"No," Ash snipes back. "I had math."
"He hates math," Ethan supplies, "which is weird because he's really good at it."
I stare at the TV, one eyebrow cocked. "Should he be grateful that he's good at it? Gratitude isn't happiness."
Ethan shrinks back into himself, his mouth hanging open a second. "I...I guess not."
Shitty CEO wisdom smackdown. Keeps the smaller people in their place.
American Idol breaks for commercials, and Ash starts singing along to some candy jingle.
"I've been playing him Mozart. Not sure it's working." Ethan sighs.
I crack a grin. "Try some Motley Crue, then."
A cereal commercial flashes up on the TV. Usual American Pie scenario: pretty blond Stepford mom, dad in a mid-priced business suit. Two kids in clean, bright clothes gorge on Disney Bullshit Puffs amid a dripping sea of milk. Mom fusses, Dad's in a rush—why the hell are TV fathers never at work on time? I'd fire him.
Ash is strangely glued to this farce. "I don't have a mama," he says matter-of-factly.
I swallow. "You have one. She's just not here."
"She went to heaven."
"Uhuh."
Ethan shifts about uncomfortably. I know Ash rarely asks about Mom; he's told me.
"I don't have a Dad, either," says Ash. "Do I?"
"You've got a father," I correct. "It's not the same thing. Remember?"
"No," he mumbles, looking glum.
"Besides. You have an awesome uncle and an awesome nanny." I poke him gently in the ribs. "And we have awesome times together."
"Yeah. But I think I'd like a mama."
Ethan winces; I shake my head and shrug in a whaddaya-gonna-do? fashion.
Ash's father is almost certainly dead. There was no confirmation of the fact other than the last person to see him was my mother, and there's never been a word from him since—I couldn't find anything. Technically, Ash was fatherless before he was even born; by the time his second birthday rolled around, he was newly orphaned.
Nobody gave a shit. Just palmed him off to me without question. Lore Incorporated was still a start up; my hours were crazy; I wasn't the media's favourite person at the time. But hey, one less kid for the state to worry about, right?
Sometimes, I don't know what would have been better: corruption via our mother, or corruption via...me. Maybe it's kinder to let him know what the world is really like early on. Ignorance is only bliss if you're ignorant.
"Any plans for the weekend?" I ask Ethan.
"Nope. Well. Just gonna take care of Mom," he says, and then catches sight of Ash and cringes, despite the fact the boy hasn't heard.
"How is she these days?"
"The meds are helping. Slowly, but they're helping. It's all you can ask for, right?"
"I told you I'd fund the surgery," I say quietly.
"I know. And I appreciate it, you have no idea." He sighs again. "She's just old, you know? She doesn't have that kind of fight in her."
"I like a little fight," I find myself murmuring.
Ethan's eyes narrow, but he says nothing.
***
Speaking of corruption: Tommy calls me on Saturday morning. I have to lock myself in the bathroom just to escape the Moshi Monsters theme.
"What?" I bark, annoyed.
"Yo, chief. I got something for ya."
"And what might that be?" Jesus Christ, these jerks and their Big Reveals. Just spit it out already—you're not being clever.
"Leo went out to breakfast and there was someone following her home," he almost whispers. "That chick you gave me the info on? Miss Fordham? I'm damn sure it was her."
I sink down to sit on the toilet. "And Leo didn't know she was there?"
"Don't think so. Fordham didn't attempt to communicate with her once—just walked a while behind."
"What happened when Leo got home?"
"Nada. Fordham just waited at the end of the block, did some shit on her phone, and left after about ten minutes. She looked upset, though. Kinda troubled."
I think back to Leo's second phone; the older-looking one. Had she just received a message from Rachel, begging her to come out...?
"Anything else?" I ask.
"That's all. Just thought you'd want to know," he says earnestly. "But I have to say—it don't look like they're friends, if you get my drift."
"Interesting."
Rachel used to follow me, once.
We all know how that ended.
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
Home
Aged 17
"Aeron!" Mom yells up the stairs. "That girl's outside again."
Again.
I've warned Rachel.
We can't be seen together. We're not official. Worst of all, she's oblivious to our different positions in the social hierarchy.
I don't want to tire of her. It's not conducive to my goals. And yet, more and more, I find myself tempted. Careless.
I put down my PlayStation controller and head downstairs.
"Oh, so you did hear me." Mom doesn't look up from her makeup mirror; she's perched on the edge of the mahogany dresser in the hall, half way through applying apricot lipstick. Another date tonight, then. "She's hanging out by the car. Get rid of her before I do."