BEING WITH KYLE WAS TO FEEL A LITTLE LESS ALONE, A LITTLE less scared, and a little less like some messed up Lars von Trier heroine. It was to feel proactive about my own condition, and to refuse victimhood. It was to feel believed. But every mother reading this will understand when I say—when your child asks you to stop, you stop. There wasn’t a question. Doing something that caused Ashley hurt or distress was basically the single greatest fear I had lived with since I pushed her slimy, screaming body out of mine. Nothing was worth risking our connection, or her well-being, even if it meant remaining mired in the headfuck of the hum forever. So I left for school that morning with the plan to pull Kyle aside, at the end of class, and tell him that we couldn’t continue—except, he didn’t come to class.

At lunch, Cass and I were eating disappointing sandwiches at my desk and diagnosing a persistent sex dream of hers about Alfred Molina, when there was a knock at the door, and Valeria strode into the room, followed by a compact woman with leathered skin and blond hair faded to the colour of dishwater. Kyle had shown me a photo of this woman before. Her name was Brenda, and she was his mother. A bank teller, probably my age. I always felt a kinship for fellow young mothers. We’d all been through the shit in one way or the other. I could always pick one out in a crowd. Too few years stretched over too much living. Kyle trailed behind both women, eyes to the floor.

Hi, Claire, Valeria said, with a curt smile. Do you have a moment?

Yes, hi, I said, rising from my chair. What’s going on?

Well that’s what we’re here to figure out. Valeria’s bob cut jostled as she turned to Cass. Do you mind giving us a few minutes, Cassandra?

Of course, Cass said, glancing at Kyle, and then back at me. I saw her read the fear on my face. She frowned as she gathered her things and made towards the door. Valeria pulled two more chairs over to my desk. From out in the hallway I could hear the conversation and laughter of students, completely oblivious to the imminent implosion of my life. As Cass reached the door she gave me an odd look, which I held, as she closed the door behind her.

Claire, this is Kyle’s mother, Mrs. Francis, Valeria said. The familial resemblance was uncanny, especially in the eyes.

Very nice to meet you, I replied, extending my hand.

What’re you doing with my son? she asked, ignoring my hand. I told her I would be happy to talk to her about it. Oh really, would you be? she replied, vicious.