Page 75 of Hamartia

“I don’t mean this week. I mean before that…I mean, everything else.”

I think he gets what I mean because the frown smooths away and he smiles again.

“Let us talk in Tokyo, yes? About what this is. What we want, what is possible.”

I don’t like the sound of that, about how he makes it sound like there are some things that aren’t, but he’s still looking at me in that soft warm way and it’s enough to calm me.

“For now, enjoy this time with your mom. Do not think of me or anything else. Or if you must think of me, then make it good thoughts.”

“I’m always thinking good thoughts of you, baby.” I smirk and he blushes, actually fucking blushes. My dick perks up. “You’ll dream of me?”

He laughs. “I’ll try. Stay warm, okay? Happy Thanksgiving tomorrow.”

“Safe flight.”

It takes me a few moments of lying there on the bed, stupid grin on my face, dick half hard in my pants to realize my mom is watching me from the bedroom door. Her mouth is open, but her eyes are narrow. And she looks pissed.

But there’s something far worse in her eyes. Disappointment.

“Now, I know that wasn’t Camille you were talking to, Raphael. So I’m hoping you have a real good explanation for calling another woman ‘baby’ and telling her to dream about you.” She closes the door behind her and comes toward the bed, perching on the end. “Start talking.”

“How long were you standing there?” I ask, pulling out my Air Pods as I sit up.

“If you think you’re going to figure out how much I heard so you can lie to me, think again, Raphael Alwyn Scott.”

I roll my eyes at the use of my full ridiculous name. “Mom, I’m not fifteen. You’ve not caught me smoking pot.”

“No, this is worse! This is cheating. Which is farfarworse.” She scowls. “We talked about this, Raphael. When youwerefifteen! About how you treat women that you’re sleeping with? I thought you understood what was acceptable to me and what wasn’t?”

I sigh. “This isn’t about what’s acceptable to you, mom.” At this, she shoots me a murderous glare.

“I meant acceptable. Period,” she corrects.

“It’s complicated.”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit! I’m twice your age. I’ve been married. To your father,your father.” My mom is the only person on earth who calls him that. “You think I don’t understandcomplicated? Or rather, what menbelieveto be complicated.”

She has her hands on her hips, body stiff as a pole as she marches across the room. Then back. Still glaring at me.

“Sex isn’t complicated, Raphael. It’s one of the simplest things there is. Men have been breaking promises to women since the dawn of time. You might have been told a million times out there that you’re special, sweetheart.” She points out at the ridge. “But there are a billion men just like you out there, doing exactly what you’re doing now.”

Her eyes soften as she says the next words: “But you are special in here, to me.” She puts her hand over her heart and curls her fingers into a fist. “Don’t make me think of you like this. Like him.You’re not him. You never have been, baby. You’re better.”

I sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed as I set my Air Pods on the nightstand. I hate this. I fucking hate this. Just like I hated looking at Camille as I let her down too. I cover my eyes with my palm and squeeze, hard.

“It’s not another woman,” I say, carefully.

“Raphael, I heard you, I heard you say—.”

“No, mom,” I cut in. “I mean it’s not anotherwoman.”

I lift my head to look at her and I can’t read a single expression on her face now. It’s blank. Until suddenly, it’s not.

Her face is a picture of pure and utter confusion as she tries to figure out if I mean what I just implied. Why can’t I say it? If I know what it is, then why can’t I say it? I’d have to say it at some point. Then I’d have to say it over and over again.This is my boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. I’m gay. Bi. I’m not straight. I like men. And women. I’m not exclusively into women. This is Jae.

When Mom’s mouth falls open, I wonder if maybe I’ve just said all that out loud.

“Not another woman. So you mean…that wasn’t a woman on the phone? You were…that was a man?” She points at the phone I’m white-knuckling on my thigh. “You were talking to a man?”