“So, what now? You’re gonna bore four of us to death instead of just me?” I snort.
His laughter irritates me to no end. “I’m gonna miss your sparklin’ personality.” Without pausing between his theatrics and swinging his fist, he lands a right hook to Mason’s jaw. Mase takes it with ease and subtly moves his jaw around. “Between the four of you, you have nine kiddies. While I don’t like hurtin’ little ones, I'm gonna have to make them sad. Their daddies ain’t comin’ home.”
19
Zach
My phone vibrates across the kitchen table, and an unknown number fills the screen. Flicking my gaze up at the wall clock, it’s after one in the morning. I grind the weed and sprinkle it into the rolling paper. Nina and Sebastian are fast asleep and I would be envious if the middle of the night hadn’t become my new favorite time of the day. Though Mom shuffles in and turns the main light on disturbing my peace, disturbing the quiet. She jumps when she sees me and then lets out a small chuckle before her sadness returns. It reminds me of when I was a teenager and she would catch me in the night, either smoking out of a window or creeping back in hours after curfew. I always thought Dad would have been the one up, waiting to kick my ass, but it was always Mom.
“Do you have to roll that stuff at my table?” she mutters.
I don’t bother giving her an answer, none would be acceptable so why bother wasting my breath. She takes out the half-finished bottle of wine from the fridge and reaches for a glass from the cupboard. She sits across from me and poursherself a large glass. She takes a large gulp and then another. She refills the glass and leans back in her chair.
“I’ve never asked why you smoke that stuff.”
I shrug. “I like how it makes me feel.”
“And how’s that?”
I look up and tell her honestly, “Like I don’t give a fuck about anything.”
She holds my gaze and the next words out of her mouth shock the shit out of me. “Make me one.”
Laughing, I tell her, “Stick to your wine.”
“I’m serious, Zachery. Make me one, wine isn’t cutting it.”
“Mom, I'm not gonna give you drugs.”
“I remember when I first found your stash when I was cleaning your room back when you were in school. I thought you’d end up being a junkie, I was wrong about that, wasn’t I.”
I laugh but not for long. “I am okay, Mom. It's no different to you drinking your wine, mine just doesn’t leave me with a headache the next morning.”
“I’ve had plenty of them. Your dad would make my coffee extra strong before I went to work.”
The fondness of her memory doesn’t last long before she frowns. “Please, I want to try. It has to be better than how I’m feeling now.”
Sighing, I say, “What if you turn into a junkie? You think I want that on my conscience.” I'm only half teasing as she gulps down her wine.
“Hardly likely, son. Do as I ask and roll me one. I'd like to getsomesleep tonight.”
I shrug. “Fine, it’s up to you.”
It doesn’t take long to prepare the first joint of her life, and she joins me on the back step.
“Have you ever even smoked a cigarette?” I ask.
“Once, when I was with Billy... your biological father.” I know who he is. “I was on my way to being wasted and thought why not. I hated it and never done it again.”
I pass over the joint and say, “Last chance.”
She puts the joint to her lips, and I spark the lighter. The coughing fit that follows makes me laugh. It’s a rite of passage to hack your lungs up after your first puff.
“If you didn’t like it then, I’ll doubt you’ll like it now.”
“I doubt I'll like anything ever again,” she murmurs.
She takes small hits from the joint, and the coughing disappears. I light my own and inhale deeply, seeking the rush that follows after a strong one.
