I stare at him until I can’t take it then head for her bedroom. If he doesn’t want to leave, whatever, but I’m not going to listen to his Dr. Phil bullshit.
I fall back onto Mom’s mattress and kick my feet up on her comforter. It still smells like her and the cheap brand of cigarettes she smoked like a chimney. I’m a breath away from scooting to the edge and yanking the cap off good ole Jack when Sebastian shows his face again.
Why can’t he take a hint?
I’m beginning to welcome the burn of the liquid coating my throat and the way it’ll blanket everything else I’m feeling, including the images of Mom that keep flashing through my head. I know she’s not here, but I’ve seen her in different parts of the house. Like the last time I saw her stepping out of the bathroom and trailing down the short hall. She had her toothbrush in one hand and a ciggy in the other and kept going back and forth between the two. I don’t think she cared that smoking while she was brushing her teeth totally defeated the purpose.
It’s dumb shit like that keeping me on my toes. That has me getting closer and closer to the edge ofI-don’t-give-a-fuck. The biggest thing that holds me back is the nagging thought of addiction running rampant in the family. Grandpa Moore was an alcoholic. Mom, well, she was addicted to anything she could get her hands on. That’s two generations of enslavement. I don’t want to make it a third.
“Is this what you’ve been doing?” Sebastian asks, a hint of disgust in his tone that rarely comes through. I know it’s because he’s bothered by my reaction and doesn’t know what to do toget me out of my head. We’re not kids anymore, and this is a lot heavier than anything else we’ve ever faced.
I don’t have it in me to fight. I spewed what I could in the kitchen. Now, I just want to be left alone. It’s why I haven’t answered anyone’s phone calls.
He walks into the room, ignoring the trash lying around and plucks the bottle of Jack off the dresser. He twists it in his hold, eyeing the way the see-through liquid swishes and bubbles. I pay close attention to make sure he doesn’t leave with it.
He lifts it higher and looks at me. “Is this why you look like shit? You’ve been drinking?”
I glare at him. “You want to stay, Seb? Fine, but I didn’t sign up to get my ass chewed out. You don’t like what I’m doing then fucking bail. No one is making you stay and witness what you don’t want to.”
He sets the bottle back on the dresser, the label facing away instead of staring me head-on the way I like. He walks around the bed and paces.
“They moved Janie to a funeral home. Mom mentioned you saying that you didn’t want a funeral, but they can’t keep waiting. She doesn’t want to make any decisions without you. There’s also shit that has to be handled with the life insurance policy. Money that will go to the state if it isn’t claimed, and from what I hear, it’s a pretty penny, man. Enough for you to start fresh, but you need your birth certificate and social security number. Info that proves your identity so it can be passed down to you.”
Doesn’t he see that I’m neck-deep in grief? That there isn’t room for anything else. Not even a boatload of money.
Sebastian doesn’t say anything else, but he does sit down on the other side of the bed. He mirrors me, lifting his feet up on the comforter and relaxing back against the wall. For the nexthour, he keeps me company. I’m grateful as hell when he takes the high road and shuts up.
Sometime later, an alarm on his phone goes off, and he wordlessly leaves the room. My breath staggers when I hear the front door shut.
It’s just Jack and me again.
Alone at last.
EIGHT
VIOLET
Violet:What did you tell her?
Olive:That you haven’t budged. I know things are screwed up right now, but you can’t spend the holiday alone.
Violet:I’ll be fine.
Olive:I won’t allow it.
Violet:Who are you? The Christmas police?
Olive:No, but maybe I should be if it means you’ll spend it with your favorite sister.
Violet:I’d never ignore you on your most favorite day of the year, Olive Garden.
Olive:Deep down, I know that, but you can’t ignore our parents forever, Vi.
Classes are demandingas ever with finals and holiday break around the corner. Olive has messaged me countless timesasking what my plans are for break, but I’ve been telling her that I don’t know, and it’s the truth. My brain swings between exams, working at the daycare, and Colson. I haven’t had the energy to figure out the dysfunctional shit that’s going on with my parents. Not when I’m trying to keep my grades above average, so I have a better chance at securing a solid teaching position after graduation.
While I may understand it a teensy more than I did back at Thanksgiving, I’m still not equipped to handle my dad’s cheating full on or the obtuse understanding my mom has regarding it. Not when my heart is in shambles. Not when my boyfriend just lost his mom and is spiraling so far that he broke up with me and walked out. He also isn’t answering anyone’s phone calls.
It’s been days since the Second Chances fundraiser. Some moments it feels like it was yesterday. I barely knew Janie, only what Colson shared and the glimpses I saw when I stayed with him in Harrison Heights, but I’m grieving her death for her son’s sake, flipping back and forth between sadness and desperation. Denial and acceptance.
