Page 115 of Regretting Youu

“Really? You’re just going to leave me here with her? She could be a murderer,” I whisper.

I don’t really think that, but I also really don’t want to be alone with my mother like this. When she’s angry, it doesn’t scare me. But right now, she just looks annoyed. That kind of terrifies me. It’s out of character, which means I don’t know what comes next.

“Uber will be here in two minutes,” Lexie says, sliding her phone back into her pocket. She walks over to me and hugs me. “Sorry, but I don’t wanna stay for this one. Call me if she murders you, ’kay?”

“Fine,” I say, pouting.

Lexie walks outside, and I look at the coffee table, grab the bottle of wine that isn’t quite empty yet, and I finish it off. I get the last swig down when it’s ripped from my hand.

I look at my mother, and maybe it’s the alcohol. It might be the alcohol. But I hate her so much I don’t even know if I’d be sad if she died. Every time I look at her now, I wonder about their affair. Did it start before her sister got pregnant? Was she still sleeping with Jonah while accompanying Jenny to all her sonogram appointments?

I always thought my mother was a terrible liar, but she’s a better liar than anyone. She’s better than me, and I’m the actress in the family.

“So,” I say, very casually. “How long have you and Jonah been fucking?”

My mother is forced to blow out a calming breath. Her lips thin with anger. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt worried she might slap me, but I take a step back because she looks pissed enough to slap me right now. “I’m done with this behavior, Clara.” She picks up the other wine bottle and the red SOLO Cups Lexie and I started with. When she stands up straight, she looks me in the eye again. “I would have never done that to Jenny. Or your father. Don’t insult me like that.”

I want to believe her. I kind of do believe her, but I’m drunk, so my judgment is impaired. She walks to the kitchen, so I follow her. “Is that where you’ve been?”

My mother ignores me as she begins pouring what little is left of the wine down the drain.

“What were you doing at Jonah’s . . .” I snap my fingers, trying to think of the word for the things people live in. Words are hard right now. “House!” I finally say. “Why were you at his house just now?”

“We needed to talk.”

“You didn’t talk. You had sex. I can tell. I’m an expert now.”

My mother doesn’t deny my accusation. She throws the empty bottles of wine in the trash, then finds the last bottle of wine in the kitchen and uncorks it, then pours it out in the sink.

I point my hands toward her, clapping. “Thinking ahead, I see. Good job. Good Mom.”

“Well, I can’t really trust you with much of anything at this point, so whatever it takes.” When that bottle is empty, she tosses it in the trash, then walks back to the living room. She swipes my phone off the table. I follow her down the hallway, even though I keep bumping into the wall with my shoulder. Words are hard, but walking is harder. I eventually just place my hand on the wall and balance myself until I get to my room. My mother is inside, gathering things.

My television.

My iPad.

My books.

“You’re grounding me from books?”

“Books are a privilege. You can earn them back.”

Oh my God. She’s taking away everything that brings me any semblance of happiness. I stomp over to the corner where I tossed my favorite throw pillow this morning. It’s purple and black sequined, and I like drawing shapes in it with my fingers. Sometimes I draw cuss words. It’s fun.

“Here,” I say, handing it to her. “This pillow brings me a lot of joy too. Better take it away.”

She snatches it out of my hand, and then I look for something else I like. I feel like we’re in an upside-down Marie Kondo episode. Does it spark joy? Get rid of it!

My earbuds are on my nightstand, so I grab them. “I like these. I can’t even use them because you took my phone and my iPad, but I still might be tempted to put them in my ears, so you better take them!” I toss them into the hallway, where she’s setting all the other stuff. I grab my blanket off my bed. “My blanket keeps me warm. It’s really nice, and it still smells like Miller, so you better make me earn this one back.” I throw it past her and pile it on top of my other things.

My mother is standing in my bedroom doorway watching me. I stomp to my closet and find my favorite pair of shoes. They’re boots, actually. “You got me these for Christmas, and since Texas winters are nonexistent, I hardly get to wear them. But it’s really awesome when I do get to wear them, so you better take them before winter comes!” I toss them one at a time into the hallway.

“Stop patronizing me, Clara.”

I hear a text sound off on my phone. My mother pulls it out of her pocket, reads it, rolls her eyes, then puts my phone away.

“Who was it?”