Page 15 of Masquerade Mistake

“Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein,” I spit out. “There are so many themes in there, and all of them point to struggles within the human condition.”

“Such as?”

I think for a moment, trying to sum up one of my favorite gothic novels in a few short sentences.

“I mean, there’s the theme that science and technology can go too far, which is something we’re definitely seeing in the present. Think of social media and how it was created to build connections. But now, people are connecting on less of an emotional and personal level, and more as a network to further their own ambitions, be it business or just gaining a following. So I believe Shelley definitely wrote parallels about technology when it comes to Frankenstein and our humanity. But that’s only surface level when it comes to the underlying theme of Frankenstein.”

“And that is…” Ethan is leaning forward, completely focused on everything I’m saying—which I realize is too much.

“How isolation is the true monster. I’m sorry, I’m talking way too much, and you didn’t come here for some nerdy literature lecture.”

“No, keep going. I’m interested,” he says. I laugh, and he places his hand on mine. It’s warm and soft, and yet his grip is firm enough that I feel a sense of safety in his touch. “How is ‘isolation’ the monster?”

I don’t move a muscle as he keeps his hand on mine. I’m slightly embarrassed how my geeky book side is coming out.

“Because isolation is at the root of everything that goes wrong in the story.”

He listens intently as I describe how the doctor detaches from society as he obsesses over playing god, and then how the monster seeks revenge against the doctor after he’s rejected.

“If the doctor had just shown the monster love and taken responsibility for his creation, the monster never would have lashed out.”

“I think I understand,” Ethan says. “So, Shelley is saying that the root of evil in this world is isolation.”

“I mean, that simplifies a very complex problem, and I wouldn’t say it’s the root of all problems. But I think when someone has an emotionally negative reaction, it’s generally because they don’t feel seen or understood by those closest to them. People with high emotional intelligence generally have a strong support system at home.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I’m suddenly struck by a feeling I can’t name. I pull my hand out from under his and flash a smile to hide this weird and sudden sentiment, which is only enhanced when I see a flash of understanding cross Ethan’s face. I’m sure I’m just projecting, imagining he knows what I’m thinking. But then he speaks.

“Did you lash out?”

I take a moment, processing what he’s asking.

“You know more about me than you’re letting on, don’t you?” I finally say. I take another sip of my drink, but only because my hands are shaking.

“No,” he says with a laugh. “It’s just, you speak about the theme of isolation as if you know it intimately. It was a wild guess, and probably not right.”

“No, it’s right,” I say, and I’m embarrassed by the way my eyes are filling with tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to get emotional. It’s just that you put a name to something I wasn’t quite recognizing. Maybe that’s why I love this story so much, because I sympathize with the monster, even though I never really acted out as a kid.”

Is getting pregnant at eighteen and asserting independence from my mom an act of defiance? Maybe. I brush that thought aside as I describe a mother who was barely home, a father I never knew, and how I basically raised myself until I moved out at eighteen.

“That’s impressive. Most eighteen-year-olds are still figuring out how to not spend all their money on DoorDash and expensive toys, and you were spending it on rent and utilities. You must have landed a killer job.”

“I did. I work for myself,” I say, laughing when I see his eyes widen. I tell him about my book swag business and how lucky I was to start it at the beginning of an apparent book boom. “Some of my best customers are those teens you speak of, who also happen to be avid bookworms.”

“No wonder you’re so passionate about books,” he says. “That explains a lot. I bet you were a huge reader.”

“Were?” I ask. I pick up my purse and rummage inside, pulling out a copy of For the Birds, the current romance book I was reading. “I had a backup plan if you ended up being a complete jerk.”

“I’m glad I passed the test,” he laughs.

“The night is still young,” I tease as I return the book to my bag. “What about you?”

“Well, I’d like to own my own bar. I actually work at Hillside, but you saw me on a night off. I’m such a loser, I like hanging out there when I’m not working.” He gives me a crooked grin, and I kind of melt into his sideways smile. “My plan is to learn enough about the business working under my boss Pete and save enough money that I can start my own bar.”

The waiter brings our food, putting a pause on talking. But as I take the first bite of my burger, I’m struck by how the conversation between Ethan and me has been flowing since we got here. I’d anticipated a date filled with awkward silences and forced small talk, and instead I’ve found someone who is interested in what I have to say. He’s someone I want to get to know much better. There’s still so much I don’t know about him, but everything I do know, I like. He’s smart and funny, and I love that he has plans for the future. Plus he’s sexy as hell. It’s too early to tell, but I cautiously think about what it would be like to bring him home to meet Finn.

“Now that I know what you do want,” I say, setting my burger down. “How about what you don’t want.”

“Kids,” he says.

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