a nearby chair. I settle in for the shit-show that could potentially erupt. “What else does Grandma do that she doesn’t want you to talk about?”
He laughs and looks at my mother, who warns him with her eyes that this is not an appropriate conversation. “Nothing,” he mutters. He grabs his stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Is he okay?” I ask immediately.
“He’s fine. His running off at the mouth is making him feel bad.” She’s still glaring at him, but now she’s doing it playfully.
“So, Dad, this is where you live?” He looks around the campsite with an appraising eye, nodding as he takes in the little stove, the fishing rod that’s standing next to the tree, and my tent.
I gesture to the campsite. “This is where I live. For now,” I rush to clarify. I don’t want him to go out and tell people I live in a tent. “I’m working on moving into one of the cabins. Soon. I plan to do it soon.”
“Why do you live in a tent?” he asks.
“I like to be outside,” I admit. I don’t want to give him more information than that. I don’t want to tell him what I told Katie earlier, that I don’t want to feel like I’ve been locked up again. That I don’t want to be tied to a place that’s not mine.
“Can I come and stay with you?” He looks from me to my mother and back.
She gestures to me like she’s helpless. “This one is on you, son,” she says, as she waves her hand in the air.
“Maybe,” I tell him.
“When?”
“When what?”
“When can I come and stay with you?” His feet start to swing again.
I look at my mother for help, but she gives me nothing. “Umm…” I scratch my head.
“What about this weekend?” he asks. “After you come to my game, I could come home with you.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You are coming to my game, aren’t you?”
“Well, I hadn’t decided yet.”
He looks at my mother. “You said he was coming.”
She gives me a stern glance. “Oh, he’ll be there. If not, I’m going to ground him.”
Mitchell rolls his eyes. “He’s too big to ground.” He leans toward me. “She grounds me if I forget to unload the dishwasher. She’s mean sometimes.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is firm,” I correct, but I’m struggling not to laugh out loud all the while.
“No,” he replies. “She’s mean when she’s mad. She walks around talking to herself and talking about what I did or didn’t do that made her mad.”
My mom had always done that. She would let me get into trouble, and then she would walk around and have a discussion with herself about why I would do something so stupid. It meant she was really mad.
“I think that’s how she works it all out in her head.”
He rolls his eyes again, and it makes me snort out a laugh. I cover it up with a cough.
“So, I can come and spend the night after the game on Saturday?” He’s tenacious, I have to give him that.
I look at my mother. She just stares at me. Glares is a more appropriate word.
“Sure, why not…” I say slowly. “For one night.”
“Okay,” he says, but he’s grinning.
He gets down on the ground so he can pet Wilbur, and Ma says to me, “Happy birthday.” She leans over and kisses my cheek, hanging on a little too long as she does it. When she sits back, her eyes are wet.
“I’m glad you brought him.” I give her hand a squeeze. “But I’m not sure going to the game is such a great idea.”
“Why not?”
“People are still talking, Ma.”
Abigail sits and quietly listens without saying a word.
Ma scoffs. “Then let them talk.” Her voice softens a little. “They’re just words. And Mitchell already knows everything. He knows how people talk, and he knows what they say. And he knows it’s all lies.”
“It’s not all lies, Ma,” I reply. It’s not. I’d love it if it were. But it’s not.
“You made a mistake, Ethan,” she says. “I refuse to let you torture yourself over it for the rest of your life. Come to the game. It’ll be fine.”
I heave out a breath. “Okay.”
She gestures toward Abigail. “Bring Abigail with you. It’ll be fun. Then you can bring him back with you after, for the night.”
“What are you going to do all by yourself?” I ask her.
She throws up her hands. “What difference does that make? I