I grab Lucy the moment there’s a lull in the service and drag her outside to the back of the diner. I pace the small space by the dumpster in tight, angry circles. I’m still fuming from what Henry said to me this morning, and I’ve been dying for the chance to vent.

“Woah, woah,” Lucy soothes, watching me stride around. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

I throw my hands up in the air furiously. “Henry!”

Lucy pulls out several flat-packed cardboard boxes from behind the dumpster and lays them on the ground. She takes a seat on it like it’s a picnic blanket and pats the cardboard beside her for me to sit down.

I lower myself onto the ground and drop heavily onto the box.

Lucy fixes me with a calm, patient stare and places a hand on my knee to stop me fidgeting. “I’m listening.”

“We were in bed this morning,” I tell her. “Connor calls.”

“Okay.”

“He’s asking for money. Henry’s in the room and gets the gist of the conversation.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“When I end the call, he has the nerve to start giving me advice about how I should look after Connor.”

“Like what?”

“He says I shouldn’t keep giving him money. He even said I’m enabling Connor by giving it to him. He acted like I’m practically handing Connor the drugs myself and encouraging him to be unemployed and broke.”

Lucy bites down on her lip awkwardly.

I cast her a sideways glance then my shoulders slump in defeat. “Why are you giving me that look?”

“Honey,” she says softly, “please don’t bite my head off, but I kind of see where Henry is coming from. Connor takes an awful lot without giving anything back.”

“So? That’s what kids do to their parents.”

Lucy rubs my arm slowly. Her eyes are full of sympathy. Her voice is soft and careful. “I know you’ve been raising him—and you’ve done an amazing job—but you’re not his parent, sweetie. By the time parents have kids, they have money in the bank, houses, partners. They’re ready to support another human being. You didn’t have that choice. You’ve got Connor through to adulthood, but eventually, you have to let him go it alone.” She leans forward to catch my eye. “That’s not to say that you won’t always be there for him—of course, you will—but one day, there has to come a point where you’re not supporting him financially anymore.”

She crosses her legs, then rubs my back. “Now, if Connor was in school or working, or being a good kid, I’d say, yeah, by all means, keep paying for him because it’s helping him get to where he needs to be. But that’s not the case here, is it? All the time, energy, and money you’re putting into supporting him is going straight to his dealer.”

My eyes fill with tears. “You think I’m as good as giving him the drugs, too.”

“No, sweetie. No,” she replies emphatically. “I think Connor is taking advantage, and I think he’s old enough and smart enough to know exactly what he’s doing. I know you don’t want him to go through what you went through—to be in his early twenties, feeling like he’s all alone without a lifeline—but you’ll never abandon him. Even parents have to let their chicks fly the nest eventually. Most kids turn eighteen and go off to college or join the workforce. If you expect the same of Connor, you’re only doing what every parent up and down the country does. You’re not abandoning him, you’re preparing him for the world.”

I chew over her words. “Henry said something similar. He said I’m sheltering him from the real world.”

“Maybe he said it insensitively, or maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all because it’s early days, and it’s not his place. It’s probably not my place either, but anyone who cares about you is eventually going to say the same thing. I know I’m only thinking about how hard looking after Connor is on you, and I’m sure Henry’s is only thinking about the same thing. Don’t take as criticism what’s meant as love.”

I smell the marijuana before I get anywhere near the apartment door. When I finally open it and step inside, the odor of weed is overwhelming. From inside, I can hear laughter and the sound of video games. People are stamping their feet, shouting, and making noise.

What if the neighbors hear? The landlord could kick us out. Someone could call the police.

I quickly open the door and step inside. The place is filled with a druggy fog that makes my eyes water and chest tighten at the same time as my head starts to spin.

There are six young men in their late teens and early twenties sitting in my apartment living room. They’re all facing the TV screen as two of them play some violent video game, and a bong sits proudly on the middle of the coffee table. Traces of grass litter the surface, and there are empty chip packages and take-out containers everywhere.

Among the video game cases, bong, and garbage, I spot a little bag of some white powder, and fright squeezes all the air out of my lungs. I don’t want Connor going down that path. I also spot some pills—ecstasy? I feel my lungs tighten in fear as I realize I have no idea what any of these guys are on or what kind of influence they’re under.

I shut the door quickly behind me, put down my purse, and confront Connor. He’s sitting at the center of the group, lounging back with his eyes red and watery, his legs spread lazily apart, a blunt hanging from his hand. I stand in front of all six of them, put my hands on my hips and confront Connor. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He takes in a long, slow, deep breath, then releases it with just as much effort. “Lissy, these are my new friends.” He starts to name them, pointing around the circle. “Prezzers, Goose, Dyno—”

“I don’t care what their names are,” I hiss. “I want them out. Everyone, out!” I point toward the door, but nobody moves. I start to gather up armfuls of trash and collect empty beer bottles. “I said, get out!”

Connor starts chuckling in a dazed, slow way. His friends start giggling, too. Everybody stays where they are.

As I look around, I spot more damage. There’s a spill on the sofa, greasy fingerprints on the tabletop. A picture of Mom has been set face-up on the table and used as an ashtray. When I see it, I burst into tears.

I throw down all the trash I’ve gathered and grab one of the men by his shirt, trying to haul him out of my apartment. I begin to scream. “Get out! I said, get out! Get the fuck out of my house!”

They all continue to laugh. Connor pushes me off his ‘friend.” “Chill, Lissy,” he drawls. “We’re just hanging.”

I point at the photograph. “That’s our mom.”

Connor is emotionless. I see his eyes move to the picture, but he either doesn’t register, doesn’t care, or is too numb to respond.

I grab the picture off the table and take it into my room. I sit on my bed and cry my heart out as I use my sleeve to try and wipe away the ash. Mom looks back at me with a bright, radiant smile.

I sit in my room for thirty minutes, hoping that the group will leave, but as the minutes tick by and they show no sign of leaving, I start to panic.

I know that if anyone smells the pot, or if the landlord sees the damage, we could be evicted, and then I could risk losing everything. My only other option to get them out is to call the police, but then I risk getting Connor arrested on a possession charge.

After a long time of crying and panicking, there’s only one person I can think of who would care to help me.

I pick up my cell and call Henry.

He answers after the first ring.

“Lissy!” he says. “I’ve been trying to call you all day, but I guess you were at work. I wanted to apologize for everything I said this morning. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly.

He hears the tone of my voice and his own fills with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Connor’s here with a bunch of people I don’t know. They’re smoking and doing other stuff, and I can’t get them out. If I call the police, Connor will probably get arrested.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Henry doesn’t hesitate. I hang up, my chest pounding with panic. I have no idea what one preppy, British son of a Duke is going to do against six drug-fueled thugs, but I have nobody else I can rely on.