“She lied because she wanted to keep you dependent on her schedule.”

I sat back against the high cushion of the lobby armchair, my rigid black walking boot resting heavily on the carpet.

“A warehouse job is a job, Ethan.

It isn’t an apology, and it doesn’t automatically fix what happened.”

He swallowed hard, his thumb still tracing the edge of his key ring.

“What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to figure out who you are when your mother walks into the room,” I said.

We went out through the sliding glass doors into the cold morning air of the parking lot, walking slowly along the curb so I didn’t put weight on my sprained ankle.