“You’re right about that. She burst into our bedroom and dumped all her concerns on us and woke us up. And I was pacing all night.” I heard her harumph on the other end. “So what happened?”

“Taylor texted me that she was having a housing issue, so I stepped in. I learned it by watching you, so maybe you’re not allowed to be angry.” I glanced over to a drawer in my desk. I knew it had pictures of Endgame and me. They used to be displayed, back when he lived in this room with me, but now they were hidden under some junk mail and a few invitations.

“How is she? What happened?”

I filled Mom in on Taylor’s situation and how my friends and I moved her stuff in at my place.

“Am I on speaker?” she asked.

“No. Regular phone, why?”

“That poor girl. You know she was always at our house because there was so much drama at her place. That she had to face all of that—I’m so glad you were there.” I could hear my mother’s smile. She was right. It was good that I had made sure Taylor was out and safe, but I was having severe misgivings about exposing her to Endgame and me and the wreckage of the relationship we once had.

“Yeah. She’s a good kid. She’ll be here with me for now. First, we come down from this whole debacle, then she and I can talk about alternate housing.” I thought I saw Taylor’s eyelids flutter, so I changed the conversation to dinner Sunday night. We were celebrating Dad’s birthday, so I checked in with Mom on the menu.

“Oh, it’s just hot dogs and hamburgers, but we’d love for you to make your famous mac and cheese. That’s honestly all your father wants to eat.” She sucked on her teeth. I was guessing Dad was in the room and she was giving him the business.

“That stuff is delicious, and I’m not even ashamed that I crave it.”

“You got it, Dad. I’ll bring Taylor with me, too.” I didn’t want to imagine leaving her here to deal with Endgame on her own. She was already getting over living with awful Roberta and her boyfriend. She didn’t need to get into my issues. It was bad enough she’d nursed my wounds with cold washcloths last night. I slipped off the bed and padded into the bathroom. Under this bright light, the mark from Endgame’s slap was still obvious. I wondered if I had marked him as well and snarled at myself when I got a little thrill that he’d have to explain it to any of his lovers in the near future.

See? Sick. Not okay. Not healthy.