Page 68 of The Kiss Principle

“I know,” he said, and he sounded like he was about to cry. “I’m sorry. But I’m not using, and I swear to God, I didn’t steal anything.”

I rubbed my eyes. When I’d first started working—a real job, I mean—and we’d been behind on every bill, and even treading water had seemed like a miracle, on bad nights, I’d started doing the math in years. It would take a year of my life, working fulltime, if I didn’t pay for anything else, to pay off Mom’s credit cards. It would take two years, if I didn’t use a single cent for anything else, to clear the car loan. Four years to get Augustus through college. And now, I did that math again. Another year to put Chuy through residential treatment. A year to get Zé his PT. Who knew how many fucking years, I thought, and I wanted to laugh, to pay for Mom’s fucking wedding?

“He’s not leaving,” I said to Mom.

“He stole my jewelry!”

“Half your boyfriends steal your jewelry! He’s not leaving.”

Zé was shaking his head.

“Come on,” I said. “We’re moving your stuff into my room.”

“I don’t want him in my house!” Mom screamed. Igz was screaming too. “I want him to leave!”

“It’s not your house! I pay the bills. I pay the mortgage. The deed is in my name. If I say he’s staying, he’s staying.”

Mom looked like I’d slapped her. For a moment, her whole body was so lax with shock that it looked like she might drop Igz. Then she recovered somehow. I saw her put on the mask. “I am your mother, and I am telling you I am terrified. He’s a thief. He’s an addict. I am worried about myself, and this baby, and your brother. And you don’t care. It doesn’t matter what I say or how I feel. As usual.”

What would it be next, I wondered. Tears? Or would she lock herself in her bathroom with a bottle of gin? Would she take Igz in there with her? Would she take her into the tub? I tried to soften my voice. I’d learned a long time ago that she did better when I was calm. “Mom, I would never put our family in danger. If I thought Zé—I’d never let him—if I thought he was a problem, I’d make him leave.”

Mom made a scoffing noise.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“You know what it means. It means I’m not an idiot, Fernando. It means I’m not blind. I’m begging you right now, pleading with you, and you won’t see reason. Because I’m not important enough. No, you’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“Mom, Jesus,” Chuy said.

“You’re going to put this whole family in danger because of your little crush. Your family, Fernando. Your father raised you better than that. But who cares, right? Your father doesn’t matter. Your mother certainly doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore because this boy enjoys stringing you along.”

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t look at Zé. I couldn’t do anything. I felt like my head had separated from my body. It was like someone else speaking out of my mouth when I heard the words, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zé was pushing his hands through his hair. Now he froze.

Cannon laughed, the sound short and full of an ugly happiness.

“You think I don’t see how you follow him around, how you stare at him, how you talk about him.” She rocked Igz and shook her head. “He’s using you, Fernando. And one day, you’re going to wake up, and he’ll be gone, and all you’ll have left is your embarrassment.” She waited again, like this was a conversation, like she was listening. And then she said, “Come on, Cannon.”

They retreated to her room. The door clicked shut. The night was windy, the sound high and whistling against the house. Chuy was looking at the floor.

Zé was the first to move. He lurched toward the hallway, his steps uneven, and he had to put a hand on the wall as he tried to move faster.

I picked up his cane and went after him.

In his room, he was throwing clothes in his suitcase.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “We’ll move them to my room.”

He opened a drawer, took out an armful of clothes, and hobbled to the suitcase. Then he dropped them in.

“Zé.”

He shook his head and opened the next drawer.

When I caught his arm, he shook me off.

“What are you doing?”

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