Page 45 of Catfish

“He asked how you were doing and what you’ve been up to,” she continues. “He’s grown up to be so handsome and—”

“Please tell me you said nothing,” I stammer, trying to keep myself from freaking the fuck out.

I’ve tried to forget the past decade of my life. The sacrifices and fake smiles that I’ve had to glue to my face because I needed to make something out of nothing. A life for Mama, a new beginning for me and Marty, then the worst payback I could hand Jed with a shiny little bow on top.

Worst mistake of my life.

I keep it in the part of my brain where things don’t come out to play too often.

“Of course, I told him about you,” Mama crows. “You’re my pride and joy. Anyone who asks about you is gonna get an earful.”

Geezus, Mama, I wish you wouldn’t have.

“And his brother.” She clucks and shakes her head with a smirk. “Grant had a few men come over to plant those flowers out front. They mowed the lawn and weeded for me, told me not to lift a finger. They even made lemonade for me. I’ve never had a man make lemonade for me in my life.”

Her last words are foggy at best as they make their way to my eardrums.

Grant has people still coming to my mama’s house to do work?

I fucking told him to stop, to stay the hell out of my life.

“Mama,” I strain, my fingernails digging into my palms. “You are letting my ex-fiancé still come over to do housework?”

She frowns, her eyes softening as she looks at me. “Now, don’t get upset. He’s just trying to help since I’ve been—”

“I told him to stop coming over here.”

"Well, if I knew how uncomfortable it would make you, hunny, I wouldn't have had him—I'm sorry. I'll send him a text message telling him—"

“No.” I straighten. “I mean...no, I’ll do it. He needs to hear it from me and know that I still visit since you’re my mother.”

She smiles, not knowing. Not realizing that I played Grant for so many reasons, and not one of them was for love. That I was a phony who looked just like her daughter because—the strong, independent lookalike—would've never have done the things I've done.

And I’d die with every single one of those secrets.

“Okay,” Mama voices. “If that’s what you want.”

I more than want it.

I need it.

Grant and Jed Hardison were my past—I wanted to keep them there. Both had different meanings in my life, both I've hurt and felt things for. Both made me feel nothing but disappointed, guilty, and fake.

"You hungry?" I fix my mother with a look, and she chuckles. "I don't know how you aren't over two hundred pounds."

“I stress it off.”

I’m burning off calories now as we speak.

Sitting at the small dining room table, I take in the kitchen of farm decor, which is exactly the same as when I left three months ago.

“How’s work going?”

“Driving Sadie and I into the ground, but really good.”

She peers over her shoulder. “Don’t work too hard, sweetie. Enjoy your life.”

I’ll enjoy it when you’re debt and cancer-free.

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