Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(72)

“Pshaw. You don’t need to work. The past year has been hard enough. I told you, whatever money you need, I can give it to you.”

He shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”

“We have generational wealth. If the kids at the shelter had it, they might not be in the position they’re in now. You shouldn’t feel guilty about your privilege.”

“It’s just not my money. Taking it doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s how generational wealth works, Sebastian. What if it’s a loan? You’ll pay me back one day when you strike it rich as… a… what do you want to be again?”

Bash was always polite to his mom. He was just wired that way, to be respectful and kind, no matter what. (Yes, he punched out Ellison, but that was a public service.) Did he love her? No, he didn’t. In fact, when he forced himself to think about their nonrelationship, he felt resentment, confusion, and, at worst, a sad numbness. But that didn’t justify dick behavior.

However.

This was easily the tenth time she’d asked him about his career aspirations. He was sick of answering this question. It was infuriating. It was bad enough that she gave him away, never tried to contact him, and basically forgot she had a son. But now he lived with her—and she was still ignoring him? It was too much to take.

“Tattoo artist,” he snapped. “My answer’s always the same. Maybe I could ink the words across my forehead. Double meaning, so it really sticks.”

Jennifer flinched with surprise and then folded her arms across her chest. “Why’re you being mean to me?”

“This isn’t me being mean. It’s me being truthful. You just can’t handle it.”

“But I’m trying to connect with you. I’m offering you money, pot, anything you want. Am I that bad?”

“Literally no one wants to get high with their mother.”

“Well, what do you want? I’m trying to be a thoughtful, present mom. It’s a lot to learn in four months. You’ve grown up already. You’ve finished cooking. What role am I supposed to have in your life?”

Bash just looked at her. Where would he even start? He’d been holding back for so long. What he wanted to say would send their nonexistent relationship straight to hell. And practically, he needed a place to live until he could afford to move.

But then he thought about Audre, who had somehow gotten up the courage—both physical and emotional—to dive into the ocean and rescue that lunch box, even though the last time she was there, she’d had a panic attack. Despite it surely bringing back memories of the two of them. She was braver than anyone he’d ever known. He should be able to finally express what he’d been burying his entire life.

“What role are you supposed to have in my life? You really wanna know?”

“Yes, I do. This is great, we’re finally communicating.…”

“Nothing. You’re nothing in my life,” he said with finality. “Let’s not pretend I’m here for any other reason than my dad disowned me. We don’t have anything to talk about because you’re a stranger. And that’s on you.”

“Sebastian!”

“Oh, you’re offended? I don’t have a mom. Do you understand that?” On the last word, he slapped the back of his hand against his palm. Incandescent rage flared inside him. “I never even had one to miss. Do you know what that’s like, as a kid? I never knew what to say when friends would ask where my mom was. Across the country, happily living her life without me in it? In second grade, I told everyone you were dead, and my guidance counselor signed me up for grief camp. Milton had to tell her I made it up. Which felt worse than the lie.”

“I told you what happened. Your dad took you away.…”

“And you didn’t stop him.”

“No, I didn’t. The truth is, I guess I wasn’t ready to be a mom. Sometimes you don’t know how you feel about something until you’re in it.” She exhaled a long, shaky sigh. “God forbid a woman choose herself.”

Speechless, Bash just stood there for a long moment, his heart crashing against his rib cage. “Back then, you decided you didn’t want to be a mother. Fair enough, I guess. But you don’t get it both ways now. We have no relationship. That’s just the way it is.”

“But I’m trying to make up for it now.”

“How? You’re never here! I bet you didn’t even know I throw parties like twice a week.”

“You… you’ve been disrespecting my home?”

“Regularly. I don’t even like parties. And I hate throwing them. But my life’s… nothing, it’s been blank since I moved here, so I do it to fill in the blanks, and everything’s fucked anyway, because I think I might’ve hurt a girl I really, really like… way more than like… and I… honestly, I really couldn’t give a fuck about the lost kids of color you’re using to relieve your guilt about the real-life one you abandoned.”

She blinked, too stunned for words. “A girl?”

“Her name’s Audre. And she thinks there’s a strong chance you have narcissistic personality disorder.”

Offended, Jennifer huffed and threw up her arms. Her right one connected with the Smurf lunch box, sending it flying. It landed on the floor with a crash, cracking the delicate, decades-old plastic. He scrambled to pick it up, and it fell apart in his hands.