Alisha wrinkles her nose in distaste, and my anger rises. For once, couldn’t she put aside her own selfish thoughts and think of her son? “I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Well, it is.” Galen’s tone is snippy as he stands, holding out the chair beside him for Lo. She kisses him briefly, before sitting beside him, and I drop into the chair on his other side.
Mrs. Murphy carries plates loaded with food into the room, and we tuck in. She leaves some extras in bowls in the middle of the table, along with two large pitchers of water, before excusing herself, pulling the heavy, ornate doors closed behind her.
No one is speaking—we’re too busy eating our body weight in pot roast—but it’s not awkward.
Until Alisha decides to put her big foot in it.
“It’s strange to think if I hadn’t aborted Trey’s baby you and your wife would share a sibling, isn’t it?” she says to Galen, grinning like she’s just told a joke.
All the blood drains from Lo’s face, and she shoves her plate away, knotting her hands in her lap.
“Mom.” Galen’s silverware clangs off the table as he drops it, thumping his fist on the table. “Why would you even bring that up?” he says, through gritted teeth, snagging Lo’s hand under the table.
“I don’t know, I just…” She shrugs, shooting a timid smile in Lo’s direction. Lo glares at her with murderous intent, and Alisha gulps. “It just popped into my head,” she blurts. “Ugh.” She slams her glass down, pressing her palms into her head. “I’m bad. Bad. Bad.” She slaps her cheeks, fisting her hands, and hitting herself in the face. She accidentally elbows her glass, and it crashes on top of the table, shattering and spilling vodka everywhere.
Lo reacts fast, jumping to her feet before vodka pours all over her.
“I’ll get Mrs. Murphy,” Theo says while Galen stands, going to his mom and prying her hands from her face. Her nails are unkempt, and she’s torn her frail skin. Little beads of blood seep from a small tear on her cheek.
“Mom, stop.” Galen holds her wrists down in front of her, as Saint slips out of the room.
“I’m sorry!” she whimpers, letting her head drop forward on his chest. “I know I mess everything up, but I’m not all bad. I’ve done good things.” She lifts her chin, peeking up at her son with a pleading expression.
I don’t know how the fuck Galen has put up with this for years. He deserves the Nobel fucking Peace Prize for his efforts.
Galen releases her hands as Saint steps back into the room. “Good things for you,” Alisha adds, cupping Galen’s face. “My baby. My precious boy. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
What a fucking joke.
This is going to sound cold, but, honestly, the best thing Alisha Lennox could do for her son is die and release him from the burden of caring for her.
She hiccups, and Galen’s pained eyes meet Saint’s over his mom’s shoulder. Saint sets the first aid box down on the table, and I bundle Lo in my arms as we watch Galen attend to the cut on her face.
Mrs. Murphy arrives to clean up the mess on the table, her sad gaze roaming over Alisha as she sobs into Galen’s shirt.
“I’ll get her to bed,” Mrs. Murphy says. “You finish your dinner.” She coaxes Alisha from Galen’s arms, and his shoulders slump as she’s led out of the room.
“You should eat,” Galen says in a deadpan voice. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“I think we all have,” Lo says, leaving my embrace and going to Galen. She snakes her arms around him, holding him tight.
“Let’s just leave.” Galen sounds dejected, and I don’t blame him. No matter how often Alisha embarrasses him like this, it never gets any easier even when he knows we understand.
“Lo has something to show you first,” Saint says, clamping his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Something that’ll cheer you up.”
We head outside, letting Lo and Galen walk ahead of us.
“She’s getting worse,” Saint says under his breath as we walk.
“She looks awful,” I admit, because every time I see her, she appears to be thinner and paler.
“We need to get her into rehab,” Theo suggests.
“It’s a waste of money,” Saint says. “Money Galen doesn’t have because everything he earns already goes into her and the upkeep of this house.”
“He should sell it,” I cut in. “Place is creepy as fuck and falling apart. He’d be better off using the money to get Alisha into rehab and then buying her a smaller home that’s more manageable.”
