Page 17 of The Man in Mom's Bed
Grease is embeddedin the lines of my fingers, a permanent tattoo of honest work. The invoice Katie finished this morning sits perfect on my workbench–her handwriting neat, precise, and nothing like the chaos of the trailer park she comes from. She’s taken up her administrative position at the garage like she was born to it, transforming my scattered receipts into something resembling an actual business.
The satisfaction sits warm and heavy in my chest, but somehow dangerous, like a loaded weapon.
Through the office window, I watch her gathering suppliers’ catalogs, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in focused concentration. Fluorescent light sparkles off the ring I placed on her finger a week ago. A week of her wearing my claim, showing the world she belongs to me.
Her scent has spread through the place, adding a sweet femininity to a place soaked in oil and grease. Her moans still play back in my mind every time I think about when I had her on her back on the floor, showing her just how good she could take it.
A movement outside flashes in my peripheral vision, and my body instantly tenses up.
It’s Mercedes, standing by the bay door like a phantom. A specter of a terrible decision I once made, clutching something with her fake nails. An envelope.
My body moves before I even think about what I’m doing. Instantly, I’m between her and the office, walling her off from Katie.
“Cameron.” My voice sounds rotten from her mouth. “You and I need to talk.”
“No. We don’t.”
She smiles a foul grin, ugly and knowing. “We do. Unless you want Katie to miss out onthis.” She waves the envelope in my face, official and important looking.
“What is that?”
“Mom?” Katie appears in the doorway behind me, drawn by her mother’s voice.
“Hey there, sweetheart.” Mercedes’ tone is fake like artificial sweetener. She’s really hamming it up right now. “Look what came in the mail. Your scholarship letter!”
The words echo off the space around us like a bomb being dropped. Katie’s eyes widen, bright with hunger and an ambition I fully recognize—the same hunger she had when she first told me about applying for this.
“I–I got in?” Her voice nearly breaks with surprised joy. “The full scholarship?”
“You got in, sweetie. Books, tuition, housing, even a meal plan.” Mercedes’ eyes are on me as she hands her daughter the letter. “You could start spring semester. Meet peopleyour own age. It would be great.”
The subtext is about as subtle as breaking glass. Mercedes is not here to celebrate with her daughter; she’s here to destroy. To plant a cancer in the relationship Katie and I have built.
“Got in?” I ask, confused. “I didn’t even know you applied.”
Katie traces the envelope with her fingers. She looks at me, and I watch her searching my face for a reaction. “Yeah…I never really mentioned it because I didn’t think I’d get it.”
I do my best to force a smile—I really am happy for her. But she must see right through me, as the joy on her face instantly dims like a lightbulb being turned down.
“It’s…it’s nice, Mom,” she says carefully. “But I work at the garage now. Cam needs me—”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. She’s making herself small again, only this time it’s not for her mother—it’s for me.
Mercedes laughs, happy as a pig in shit. “Well, I’ll just leave you two lovebirds to discuss my daughter’s future—the one that doesn’t involve trapping her in a garage at the age of eighteen.”
She leaves, but her poison still lingers between us.
“Cam—”
“Congratulations.” I force the word from my mouth. I mean it, but it’s so hard to say. “You earned it.”
There’s a brief pause as she looks at me, clutching the envelope like it’s either precious or might explode. “I don’t have to go, Cam. You just started the garage, and—”
“And you’re eighteen years old with a full scholarship, baby.” Each word pains me, costs me, like a tax leached from my flesh. “That’s not something you throw away.”
Katie’s chin lifts defiantly. “I’m not throwing anything away. I’m making achoice. And I chose you.Us.”
Her words should fill me with pride, satisfaction. Instead, they stab into me like knives.
