Page 45 of Inked Beasts

On the other hand … I think back to some things I’ve read online, and a conversation I had with my old friend Ava recently. “Mom, did it ever occur to you that my organizational tendencies might be a trauma response?”

“A what?”

“Sorry, that’s a loaded word, but that’s what the professionals call it. I mean that maybe I felt a greater need to be organized than most people because it gave me a sense of control in my life, when there were a lot of other things that were out of my control that were stressful.”

My mother’s lips tighten, and I reach over and take her hand, squeezing gently. “We’ve talked about this before. I’m not blaming you, not for anything. You did the best you could at the time.”

“I know, Lexy. But … I never really got over your father’s behavior, his betrayal.” She’s never remarried, and barely even dated, so I nod. Yes, I know that.

“Your father was just one man, and he hurt me in ways I could not have imagined. With three men … I’m just worried that you might be setting yourself up for more hurt than you can handle, than any one person could handle.”

I squeeze her hand again. “I understand, Mom, and I appreciate that you’re concerned about me, truly. All I can say to that is … they’re not Dad. They’re nothing like him. He can’t stand them, did you know that?”

My mother’s laugh is soft and tinged with bitterness. “He used to complain to me about them. He was sure they were leading you astray.”

“And given his extramarital activities, I think the professionals callthatprojection,” I say pointedly.

“Yes.”

She sounds tired. I move the conversation hastily on, not wanting Mom to have to revisit painful memories any more than she already has. “The thing is, they were my friends. My very good friends, in the truest sense of the word. There was never anything inappropriate.”

“I kept a close eye on you,” she says. “I knew they were important to you, but I watched for any change in behavior, any sign that, well, something bad had happened. I never saw anything. But it never occurred to me to worry about you being organized.”

I give her hand another squeeze. “Mom, you’re a good mother. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

That gets me a smile. “Anyway,” I go on, “the point of all that is … maybe it’s okay for me to be a little less organized these days. Maybe that’s actually a good thing.”

My mother’s lips twitch. “I hope you’ll agree there’s a difference between ‘a little less organized’ and dating three men.”

I have to laugh. “Yes, but they’re a special case, because of how we all knew each other growing up.”

“I can see that.” She pauses. “Just be careful, Lexy love. I know they’re all friends, but men can be very competitive and possessive, and things could easily go wrong. And a man and woman’s friendship doesn’t always survive a romantic relationship, even when it’s just one on one.”

I go cold at that warning, but I try not to let it show. “I’ll be careful,” I promise, because it’s the only thing I can say.

We arrive back at Belle Epoque, and I tell Mom good night once we’re inside. I’m tempted to try to find Thorn at the restaurant, but I know I’d only be a distraction from his work. Back in my room, I decide it’s time for another bath to soak the tension out of my neck and shoulders.

I’ve gotten myself a bath pillow, and it cradles my head while I recline in the steamy warmth. I get so relaxed that I doze off for a few minutes, until the water cools. Climbing out, I dry off, get into my pajamas, and crawl under the covers.

And there, I finally let myself face the implications of everything my mother said.

I meant what I said to her about it being okay for me to be less organized—a little, not a lot. But am I involved with the men as some sort of overcorrection? A phase I’m going through before I come back to the center?

The thought turns my stomach. I know my men mean more to me than that; I’ve spent weeks appreciating the unique qualities in each of them that I cherish. The thought that I’m just using them … no.

Will they hurt me? Not intentionally. I know it will hurt the day I have to let go of my fantasy world, and I can’t escape the feeling that that day is much closer now than it was even this morning. But these men will never treat me the way my father treated my mother.

Of course, it’s not as if I’m married to them. None of us have made any promises to each other. There’s an understanding that this unconventional situationship won’t carry on forever, but it’s getting harder and harder to label it all as casual.

And when it all ends, will we all still be friends?

LEXY

I finally drift off to a sleep filled with uneasy dreams that gradually become more clear after I wake up and move through my morning routine.

Kai was in my dreams, seeming moody and conflicted and ready to combust, which, after some time for reflection, I realize is how he appeared yesterday at Thanksgiving. It’s not unusual for him to be temperamental, but he wasn’t happy yesterday, not like he’s been when it’s the two of us alone.

And Mrs. Sanchez was in my dreams, too, sitting me down at her dining room table and telling me how wrong it is for me to be dating her sons. She was both angry and sad, and at some point, my own mother appeared at the table, giving me the same message, and I had the overwhelming feeling that I was letting everyone down, the men included.

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