Chapter 99 Borrowed Time
Elena: POV
"So, about the road trip, have you thought about when we should leave?" I asked, looking up from my phone.
Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, slowly stirring her coffee. The morning light made her look even more fragile than usual—all sharp angles and translucent skin.
"What about three days from now?" she said, not meeting my eyes.
I blinked. "Three days?"
"For the road trip." She leaned back in her chair, that careful way she did now—like her bones might snap if she moved too fast. "We could start driving in three days."
Three days. Seventy-two hours. Time felt different now. Fragile.
"Sure," I said. "Three days works."
She smiled. Then paused, her fingers drumming against the ceramic mug. "Actually... there's something tomorrow night. A winter beach bonfire. Down at South Pointe."
I blinked. "A bonfire?"
"Mmm." Her eyes lit up in that way that made my chest hurt. "The neighborhood does it every year. Music, food, people. It's loud. Chaotic." She took a shaky sip of coffee. "I want to go."
Of course you do. You're dying, so now you want to do all the things you never cared about before.
I shoved the thought down. "Okay."
"Really?" She looked so goddamn hopeful.
"Yeah." I forced a smile. "But you have to take your meds on time. No skipping."
"Deal." She set down her mug, eyes sparkling. "Oh! You should invite Ethan."
I froze.
"What?"
"Ethan." She said it like it was obvious. "Your boyfriend. He should come with us."
Shit.
My throat tightened. "I don't think—"
"Why not?" She tilted her head. "He'd probably love it. And I'd love to see you two together. You know, in a normal setting. Not just... fixing my broken house."
Because he's not actually my boyfriend. Because this whole thing is a lie. Because I'm using him and I hate myself for it.
"He's probably busy," I said, too fast.
Mom's expression shifted. Just slightly. "Busy? On a Saturday night?"
"Maybe." I grabbed my coffee cup, staring into the dark liquid. "He's a professor. They have... things. Grading. Research. Whatever."
"Elena."
I looked up.
Her gaze was steady. Knowing. "You're making excuses."
Fuck.
"I'm not—"
"Is everything okay between you two?" Her voice was soft. Worried. "Did something happen?"
"No." The word came out too sharp. I softened my tone. "No, Mom. Everything's fine."
"Then why don't you want him there?"
Because I don't deserve him. Because he's too good for this mess. Because every time I see him, I remember that I'm lying to you, and it makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
"Sweetheart." Mom reached across the table, her hand finding mine. Her fingers were cold. Thin. "I just want to see you happy. With someone who cares about you. Is that so wrong?"
Her eyes were too bright. Desperate.
She's dying. She wants to know you're not alone. She needs this.
My chest ached.
"No," I whispered. "It's not wrong."
"So call him." She squeezed my hand. "Please?"
I stared at her.
I can't do this. I can't keep lying to her. I can't—
But the look on her face—hopeful, fragile, dying—killed the protest in my throat.
"Okay," I said quietly. "I'll ask him."
Her whole face lit up. "Really?"
"Yeah."
She pulled her hand back, practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh, this is perfect. We can all go together. It'll be fun."
Fun. Right.
I forced a smile. "Yeah. Fun."
---
I waited until she went to take her afternoon nap.
Then I sat on the couch, phone in hand, staring at Ethan's contact.
Just call him. Tell him it's part of the deal. Fake boyfriend shit. He'll understand.
But my thumb hovered over the screen.
What if he says no? What if he's tired of pretending? What if he realizes this whole thing is fucked up and walks away?
What if Mom asks why he didn't come?
I pressed the call button before I could talk myself out of it.
It rang twice.
"Elena?" His voice was warm. Surprised. "Hey. Everything okay?"
"Yeah." I cleared my throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just... I have a question."
"Shoot."
I hesitated. "There's this thing tomorrow night. A bonfire. On the beach."
Silence.
Then: "Okay..."
"My mom wants you to come." The words came out in a rush. "With us. She thinks it'll be fun. You know, because we're... dating." I said the last word like it was coated in acid.
More silence.
He's going to say no. He's going to tell you this is too much. He's going to—
"I'd love to."
I blinked. "What?"
"I said I'd love to." His voice was light. Easy. Like I'd just asked him to grab coffee. "What time?"
"You... you don't have to—"
"Elena." He cut me off gently. "I want to. Seriously. It sounds fun."
"Are you sure?" I pressed. "Because if you're busy, or if it's too much, or—"
"I'm sure." I could hear the smile in his voice. "Text me the details. I'll be there."
"Ethan—"
"Relax." He laughed softly. "It's just a bonfire. Not a marriage proposal."
Don't. Don't make jokes like that.
"Okay," I said quietly. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me." His tone shifted. Warmer. "I'm looking forward to it."
We hung up.
I sat there, staring at the phone.
He's looking forward to it. He actually sounded... happy.
And that made it worse.
Because I wasn't.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay in the guest bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the phone call.
I'd love to.
I'm looking forward to it.
He'd said it so easily. Like it wasn't a burden. Like spending his Saturday night at a bonfire with my dying mother and my fucked-up self was something he wanted to do.
Why?
I rolled over, pressing my face into the pillow.
Because he likes you, you idiot. He told you that. He wants this to be real.
And you're using him.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I grabbed it.
Ethan: [Just realized I have no idea what to wear to a beach bonfire. Casual? Semi-casual? Should I bring anything?]
I stared at the message.
He was asking about his outfit. Like this was a normal date. Like he was nervous about making a good impression.
Fuck.
I typed back.
Me: [Just wear whatever. It's not a big deal.]
His response came instantly.
Ethan: [It's a big deal to me. I want your mom to like me.]
Me: [My mom really likes you, but we're just fake dating. You don't have to go overboard.]
Sorry, I just don't want you getting your hopes up when I can't give you what you're looking for.
He went quiet for a long time before Ethan finally texted back: [Alright]
Good. I hope he's not expecting too much.