Page 93 of The Casting Couch

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“I just can’t believe how fancy it all is,” Mom said for the third time, stepping gingerly over my rug like it was made of human hair.“Nicholas, this place is gorgeous.And in New York City?This must cost a fortune.”

I watched her touch nearly every surface like she was planning to list it on Zillow later.She trailed a manicured nail along the edge of my bookshelf, poked at my throw pillows, opened a kitchen cabinet and gasped like I’d hidden gold bars behind the coffee mugs.

“It’s small,” I said, slouching against the wall with my arms crossed.“Barely a two-bedroom.I have neighbors who scream through the walls and a radiator that sounds like it’s coughing up ghosts.”

She didn’t hear a word of it.

“Real hardwood floors,” she cooed.“Look at you, making it in the big city.You always were a striver.”

Right.I’d strived my way through homelessness, porn, and ramen for dinner five nights a week.Real pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps energy.

Thom, naturally, had made a beeline for the bathroom the second we got in.That had been fifteen minutes ago.

Fifteen.

No flush.No sounds.Just the occasional thump, like maybe he was fighting the medicine cabinet for dominance.

“Is he okay in there?”I asked, already praying for a plumbing disaster big enough to end the visit.

Mom waved it off.“Oh, you know Thom.Sensitive tummy.”

God.

I wanted them out.I wanted my apartment back.I wanted my air back.I wanted to crawl into a hole lined with sarcasm and denial and never speak of today again.

Mom plopped down on the edge of the couch, fanning herself dramatically like she’d just walked across the desert instead of from the elevator.“Do you entertain guests here often?”she asked with a knowing little smile.

“Not really,” I muttered.Unless you count filming adult content on the same couch, you’re now contaminating with the weight of your judgment and cheap perfume.

She looked around again.“You must make good money.”

I didn’t answer.

Eventually, blessedly, the toilet flushed.A few seconds later, Thom emerged, looking… suspiciously refreshed.Like he’d just done something he absolutely should not have done in someone else’s home.

I didn’t want to know.

He smiled.“Nice place, buddy.You got any beer?”

“Nope,” I said, already heading for the door.“Time to get you two back to your hotel.”

“Oh, we’re stayin’ in Queens!”Mom chirped.“A cute little place called The Galaxy Moon Inn.Real eclectic.”

“Sounds radioactive,” I said.

She ignored me and gathered her purse.Thom clapped me on the back a little too hard, like we were frat brothers instead of total strangers, and then, finally, they left.

The second the door closed behind them, I bolted it and leaned against it like they might try to ghost back in.The apartment fell quiet.Blessedly, deliciously quiet.I crossed the room in slow motion and collapsed onto the couch, limbs heavy and buzzing from emotional static.

My mother.Here.

With that man.

Pretending this was normal.

Pretending we were a family.

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