At this news, I could see why Ethan’s sleepovers were popular; I always laid out a spread for his friends. And I wasn’t certain we’d ever had broccoli in our house since the day he was born.

I smiled at him, but the truth of it was, I should make my kid eat more broccoli and green beans and shit like that, and less Pringles, Oreos, and M&M’s.

I wondered what Peggy would do if she ever learned how bad I let my kid eat.

Shit, maybe I should take a turn down the veggie aisle, and not just to pick up wonton wrappers for those sausage things I liked to make during football games.

“See why they wanna come here?” he asked me. “Because you dress cool and act cool and you don’t make us put our pop cans on coasters and stuff. And if the Xbox acts up, you know how to get back there and wiggle the right cables to get it working. Teddy’s mom makes us wait until his dad gets home because she doesn’t know anything about the TV, at all. I mean, what kinda guy, kid or grown-up, wouldn’t wanna be with a lady who’s cool like you?”

God, he was going to make me cry and I wasn’t sure my tear ducts even worked anymore. They’d dried up after Lowe fucked me over. If the waterworks turned on again because my kid was being all kinds of sweet, it could be catastrophic.

In other words, I had to put a stop to this immediately.

In an effort to do that, I warned, “You’re earning me exceeding my quota of gooey this week.”

He turned fully to me, and I realized he was being very serious, or more serious than I’d realized he was being (and I’d already figured he was being serious).

He had something to say that meant something to him.

This meant I needed to shut up and listen.

“Well, whatever. Be gooey, I don’t care,” he declared. “But I’m not gonna be here forever, Mom. Five years, I’m gonna have my license and be on the football team. That means practice after school and conditioning and swimming on the weekends. And I’ll have a babe and I’ll need to take her out. I’ll be gone a lot. Then what are you gonna do?”

“Ethan,” I muttered, dreading that time, upset that he recognized that time would come and he worried about me.

“No, I wanna know,” he demanded. “I’m almost eleven. You think I don’t know how hard it is for you to look out for me? But you don’t seem to know I don’t need it. Okay, like, I get it that you can’t leave me at home alone at night and stuff like that. But I’d be good during the day. I could even walk home from school so Gramma or Vi don’t have to come and get me. It’s not like that’s crazy. Other kids do it.”