“Getting life insurance is being smart. You don’t really want to kill him, though,” she says finally.

“No. I guess I don’t.”

“You definitely don’t,” Lisa says and leans closer to whisper into my ear. “You want to get someone else to do it for you.”

It’s an hour past when I was expecting Eli to get home from the concert. I think all mothers worry about their children not making it home safe and sound, but not all mothers actually know a child that disappeared. I’ve been watching the clock, but before I can text him or dissolve into a panic, the back slider from the deck opens.

“You know you’re supposed to text me if you’re going to be late.” I study him, looking for signs that he’s intoxicated or on something, but he seems fine.

Eli shrugs. “We got home a while ago, but I was hanging out with Christian.”

“I was worried,” I tell him.

“I’m sorry.”

“How was the show?” My eyes are drooping. Now that he’s finally home, my bed is calling to me.

He lights up. “Awesome. So, so cool. We had the best time.”

“I’m glad,” I say, and I am. “It’s late. I’m heading up to bed now. You are not to leave the house after I go. Understood?”

There’s a moment when I think he might argue with me, but it passes so fast I probably imagined it. He shakes his head. Dismisses me with a wave of one hand.

“It’s all good.”

He goes upstairs. I hear water running in the bathroom. The toilet flushes, water rushing through the pipes in the kitchen wall.

Eli shouts for me, and I run, taking the stairs two at a time. He’s standing over the toilet with the plunger as water spills over the sides. A gurgle of stink comes out of the sink and the tub as brownish water backs up into them. The toilet tank finishes filling, but water’s still splashing over the rim as he tries to use the plunger to get the toilet draining.

“Give it to me.” I work the plunger quickly, grateful the water in the toilet, at least, seems mostly clean. The water swirls down, sending more gurgles up from the sink and tub. Everything quiets.

“Gross,” Eli says.

Carefully, I run the taps to see if the water goes down. It does, draining slowly, rinsing away the dark streaks. I sit on the edge of the tub and let my head hang for a moment as I laugh, because what else can I really do?

“I guess I’ll have to call the plumber again,” I say and mutter a curse.

It’s almost two in the morning, and I’m exhausted from the wine I had at Lisa’s house and my emotional breakdown, from the low-grade and ever-present tension I’ve been unable to shake for the past couple of months.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

“Tired. Annoyed. It’ll be fine,” I reassure him. “Go on to bed. Just try not to use too much water, okay? Only flush if necessary. But wash your hands before you go to bed.”