bring me home.”
Her lips pinched together. “Does he know you have a crush on him?”
“I don’t. I just don’t want to die tonight.”
She screamed. The sound filled my head, guttural, frustrated, like sand. I covered my ears and crouched to hide and knew I couldn’t go anywhere.
When I uncurled she’d gone.
I heard her car peeling from the carport. Even if I’d wanted to go, I couldn’t. I had to wait for Mom to get home, to clean her up. Or wait for a call from the police.
And it would be my fault. Whatever happened to Mom now would be my fault.
I’d had a week to forget that shame and fear, and it had stolen the time to grow bigger than I could handle. I couldn’t stuff it back inside. It exploded out of my mouth and scared me as much as Mom’s scream had. Besides, how could I hide from myself?
I bolted outside, charged down the stairs and stopped on the curb. What did I think I could do? Find her? I could only wait for her to stagger home with her booze, get whatever she had left over away from her, and wait until she got sober enough to listen when I begged her to stop.
I hadn’t done that in a long time.
A car skidded in front of me, and Mom reached across to open the passenger door. “Is he coming to get you?”
Relief filled my heart and to hold it in, I wrapped my arms around my waist. “No.”
“Are you ready to go then?” She acted as though nothing had happened. “Come on, I’ll take you. Where’s the map that girl sent you?”
I pulled it from my pocket, and Mom studied it before she took off again. “Did you call him?”
“Jackson? No. Why?”
“Why were you waiting outside?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe looking for you.” But the “maybe” made it a lie.
“Why?”
“Maybe I don’t want you making love to a bottle, OK?”
She drove for a long time, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her lip caught tight between her teeth. We stopped in front of a small house, and I checked the address. Lucy’s, but I didn’t want to get out. I didn’t want to leave my mother like this and wondered what kind of sickness I had, to want the crap she put me through. But I didn’t—I didn’t.
I reached for the door handle, and she slid her hand toward me, as if she needed to anchor me. “Honesty’s a good thing, isn’t it? Thank you, baby.” After a minute she released my hand. “I don’t want that, either.”
I turned my hand palm up and let hers rest in mine. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d touched her willingly, except to clean her up or drag her someplace safer than where she’d passed out.
“Were you, Mom?” I whispered. “Is that where you were going?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes.”
I tightened my fingers. “I don’t want to go. I want to go home.”
Mom laughed, though her tears almost made it a sob. “You’re here, already. You’re staying. I’ve wasted enough of your fun, haven’t I?” In the shadows and streetlight tricks I saw more tears. “As much as I want you with me right now, I’m not going to keep you, OK?” She pulled my hand to her face, and I let my fingers curl against her cheek, slide on the loose, damp skin. “I know almost everything I’ve done has hurt you, baby, and I’m sorry.”
“I won’t have any fun.”
“Yes, you will.”
“I don’t want to stay, Mom.”
“Aidyn, I’m OK. I don’t want a drink now. I want my daughter to go to this party and have fun with her friends.”
“They’re not—”
“They are. Go on. I’ll call my sponsor when I get home, OK? Don’t start worrying about me.”
As if I’d ever stopped. “But Mom—”
“There’s Jackson. Go on, Aidyn. I’m OK.” She kissed my palm before I could pull away. Maybe I didn’t want to. “Ten, right? I’ll be here.”
My door opened and Jackson leaned down. “Hey, Mrs. Pierce. Aidyn, you made it. Great. Come on.”
I got out and tried to wait at the curb until Mom turned the corner, but Jackson
Her lips pinched together. “Does he know you have a crush on him?”
“I don’t. I just don’t want to die tonight.”
She screamed. The sound filled my head, guttural, frustrated, like sand. I covered my ears and crouched to hide and knew I couldn’t go anywhere.
When I uncurled she’d gone.
I heard her car peeling from the carport. Even if I’d wanted to go, I couldn’t. I had to wait for Mom to get home, to clean her up. Or wait for a call from the police.
And it would be my fault. Whatever happened to Mom now would be my fault.
I’d had a week to forget that shame and fear, and it had stolen the time to grow bigger than I could handle. I couldn’t stuff it back inside. It exploded out of my mouth and scared me as much as Mom’s scream had. Besides, how could I hide from myself?
I bolted outside, charged down the stairs and stopped on the curb. What did I think I could do? Find her? I could only wait for her to stagger home with her booze, get whatever she had left over away from her, and wait until she got sober enough to listen when I begged her to stop.
I hadn’t done that in a long time.
A car skidded in front of me, and Mom reached across to open the passenger door. “Is he coming to get you?”
Relief filled my heart and to hold it in, I wrapped my arms around my waist. “No.”
“Are you ready to go then?” She acted as though nothing had happened. “Come on, I’ll take you. Where’s the map that girl sent you?”
I pulled it from my pocket, and Mom studied it before she took off again. “Did you call him?”
“Jackson? No. Why?”
“Why were you waiting outside?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe looking for you.” But the “maybe” made it a lie.
“Why?”
“Maybe I don’t want you making love to a bottle, OK?”
She drove for a long time, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her lip caught tight between her teeth. We stopped in front of a small house, and I checked the address. Lucy’s, but I didn’t want to get out. I didn’t want to leave my mother like this and wondered what kind of sickness I had, to want the crap she put me through. But I didn’t—I didn’t.
I reached for the door handle, and she slid her hand toward me, as if she needed to anchor me. “Honesty’s a good thing, isn’t it? Thank you, baby.” After a minute she released my hand. “I don’t want that, either.”
I turned my hand palm up and let hers rest in mine. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d touched her willingly, except to clean her up or drag her someplace safer than where she’d passed out.
“Were you, Mom?” I whispered. “Is that where you were going?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes.”
I tightened my fingers. “I don’t want to go. I want to go home.”
Mom laughed, though her tears almost made it a sob. “You’re here, already. You’re staying. I’ve wasted enough of your fun, haven’t I?” In the shadows and streetlight tricks I saw more tears. “As much as I want you with me right now, I’m not going to keep you, OK?” She pulled my hand to her face, and I let my fingers curl against her cheek, slide on the loose, damp skin. “I know almost everything I’ve done has hurt you, baby, and I’m sorry.”
“I won’t have any fun.”
“Yes, you will.”
“I don’t want to stay, Mom.”
“Aidyn, I’m OK. I don’t want a drink now. I want my daughter to go to this party and have fun with her friends.”
“They’re not—”
“They are. Go on. I’ll call my sponsor when I get home, OK? Don’t start worrying about me.”
As if I’d ever stopped. “But Mom—”
“There’s Jackson. Go on, Aidyn. I’m OK.” She kissed my palm before I could pull away. Maybe I didn’t want to. “Ten, right? I’ll be here.”
My door opened and Jackson leaned down. “Hey, Mrs. Pierce. Aidyn, you made it. Great. Come on.”
I got out and tried to wait at the curb until Mom turned the corner, but Jackson
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