Eli’s head hangs. His shoulders droop. “You’re wrong about him, Mom. I know you’re mad at him, and yeah, the pill thing isn’t cool either, but Christian really does want to be a part of my life. He told me. And he’s going to talk to you about it when he gets here.”

Now I do take a step back. Every time I think my life can’t get any more fucked up, something new hits me over the head. I try to breathe in deep, but my throat is closing.

“When will he be here?”

“In a little bit. You need to talk to him, Mom,” Eli pleads. “Get it all straight. You don’t have to be with him if you don’t love him, but you can’t deny me the chance to have a real, true father who loves me. You can’t.”

“When he gets here, I’m going to need some time to talk to him. Alone,” I emphasize.

Eli nods. “Okay. But promise me you’ll listen to him. Give him a chance. Please.”

I set the scene with wine. Glasses. Cheese and crackers on a plate, although my stomach is twisted into such a knot, there’s no way I’m going to be able to eat or drink anything. For the first time in a long time, I don’t crave the soft cotton comfort of being wrapped in a pill’s haze.

My mind is sharp. Clear. I am ready for whatever comes next.

“Jewelann,” Christian says when I open the front door to find him leaning in the doorway. He’s brought … roses?

What an asshole.

I take the flowers with a deceptively happy murmur. Years of practice. I step aside to let him in. I take him to the kitchen and put the flowers on the counter.

“You should put those in some water,” he says.

I face him. “Wine? Snacks?”

His gaze takes in the table I’ve set. “No candles?”

“What do you want, Christian? Why are you here?” How many times have I had to ask him the same question over the past few months? Too many. But this time, I am determined to get an answer out of him.

“Eli asked me to come over and talk to you. Where is he, by the way?”

“Upstairs, in his room. I told him I wanted to see you privately.” I pour the wine and hand him a glass. My first sip goes down nice and smooth. I already feel drunk with anticipation.

Christian eyes me, suspicions clear on his face. Can’t trick a trickster, I guess. He looks at the glass.

“You spit in this?” He laughs as he says it but lifts and swirls it with the light behind it.

“I didn’t put anything in it.” I lift my glass.

He clinks his to mine and sips, his gaze never leaving mine. He runs his tongue over his lips when he takes the glass away. His small smile, smug, makes me want to laugh. He totally thinks I’m trying to seduce him.