I flop down on it, cradling my head in my hands. There is a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach as I realize I am no longer standing on level ground. It feels like the kind of haunting motion you experience after a day at the beach, when you lay down at night but your body is still rocking with the waves.

“I promise we’ll find a place with two bedrooms once Edna’s house sells. Okay? The sofa pulls out, and it’s brand-new. I had Gary pick it up and move it in this morning while I drove over to get you.”

She sits next to me and rubs my back briskly. I don’t like to admit it, but the nausea ebbs somewhat with her touch.

“Gary?” I seize on the only thing that might shed some light.

“You’ll meet him,” she says, pulling a smile over some emotion she doesn’t want me to see. “This is his place, really. I mean, I pay rent, but he owns it. He has a few properties around. He’s good people.”

Gary, I realize quickly, is the missing puzzle piece. I don’t know the full nature of their relationship, but it’s not hard to guess. He has a key if he owns the place and hand-delivered the sofa. And if he’s sleeping with my mom.

I busy myself with unfolding the sofa and putting my sheets on the wide, thin mattress. Once my comforter and pillows are in place, it actually looks cozy. And I am not in the market to be picky. That we have a roof and central air and heat, a drivable car, and a Gary for everything else is a lot to be grateful for. It could be much worse considering this is my mother we’re talking about—and it has been.

“Um, I need to clean up for bed.”

“The bathroom is all yours,” she calls from the kitchen where she is pulling things out of the fridge one at a time, sniffing them, and either putting them back in or dunking them in the trash.

We live together now, I tell myself. I say it over and over in my mind, emphasizing each word in turn, as though this will make it somehow more digestible. It doesn’t.