I scowled again, and despite his consistent pleas, I refused to tell him anything else.
“You know what? I’ll get it out of you — I always do.”
Then a mischievous smile curled on his face.
“Tonight I’m getting you drunk.”
3
Luke
I’d just tucked my new book, Obey, in between my mattress and my box spring. My mom wouldn’t find it there.
But I never knew when she’d do a random sweep of my room, acting like she was “cleaning.” That was only a facade for her sniffing around for my secrets.
She’d always been overprotective, but since I went away to college and then had to come back, her presence had evolved into that of a military-grade helicopter parent.
Which was embarrassing; I was a twenty-year-old man for crying out loud!
As I flopped down on my bed staring at the ceiling, I watched the fan rotate and thought about that handsome guy I’d exchanged a few words with at the book store: How tall he was, how broad those shoulders were, how… absolutely ripped his body was. And again, I cursed myself for not being able to work up the courage to say hello.
Like always when I met a beautiful stranger, I closed my eyes and imagined how our whole relationship would play out: He’d treat me like gold, and I would be happy. He’d be rich, and take me away from this place. We’d go on all these amazing adventures around the world, and then we’d get married, and adopt a kid.
I turned over in the comfort of my bed, reveling in the happiness this thought caused me and punishing myself for how pathetic it was.
The front door opened and a rustling noise echoed throughout the house.
“Luke! Can you help me with groceries?” My mom called.
My alone time was over.
Checking to make sure the book was obscured under my mattress, I shouted “Coming!” and then joined her in the foyer under the chandelier.
She was slightly windswept as her calculating steely eyes surveyed me. It was like she could automatically detect secrets when she looked at me like that.
I followed her outside, watching as her blonde hair whipped in the wind.
“So what have you been up to today, Luke?” she asked, jumping into detective mode.
Could she tell that I’d met someone? Was there some kind of keen sense that mothers had where they could tell if their children were falling into an obsession?
“Just went to the bookstore,” I said honestly, knowing what question would come next.
“Oh yeah? Did you see Mrs. Carr there?” she asked, handing me a gallon of milk from the back seat.
“What?” I asked, completely surprised by her question. I’d expected her to ask what book I’d gotten. “Yeah, she was there. We talked for a little bit.”
My mom turned to hand me another paper bag, a smile spreading across her face. “I’m sure she tried to make you feel a certain way.”
My shoulders sagged ever so slightly. “She did.”
Mom wrapped her arms around a small watermelon, carrying it like a baby. Then she closed all of the doors to the car and locked it, with plenty of groceries still inside.
“You know we’re coming right back out here, right?” I asked.
“I just want to be safe,” she said, her voice gentle but with an unmistakable sharp warning to it.
“Okay,” I relented, setting down my verbal sword. This was not the time or place to pick a fight.
We walked into the house and set down the groceries on the table, then proceeded to go back to the car trip after trip.
I could feel that questions were forming in her mind; things that she was trying to figure out just the right phrasing to extract the information she wanted.
As we put the groceries away, she finally began her interrogation. For half an hour as we got everything put away, I slowly emptied the details of my day onto the table.
She thought she was being clever as she probed me, but I knew exactly what she wanted.
She wanted to know if I was seeing anybody.
So you can make damn sure that I was careful not to tell her anything about seeing that stranger at the bookstore.
As if she could sense my secrecy, her steely gaze pierced me. Then finally she came out and said it.
“Something is off about you today.”
“I’m just tired,” I deflected. It was half-true.
“Did you have an attack today?” She asked, her steely gaze melting to a liquid silver of worry.
“I…” I began, knowing I had to tread carefully here. If I admitted to having another anxiety attack, she would undoubtedly try to put me on medication again. “…no, I’m just tired,” I answered with a cutting irritation on the edge of my words.
Mom pursed her lips, sensing my lie.
Something must have been on her mind because if she was purely focused on finding out about my day, her questioning would have been ten times worse.
“Okay, but you know I’m just looking out for you. I don’t want something like… something like last year to happen again.”
I froze. There had been a silent agreement between us to never bring that up again.
The incident. The thing that drove me to spend time at home with my family, rather than finish college.
“It won’t,” I promised, looking down.
She came up behind me and wrapped me up in a huge hug that was much too tight. “You’re my baby boy. I don’t want anything bad to ever happen to you again…”
“Mom, it won’t…” I gave her arm a gentle squeeze, and she seemed to realize how tight she was holding onto me. She let go.
Then for seemingly no reason at all, I felt that trembling start somewhere deep in my gut. It felt a little like my soul was vibrating.
Even though I wasn’t consciously thinking about it, her mentioning the incident caused something in the background of my mind to begin whirring about and spinning cycles about what had
