Page 28 of The Kiss Principle

Mom made a vexed noise. “Do you hear that? How am I supposed to put her to sleep now?”

“No,” I said.

“You’re right, Fernando. You deserve a night out.” She gave a little laugh. “I raised three children all by myself. We’ll be fine.”

“No, Mom. Don’t you dare put her to sleep and then leave for that fucking bar.”

The call disconnected. I called Mom back, but she didn’t pick up. I called again.

“Everything all right?” Bea asked.

She’d do it. She’d done it so many times before. In Mom’s mind, nothing could go wrong if you waited until the children were asleep before sneaking out of the house. And that’s probably because, as far as she was concerned, nothing had gone wrong. She wasn’t the one who had to wake up to Augustus screaming his head off because of the night terrors. She wasn’t the one who had to put out the fire Chuy started in the closet. She wasn’t the one who had to make breakfast in the morning and pretend everything was okay even though nobody knew where she was, and hold it all together because somebody fucking had to.

I glanced around, found our server, and raised my hand. “I’m so sorry,” I said to Bea. “Family emergency.”

“Oh God. Is everyone okay?”

“Kind of.” I tried for a laugh, but it didn’t sound right. “I don’t know. My mom—it’s a lot to go into.”

She made a sympathetic noise. “Go on. I’ll get the check.”

“No, please let me.”

“I invited you—”

But at that moment, the server swooped down on us. I held up my card and waved her off.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bea said.

“It’s my pleasure. And I’m sorry for running out on you like this. Like I said, it’s a family emergency.”

“It’s okay, Fernando. Life happens.”

“It sure does,” I said. Life happens. Family happens. If it’s not Mom, it’s Chuy. If it’s not Chuy, it’s Augustus. If it’s not Augustus, it’s Igz. It keeps happening.

We said an awkward goodbye at the curb, and she got into her car, and I drove home.

Igz was asleep in her crib. Mom was touching up her lipstick in her bathroom.

“Didn’t anyone teach you to knock?”

I stood there, breathing. The anger came on me so quickly that I started to shake. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Your language, Fernando.” She turned her attention back to the mirror. “Did you have a good time?”

The house had the kind of stillness that only came late at night. I wiped my hands on my jeans; they felt slick with oil.

“Do you know what Kelli told us tonight? She said her son, Rogan—do you remember Rogan?—she said Rogan’s getting divorced. He’s got two children, you know. And I felt like such an idiot because I’d been telling everyone how wonderful you’ve been about Ava. All night long I was telling them how I couldn’t have done this without you. They all know how wonderful you’ve been.” Her voice was soft as she said, “My perfect boy. They all know how perfect you are.”

I shook my head.

She made a kissy face to the mirror, turned, and patted my cheek. “Since you’re here now, I’m going to catch up with the girls. You should have seen what Courtney was wearing—I swear to God, the waiter could see her fanny.” She considered me fora moment and added, “Get some sleep, dear. You’ve got bags under your eyes.”

Then she was out the door, and the sound of her car faded into the night.

I checked on Igz, and she was doing fine—breathing evenly as she slept. I turned on the baby monitor and went out to the living room. As usual, there was shit on TV, so I ended up watching highlights from the Dodgers game. It went to commercial, and the King from Burger King got stuck going down a slide. Because of that huge plastic head. I watched him struggling to get free. Kids were running around, laughing, playing, oblivious to him shouting for help. I turned the TV off.

For a while, I tried to think about what to text Bea. I wrote something. I rewrote it. I deleted it. I started over. I ended up with pretty much the same thing I’d started with, only now I was more convinced than ever that I was a fucking moron.

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