Chapter 47 "The answer is no." Waylen freezes in the doorway, his hand still on the handle. "I literally just walked in. I haven't even said good morning." "Good morning, dear brother." I don't look up from dumping Fruit Loops into a bowl for Luka's breakfast. "The answer is still no." "What the hell, V? I haven't asked you anything." "But you're about to." I grab the Cheerios and add them to the colorful mess. "I can see it written all over your face. The Look." "What look?" "The Look that says you want me to do something I absolutely will not do." I brandish the cereal box at him like a weapon. "So let's just skip the part where you ask and cut straight to the no. Sing it with me: You say 'hell,' I say 'no'!" Waylen rolls his eyes and slides into a bar stool. "You're being ridiculous." "You're being ridiculous," I shoot back in my best high-pitched, bratty voice. "Christ, V. You look like a grown woman. Try acting like one." "Depends on the situation." He reaches for the bowl I just made for Luka and takes a spoonful. "Hey!" I snatch it away. "That's for Luka." "Luka's glued to the TV watching some documentary about black holes. He won't notice if you feed him cardboard." Waylen chases the bowl as I move it out of reach. "Is there more milk?" "Touch that milk and I'll pour the entire carton over your head." "Jesus. Who pissed in your coffee this morning?" I can't exactly tell him I woke up at 3:00 A.M. with my body humming and unsatisfied. That I spent an hour trying to take care of the problem myself, only to walk out of my room and nearly collide with a shirtless Kovan. One look at his abs and every nerve ending in my body caught fire all over again. "I didn't sleep well," I say instead. "Probably the guilt keeping you up," he remarks. I narrow my eyes. "What guilt?" "The guilt of not calling Mom in over a month." "Shit!" I slam the milk carton down so hard it sloshes onto the counter. "I should have seen that coming." "It's just a phone call," he chides me. "Ten minutes." "If only it were that simple." He tries to grab the milk again but I move it to the far counter. "She misses you, V." "Don't lie to make me feel better. Mom doesn't miss me. She has you. Her perfect son who never disappoints her." "V." "Fine, I'll call her," I mutter unconvincingly. "... Eventually. I just haven't had time lately." "Right. Because your fake boyfriend has been keeping you so busy." My stomach drops. "You didn't tell her about Kovan, did you?" "What kind of person do you think I am?" He wrinkles his nose. "Whether or not I approve of all this shit, I'm not going to throw you under the bus like that." Wilting, I reluctantly offer him the milk carton. "Sorry. I just... I don't know how to explain this to her." "You don't have to explain anything. You have a boyfriend. He has a nephew you help babysit. End of story." "She'll ask a million questions." "She always asks a million questions and you only have yourself to blame. Because you never tell her anything about your life." I glare at him furiously. "That's not fair." "Isn't it?" "I don't shut her out. She's just... She's not interested in me. She hasn't been since Dad died." Waylen's face softens, and he looks away. "See?" I press. "You can't even deny it." "V..." He runs a hand through his hair. "It's because you remind her of him. Your drive, the way you talk about medicine, your dedication. She can't look at you without seeing Dad." "I loved him, too." "I know. But it's different. You and I, we had our own lives. School, friends, careers. It was different for her. Mom's entire world revolved around Dad." I try to picture our childhood, but Waylen's right. Most of my memories are just me and Dad. Mom was there, of course, but floating in the background, making sure we had clean clothes and hot meals. As much house elf as mother figure. "She had her book club," I offer lamely. "For, like, a year, if that. And her knitting group met once a month-when they remembered." Waylen sighs. "She was a wife first, V. She cooked every meal, ironed every shirt. All her friends were wives of Dad's colleagues." He's right. Painfully right. "Dad's death destroyed you, but it erased her." Waylen reaches across the counter and touches my hand. "She lost her identity when she lost him." "I was so wrapped up in my own grief, I never..." I trail off, shame burning in my chest. "There's something else." I look up at him. "What?" "I always thought you knew how hard it was for her. I thought that's why you pulled back from relationships." "What do you mean?" He gives me a look that says he can't believe I'm this clueless. "V, the first relationship you've had in years is fake. That's not a coincidence." I cringe and hide my face. I hurt in a way that's not quite physical and not quite emotional. "I'll call her today," I mumble quickly, desperate to change the subject, if only to stop this strange aching in my chest. Waylen pulls out his phone and slides it across the counter. "No time like the present." I stare at the phone like it might bite me. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" "What are big brothers for?" I pick up the phone, already planning my revenge. Maybe I'll put salt in his coffee tomorrow. Or hide his car keys. Or maybe I'll just finally tell him the truth about how terrified I am that he's right about everything. Waylen steps out of the room to give me space without saying much. He knows this is hard for me. That I'd prefer to keep my baggage buried deep out of sight. The problem is that that baggage is alive and well and lives in this city, and goes by the name Mom. I can't exactly ignore her forever. I dial her number before I can lose my nerve. She answers with panic in her voice. "Vesper? Is everything okay?" Her voice sounds exactly the same as it always does since we lost Dad. Thin. Tired. Like she's speaking through Styrofoam. "Everything's fine, Mom. I just wanted to call and check in." "Oh." There's a pause, and I can practically hear her trying to figure out what to say next. "That's... that's nice, sweetheart." The awkward silence opens wide between us, filled with all the things we don't know how to say to each other anymore. I used to think it was because we were both grieving. Now, I'm wondering if we just never learned how to talk without Dad as our translator. "How's work?" she asks finally. "Busy. Same as always." I twist a strand of hair around my finger. "How are you doing?" "Fine. Keeping busy." Fine. That's no answer at all. I want to ask what she does all day in that empty house. Whether she still sets the table for two out of habit. Whether she's eating enough. Whether she misses me at all. "Waylen says you've been working too much," she continues. "He worries too much." "He gets that from your father." I cringe. She says it with a fake brightness, like it's totally normal to reference Dad, like both of us weren't ruined by his loss. "Mom-" "You should come for lunch next weekend," she interrupts. "Both of you. I'll make that chicken salad you used to like." "I..." I glance at Waylen, who's returned to the kitchen and is now listening shamelessly while pretending to read a newspaper. "Sure. Yeah, that sounds good." "Wonderful. Saturday at noon?" "Saturday at noon," I repeat. "And Vesper? You should bring your boyfriend." My blood turns to ice. "My what?" "Waylen mentioned you're seeing someone. I'd like to meet him." I'm going to murder my brother. Slowly. With a rusty spoon. "That's really not necessary, Mom. We're still pretty new and⁠-" "Nonsense. If he's important enough for you to spend time with, he's important enough to meet your mother." There's something in her voice I haven't heard in years. A spark of interest. Of life. "I'll ask him," I lie. "But he might be busy." "Well, ask. I'm sure he can spare an afternoon." "Right. Of course." We say our goodbyes and I hang up, my hands shaking slightly. Waylen is grinning at me like the smug asshole he is. "How'd that go?" he asks innocently. "You told her about Kovan." "I mentioned you were dating someone. That's different." "She wants to meet him." "And?" "And I can't exactly bring my fake boyfriend to family lunch, can I?" Waylen shrugs. "Why not? You bring him everywhere else." I consider it for exactly two seconds. Kovan meeting my mother. My fragile, broken mother who still wears her wedding ring and keeps Dad's coffee mug in the same spot on the counter. The woman who might finally have a reason to smile again if she thinks I'm happy. The woman who will be devastated when this whole thing inevitably falls apart. "No," I say firmly. "Absolutely not." "Your loss." "I'll tell her he had to work. That he couldn't make it." "You're going to lie to your own mother?" "I'm protecting her." Waylen gives me a look that says he knows exactly what I'm really protecting. "Right. Sure you are." I grab a dish towel and whip it at his head. He ducks, laughing. "She sounded better today," he offers. "More like herself." "She sounded exactly the same as always." "V-" "She still sounds like she's drowning, Waylen. Like she's been holding her breath since the moment the coffin hit the dirt and she still can't remember how to exhale." His smile fades. "Give her time." "How much time does she need? Because I'm running out of ways to pretend everything's fine with her. With either of us." "Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you should stop pretending." I stare at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Maybe you should tell her how you really feel. About Dad. About her. About everything." The suggestion terrifies me more than facing down Jeremy Fleming ever could. "I can't." "Why not?" "Because what if she can't handle it? What if hearing how angry I am makes her worse?" "What if it makes her better?" I don't have an answer for that. Instead, I walk past him toward the living room, deliberately sticking my foot out to trip him as I go. He stumbles but catches himself, laughing. "Real mature, V." "I learned from the best, big brother." But as I watch Luka absorbed in his documentary about black holes, all I can think about is the spark in Mom's voice when she asked about my boyfriend. And how much it's going to hurt her when I show up alone.