It seems like each time I convince myself of something with Sebastian— to end the relationship, or continue it, or think he’s perfect, or think he’s his father’s son— I’m thrown off course by something I could never have predicted. Today, it’s Sebastian Slate’s mother.

“I just— I wish I’d had a little more warning,” I say to him, fiddling with the bow-sleeves of the only dressy-but-not-church-dressy shirt that was in my closet. I had to throw it on with leggings, but I’m hoping it reads as artistic and chic rather than “I have seriously not done laundry in so so long”.

“Eh, that’s just my mom. She does it on purpose. She thinks if she surprises us, she’ll catch us acting up,” Sebastian says. We’re at his house, in his bedroom putting clothing on, for once, rather than tearing it off. I’ve adjusted and readjusted my hair, my bra, my shoes— I’ve never met a boyfriend’s parents before, and even though Sebastian and I have never used the terms “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” exactly, it’s pretty clear that he won’t be introducing me as “the Papa Pig’s delivery girl.”

“Does it ever work? Has she caught you up to no good?” I ask, watching him shave in the bathroom. It’s almost mesmerizing, watching him drag the razor down his jaw, the smooth skin it leaves behind. I catch myself before thinking too long on how smooth his cheeks might feel between my legs later.

“Not really.” Sebastian’s voice is contorted as he slides the blade down his chin. “Though she did catch Tyson holding a cigarette once.”

“He was smoking?” I ask, surprised. Athletes, especially of the Slates’ caliber, surely knew better.

Sebastian finished with the razor, rinsed it, then turned to face me. “No, that’s the best part— he just wanted to look cool, so he was holding one and pretending to smoke it but never actually inhaling. She didn’t much care though. She and my dad disagreed on spanking the three of us when we were kids, but I’d have rather taken the spankings— at least those would have ended when we were in middle school, right? Instead, they had a hundred cinder blocks on one end of the yard. When we messed up, we had to move each one to the other side. It took hours. But it’s also why the three of us have always been the strongest guys on our teams.”

I laugh at the genius of the idea, leaning against the doorframe. “So your mom is against corporeal punishment. Noted. Anything else I should know about her?”

Sebastian lifts a wry eyebrow. “It was actually my dad who was against spankings, I’ll have you know. But no, don’t worry— she’s going to love you.”

We meet Mrs. Slate at a restaurant in town, a place that serves both sushi and Mexican food, but somehow manages to be upscale all the same. Sebastian teases me for my nerves one last time before he steps ahead of me to hold open the door—

And there she is.

I don’t know if she’ll recognize me. I look a little like my aunt, I guess, but perhaps no more so than any other brunette of my size and skin tone. But Sebastian’s mother has actually seen me before, at the first hearing. We made eye contact there, in fact. I remember, because I remember looking at her and wondering how she could possibly forgive a man for cheating on her, much less for potentially murdering his mistress. Dennis Slate and my aunt had been sleeping together for over a year when he killed her— and when that all came out, Mrs. Slate practically ran to the press to let them know that she intended to stand by her husband.

That was the last time I appeared in a courtroom; I let the lawyers fill me in on everything I needed to know, after that. I decided that day that if seeing the remaining victims of their patriarch’s crime had such little impact on the rest of the Slate family, that my energy was better spent healing, helping my mother heal, so that we could be strong for the real courtroom showdown. At the time, though, we’d expected that showdown to be in the near future. We hadn’t anticipated just how much the Slate lawyers would delay, appeal, and stall.

So, suffice it to say: My mind is cluttered and scared and nervous when I meet Mrs. Slate, but for none of the reasons Sebastian thinks. I hold my breath when her eyes fall on me until it’s clear she doesn’t remember me at all. I sigh in relief— and then regret it. She doesn’t remember me at all. I’m that forgettable, to her— the girl whose aunt her husband killed, and she doesn’t even remember my face.

“Sebastian has told me a little about you, but I get the impression he’s been keeping you a secret,” Mrs. Slate says warmly from just a few feet away. I blink, stunned to realize she’s been talking to me for a few moments now. I force a smile on my face, but surely it looks as false as it feels.

“At least what he’s told you is good, I hope?” I ask.

She beams— a look that Sebastian clearly inherited from her, pleased and warm and cheeky, then says, “Trust me, if you’ve got any bad qualities, it’s clear my boy hasn’t noticed.” Then she hugs me.

Hugs me, her arms tight around mine, and she smells like Oil of Olay and face powder and peppermint gum. She hugs me like I’m important, like she’s truly happy to see me, and even though I go stiff and alarmed and unsure, she doesn’t let go until she’s satisfied; then she smiles broadly at me, links her arm with mine, and leads me into the restaurant. Sebastian follows behind us, like he’s been brought here as a bodyguard rather than a dining companion.

We sit down an order an offensive amount of sushi, along with nachos as an appetizer, and make small talk for a while— long enough for me to notice that put-together and smiling as Mrs. Slate is, I can still see there are dark circles hiding beneath her under-eye concealer. Her voices pitches here and there, and when there’s even the slightest chance the conversation could tilt toward her husband, she hurriedly changes the subject. Perhaps this is why she’s so eager to talk about me— she thinks it’ll steer us clear of Dennis Slate.

If only she knew.

“What about your parents? What do they do?” Mrs. Slate asks. Sebastian gives me a curious look as well— he doesn’t know, either.

“My father was killed in action when I was very young— Afghanistan,” I say swiftly, hurrying past the pitying looks on both their faces, “and my mother works for a dog rescue. She’s the one that oversees all the transporting— you know, getting a dog pulled from a shelter in Florida up to Michigan, things like that.”

“What a lovely job! She must be a really remarkable lady. I mean, obviously she must be, if she raised a daughter like you,” Mrs. Slate says cheerfully.

“She gets it, Mom, you like her,” Sebastian says playfully, elbowing her. He’s crunched into one of the restaurant’s chairs that, underneath him, looks hilariously too-small. I can barely look at him without laughing.

“Well, I’m just glad you seem serious about someone for once! Four years of dallying around—“

“Oh my god, stop, please,” Sebastian says, putting a hand over his face.

My mouth drops in delight— Sebastian Slate, embarrassed?

“Go on,” I urge her. “Who was the worst one he ever introduced you to?”

“Help me,” Sebastian prays toward the sky.

Mrs. Slate is undeterred. “He never introduces me to girls, actually— that’s why I know you must be a real catch, Ashlynn. But I did hear through Carson that one of the girls Sebastian was bringing around had a tattoo that was supposed to say “beauty” in Chinese, but she’d got it done in some cheap shop and apparently it said “noodle”. Noodle. Like her arm was something you order off a menu!”

I laugh loudly, and Sebastian shakes his head, flushing so hard that it makes me laugh even harder— which makes his mom crack up. Her laugh is bell-like and giggly, like a schoolgirl’s, and from the look of surprise on Sebastian’s face I can’t help but wonder if she laughs all that often, given what’s going on in her life. I wonder if she’s as certain of her husband’s innocence as Sebastian is. I mean, it can’t be easy, knowing your husband was sleeping with a woman who looked nothing like you, who’s half your age. To accept that he’s vile enough to do that, and then decide to draw the line at murder? Wasn’t the fact that he was cheating evidence enough that Dennis Slate wasn’t quite who she thought he was?

I find myself wanting to ask— the same way I’d wanted to ask Sebastian back in the car home from the law library. I won’t, of course; it’d be cruel, and despite the fact that this woman is part of the force keeping my aunt’s murderer out of jail, I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to make her sad, I don’t want to remind her what an awful world she’s living in, I don’t want to ask her how she can share a bed with a man like Dennis Slate. And, frankly, I don’t want to hear her answer if it’s going to be like Sebastian’s— one of unwavering support. She’s just such a clearly nice person, like both of her sons that I’ve met. How can she have space for a man like Dennis Slate in her heart?

“Now, anyhow— you’re a freshman, right? Have you declared a major?” Mrs. Slate asks, flicking her chopsticks around on her plate clumsily before lifting a piece of the California roll.

“I’m pre-law,” I say.

“Oh, good call. Lawyers make good money— I should know, we pay ours enough,” she says, shaking her head. “Well, you’ll be a great lawyer, Ashlynn. You’ve got the look for it. Your eyes are all steel.”

“My eyes are steel?” I say, almost laughing.

She nods, then gives Sebastian a surprised look. “You don’t think they are, Bass? Look at her— you can tell she’s always thinking a few steps ahead of you. That’s probably why you like her so much.”

“Because she’s smarter than me?” Sebastian says with fake offense.

“No— well, yes,” Mrs. Slate says, slapping him on the arm teasingly. “But no— because whatever the game is, she’s going to beat you at it.”

“Thank you,” I say. “That’s really nice of you to say.”

“Just make sure you use your powers for good,” Mrs. Slate says. It’s an offhand comment, delivered with a smile, but it cuts at my heart. Yes— I plan to use my powers for good. It’s just that in the process, I’m trying to bring down New Recruits Week, the football team’s god-like status, and, oh yeah, your husband.

What will she think of me, when that day comes? When it comes out that didn’t say anything about who I am and my real feelings about her family, her husband?

She’ll hate me, and I won’t be able to blame her. I might be able to live with that, though— but what about Sebastian? He’ll probably hate me too, when the time comes. But I’m not as convinced I can live with that.