"Yeah, Mom?" he asks walking in with her on his arm. The minute I see that the tears start, but I don't let them show. He stops when he sees me. He just looks over at me, probably wondering what the hell I'm doing in here. The tears start to rise, this used to be home. And I don't even know why it's not any more. I try to force the indifference back to keep from crying.
The girl's eyes settle on me, looking over her predecessor. She's pretty, prettier than I am, in my opinion, and innocent and sweet looking. He found someone better. But there was nothing wrong with me...was there? I won't cry, I can't cry. I'm not going to cry. His mother takes in a deep breath, "Amy, could you step out for a minute please?"
Warily, she nods, squeezes Tay's hand, and leaves the room.

"Mia?" Diana addresses me.
I don't look up, again lost in the memories and images in the keys of his adored two layer keyboard. I gaze down at the instrument he plays with all his heart, pouring his soul out through his voice and the off white and ebony keys. Slowly, and I guess deliberately, I play silentl the beginning of "I Will Come to You." I laugh to myself bittterly over the lyrics of that song, becausee that day they lost all of their meaning. That song use to comfort me..

Tay's watching and he knows why I'm playing that. I'm hopeless. I don't know why that thought crossed my mind. Yes I do. But that's okay. No it's not but it won't change anything. So it has to be. Finally I sigh and look up at him. I can't look him in the eyes, because I know if I do I'll be lost in their clear sky blue, and I will break down and cry.

"Tay, I'm..." shit I can't do this. Domenica motions me on, and Diana looks at her son, who looks confused and feeling cornered. I trapped him, but it's not all my fault.
Diana comes to the rescue, sort of, "Taylor, I know you've slept with Mia."
He looks surprised. And I'm half surprised that he doesn't look ashamed. "I told Dad..." he mumbles by way of excuse. Oh I really just want to leave. This is too hard. I don't want to sit here and look at him again and know that I can't just walk up to him and hug him like I could before, that wasn't me he would kiss good night, Damn I really hate doing this.
He looks at me, confused. I don't want him to look at me that way. It's not the same, I look up at him, and it does look the same...the same look in his eyes, but then why...?
I wasn't sure if he'd figure it out from there. The will in me to get up and run away knows that first it must say what needs to said. And without a thought of speakin, it comes out.