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I almost fall off my chair.

“What? He’s in rehab?!” Ethan jumps up and down, pumping his fists in the air. “Who is the contact if I want more information?” I mouth to him, holy shit.

“He’s chosen to remain anonymous,” the woman says. Holy shit.

“This is his daughter, and I am thrilled he’s there. Is it my brother, Richard Thompson? Can you tell me that?”

“All I can say is that it’s not a formal family member. But confidentially, your father said it’s the son of an old friend.”

“Holy muthafucking shit. It’s Liam!” My son giggles. My son and my father have both inserted Liam into their lives, and I tried to keep him out of all of this. I’m terrible at walls. I suck at whatever I’ve spent the last twenty years doing emotionally to keep myself and Ethan protected. Wow. I suck. He sucks at taking risks, but I suck at all of it.

“Sorry for my language. Thank you. Thank you so much. Let him know I called if he needs me.”

“Just know he’s in detox, and it’s a rough time for anyone. Our residents are not allowed to have contact with anyone for thirty days while they work through the physical withdrawal.”

“Can he check himself out?”

“Yes. He can.” My spirits fall a bit. But he chose this. No one took him. He chose it. Maybe that’s the difference.

I thank them and hang up and look at Ethan, and the two of us shriek.

“Now what?” he says.

I wink at him. “Now, we get our man back.”

“Don’t call him that, Mom. That’s creepy.”

“Fine. Then what do we do?”

He takes my mug and walks to the couch. He’s talking and walking, and still dragging my favorite expensive blanket on the floor. I let it go for now. “If I weren’t a factor, what would you do? Like, nothing mattered except what you want.”

I lean back on the couch and stare at our quaint street. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

Ethan flops down on the couch next to me. “Seriously? You ask me that all the time.”

I cross my legs and prop them up on our ottoman. The one that took me nine different stores to find, but I love it. I glance around our house again.

“That’s because I wanted you to be able to make choices without guilt or obligations. You don’t feel like an accident, do you?”

“Hell, no. Come on, answer me. No Granddad, no BeetinaMom, which, BTdubs, is the dumbest name for a grandmother, ever.”

I gesture my mug to him, and we toast. “Agreed.”

“No brother, ex-husband, or father to contend with. Not even me. What would you do if you could do anything?”

I inhale a large breath and blow it out. I see the ghosts of choices forced upon me, and the only thing that doesn’t feel forced is Ethan. He’s perfect. I answer him honestly. I don’t pull punches. And it’s a scary place, but an honest one.

“I’d get a dog.”

“That’s it?” He looks at me with his dark eyes that are so much like my father’s, yet so different.

“I’ve always wanted one, and was always told it’s impractical, or that they were too much work, or it’s not the right time. I really want a dog.”

“Let’s get a dog. Is that it?”

I pause again to think. How much do I really want to share? How open and honest can I be? I want to know what’s on the other side of just letting all my rules and anxieties go. I turn toward him, and he leans forward in anticipation. “Quit my job. Become an interior designer with a home store, and marry Liam. And live wherever and however he wants. I want a partner who decides things, too. I want to lay down some of these self-imposed burdens, and laugh. I want to laugh more.” I exhale slowly, and it comes out a bit shaky. He grins and says nothing. Ethan sits back and puts his feet on the couch near my legs. I hold his big stinky feet.

“Then I guess we’re moving.”