Page 7 of Addiction

“I’m sorry, Pop,” I whisper, the vice in my chest prominent as I hold the photo frame against me.

“Asher?”

Mom’s voice jolts me from my thoughts, and I look at her, placing the photo of Pop back in its pride place.

“Are you okay, son?”

“I’m fine,” I say, speaking the words she wants to hear but that are a complete lie. “I’m starving. Are those pancakes ready?”

She smiles, but I may as well be transparent because as I step up in front of her, she places her hand on my cheek and murmurs. “It’s going to be okay now you’re home. You know that, right?”

“I know.” I smile, not feeling as confident.

Heading into the kitchen, my eyes land on the spot where Pop used to sit in his wheelchair, but my thoughts are soon forgotten when Mom comes in and gives me her orders.

“Now, you sit down and I’ll bring your food. Then we can talk about your time away.”

I smile, doing as I’m told. “I wasn’t on vacation, Mom.”

“I know. But you can still tell me what you’ve been up to.”

As she places the plate of pancakes in front of me, I waste no time in drizzling maple syrup over them and devouring them one by one. “God, I’ve missed these.”

“That’s why I made them. Now, what’s changed since the last time I saw you?”

“I think I should be asking you that.” Even though Mom visited, I never felt like it was long enough. “Tell me everything you didn’t get around to telling me before.”

Something flashes in her eyes, and her smile seems half-hearted, but she waves me off, answering my question yet not really answering it at all. “Well, you know. I’ve got a beautiful grandbaby to keep me busy. But never mind me. What have you been up to? Why are you out earlier than planned?”

For some reason I feel she is stalling, but I go along with her questions, wondering if her unusual behavior is purely down to the shock of me being home.

“I was a good boy,” I huff out a laugh. “As for what I’ve been up to, I’ve been doing the same thing every day: wake, work out, talk to Theo, work out some more and then go to bed.”

“And talking with Theo is still going okay?”

“Yeah,” I say with a mouthful. “Honestly. You don’t have to worry. I was prepared for life on the outside, and I’m seeing him again next week. Plus, he’s always at the end of the phone.”

“And are there any… Cravings?”

I halt my fork and look at her, trying to work out what feeling is currently running through me: anger, disappointment… I’m not sure but it’s obvious now why she’d wanted to talk.

“So that’s why you wanted to know what I’ve been up to. Is this your way of asking me if I’ve had a drink before I’ve come here this morning?” I can’t help the irritation in my tone, and I hate the way it causes sadness in her eyes. The last thing I want to do is upset her, but it pisses me off how, after everything, even my mother is questioning my sobriety so soon after being fucking released.

“I’m your mother, Asher. It’s my duty to worry. And you just…”

“What? I just what?”

“Don’t seem yourself. You seem… Distant.”

Shit.

Suddenly losing my appetite, I place down my fork and push my plate to the side. I had hoped I’d hidden my anxieties, but clearly not, and with the way she is looking at me now, I know I can’t escape what she’s wanting to know.

“I’ve not had a drink since Nora’s accident. And if you want me to be honest, the reason for my distance is because I’m home.”

“You don’t want to be home?” Her eyes fill with sadness.

I’m already fucking this up before we’ve even got anywhere.