Maren stares at me, her eyes hyper-focusing like she will bore holes into my head. I’ve seen her use this look in public, and it’s intimidating as hell. But I’m mad as hell. I match her stare, refusing to look away until she sighs.

“Just one date,” she pleads. “I’m not asking anything more. Just one date, and I’ll shut up for the rest of my life about your sad, pathetic, nonexistent dating life.”

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