Emotionally.
Like something about seeing him standing there had pulled her backward in time.
“Mrs. Harper?” Ethan asked.
Mom blinked.
“Sorry. Hi, Ethan.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
She clearly wasn't.
Her eyes dropped to the corsage.
Then to his bow tie.
Then back to his face.
I came down another step.
“Mom?”
She turned toward me.
Her expression changed.
“Maddie, come upstairs.”
“What?”
“Just for a minute.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
I glanced at Ethan.
He lifted the corsage.
“I have flowers.”
“I can see that.”
“They're special.”
I smiled.
“What makes them special?”
He pointed toward a tiny blue flower tucked between the white roses.
“Forget-me-nots.”
I stared at him.
“Seriously?”
“The florist said that's what they're called.”
“I know what they're called.”
“They mean remembering.”
He smiled.
“And I remember things.”
For some reason, Mom made a sound behind me.
I turned.
Her eyes were wet.
“Mom?”
“Upstairs, Maddie.”
This time, her tone left no room for argument.
The second we entered my room, she closed the door.
Then locked it.
I stared at her.
“Okay. That's dramatic.”
“Maddie…”
“If you're worried about drinking, I already told you—”
“This isn't about drinking.”
“Then what?”
She wouldn't look at me.
Suddenly irritation replaced confusion.
“If this is because you're uncomfortable with me going with Ethan—”
“No.”
“Because he has Down syndrome—”
“No!”
Her answer came so quickly that I stopped.
Mom pressed both hands against her face.
When she lowered them, she looked exhausted.
“You can go tonight.”
“Great.”
“But first I need you to hear something.”
I crossed my arms.
“What?”
She sat on my bed.
“Do you remember when your father and I separated?”
My anger vanished.
“What does Dad have to do with Ethan?”
“Nothing directly.”
“Then why are we talking about him?”
“Because of what happened to you that year.”
I didn't answer.
Mom looked at me carefully.
“You stopped eating lunch.”
My arms dropped.
“How do you know?”
She swallowed.
“Ethan told me.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He found me crying in my car outside school one afternoon.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
I sat beside her.
“You were crying at my school?”
“I'd just had a meeting with your counselor. You barely talked to me then. Your father and I were fighting about custody. I didn't know what to do.”
Her voice cracked.
“I thought I was failing you.”
Downstairs, Ethan laughed at something.
Mom heard him.
She closed her eyes for a second.
“Then someone knocked on my window.”
“Ethan?”
She nodded.
“He was twelve.”
I waited.
“He asked why I was crying. I tried telling him I was fine.”
A weak smile touched her lips.
“He told me I was bad at lying.”
“That sounds like Ethan.”
Mom nodded.
“Then he asked me something.”
