He never wondered about the stains in her sheets anymore. Urine, blood, vomit, and alcohol – he had seen it all. He knew exactly what to use to get them out without ruining the patterns on the expensive fabrics. He knew how to make sure they were smelling April Fresh even after several washings in industrial strength detergents. And when it didn't work, when they wouldn't come clean, he knew where to get a new set before she realized the old ones were missing. He had become the master of the cover up.

At least when it came to fabric, tile, drywall, and carpet. He found he still lacked in the areas of lying to his family. Seth knew more than he would ever let on – how could he not? He slept across the hall from her, no doubt falling asleep to the rhythm of her agonizing sobs. And Sandy was constantly asking how everything was at home, his eyes clearly telling Ryan that he didn't believe his answers of "fine."

"Hey, Ryan," Sandy's voice broke his thoughts as he entered the laundry room, a perplexed look on his face. "What are you doing?"

Ryan looked at the dirty sheet in his hand and quickly dropped it into the washer. He could always pull it out later, when Sandy was gone. Hopefully it wouldn't be too late to apply a stain remover to the vomit spots. "Um, I was just putting some laundry in," he said, nervous energy jumping off of him in waves.

Sandy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Rosa does the laundry, doesn't she?" he asked, looking around the room. But he dropped the subject, much to Ryan's relief. "Hey, so I wanted to talk to you and Seth about something this weekend, but he said you're not going with us?"

Clearing his throat, Ryan followed Sandy out of the laundry room and through the house, to the back yard. "Um, Marissa and I are gonna hang out, I think. We haven't had much time to do anything lately."

There was an awkward silence as Sandy looked over the pool and the patio. He seemed as though he were searching for something, and Ryan felt his skin growing hot. Had he forgotten something? Was everything cleaned sufficiently? If anyone would spot his error, it was Sandy. "You don't have school," the older man said finally. "What takin' up so much of your time?"

Ryan was at a loss. And if there was anything he hated most in the world, it was being caught off guard. "Um," he stuttered.

"Look, Ryan," Sandy's voice lowered as he sat in the chair. "I know you've been covering for Kirsten," he said firmly. Ryan said nothing, and didn't move. With a heavy sigh, Sandy leaned on the patio table and gave his "son" a pleading look. "What I don't know is why." Ryan shrugged. "After everything you went through with your mother, I would think you would know it's not helping anything."

Ryan stared out over the water and wished he were invisible. He wished that he wasn't having this conversation. He wished that Sandy would just understand, that he wouldn't expect an answer. He wished someone would just trust his judgment. And he wished, more than anything, that he knew how to talk about his feelings, how to let someone know how scared he was. Instead, he said nothing.

"I can talk until I'm blue in the face, but she's not ready to listen to me yet," Sandy spoke again.

Continuing to watch the pool, Ryan finally found his voice. "It's her life," he said.

"True, but her choices are affecting all of us. Me. You. Seth. All of us," his voice started to rise just a little.

"I'm fine," Ryan responded through gritted teeth. He knew where this conversation was headed and he wasn't so sure he wanted to be along for the ride.

"I want you and Seth to move in with me," Sandy said, leaning back in the chair. Ryan just shook his head. "It will show her that we mean business, that we all want her to get help," he added.

And Ryan snapped. "How in the hell do you expect leaving her to help anything? What makes you think that abandoning her is going to make her feel loved?" He knew that he was throwing a childish tantrum, but he had to release the pressure in his head, and he had to do it immediately. "It's not going to help anything. Shit, Sandy. If anything, it's going to shove her further into the damn bottle. It'll kill her."

The sob escaped his throat before he could stop it, but he swallowed hard and moved away before Sandy could reach him with an outstretched hand. "Ryan, she needs to know that she has to make a choice. She doesn't want to lose her family," he said softly.

"It doesn't matter what she wants anymore. She doesn't have control of her desires," he laughed cynically and cross his arms tightly around his chest. "It tells her what to think, what to want, how to act. She doesn't get to decide for herself anymore."

Sandy's voice was quiet when he spoke again. "I know this is hard for you, Ryan."

He turned his blue eyes to the man on his left, shaking his head. "No, you don't. You don't know anything about it. I'm not asking her to choose, Sandy," he turned toward the pool house, his steps long and deliberate.

They could all pretend to understand what he was feeling, but they never would. They would never understand that he couldn't ask her to choose. Because he couldn't bear the thought of another mom choosing alcohol over him.