Beau and I share a side look. “I love your mother very much.” His voice is soft and sincere. I know he loves me; he just doesn’t love me like I love him. He looks over at me. “And, well, I’m lucky that she feels the same.” He puts his hand on my knee, my eyes flying down to his hand.

“Is that why you always watch her?” Ethan asks. “And why you mumble things to yourself when she walks away?”

I look over at Beau. “Everyone loves differently,” I say.

“Cool,” Ethan says. “Where are we going to live?”

“Um …” I’m about to tell him that we will still live at our house, but then it’ll be hard to explain how a man and wife don’t live together.

“I like it here,” Ethan says. “We can bring our stuff here.”

“You can,” Beau says.

“Cool,” he says again. “Can I go watch television until bedtime?” he asks, and we both nod our heads. When he walks out of the room, Beau finishes the rest of his whiskey.

“Well, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” he says, hissing after taking four gulps of whiskey.

“Could have been a lot worse.” I close my eyes and lean back.

“Do you want to move in here?” he asks, and my eyes open now. “We can always live at your house. I just figured this is a bit bigger than your place.”

“Just a touch.” I laugh. “When are we going to do this?”

He’s about to answer me when his phone rings and so does mine. “It’s my father,” he says.

I look at my phone. “It’s my mother.”

“Well, this is the perfect opportunity,” he says, and my heart starts to speed up. “No time like the present.”

“I think I’m going to vomit,” I admit. He looks down and swipes to the right to answer the call.

“Hello,” he says, and I can hear his father’s voice rumbling out. He just listens. “I’ll be by the house tomorrow. Will you be there?” His father continues talking. “Good, I’ll be there at eight.” He hangs up. “Your turn.” He points at my phone that is ringing in my hand again.

“Hello.” I answer my mother.

“Good God,” she huffs out. “Took you long enough to answer.” I roll my eyes and glare over at Beau who snickers. “Mary Ellen just called to inform me about your accident.”

“Good news travels fast, I see,” I say sarcastically.

“That isn’t funny,” she hisses. “I told you that you were being reckless.”

“I don’t think me getting run off the road by a crazy driver is me being reckless, Mother.” I close my eyes, feeling that my head is going to start to throb any minute now.