Page 44 of Playing the Player

Liam is still asleep, curled up beneath my duvet, finally getting the sleep he desperately needs. Good. Because I’m about to wake someone else up. I bring up my dad’s contact and dial his number. It rings and rings before going to voicemail. Typical.

Okay, I’ll try my mom. The dial tone rings and rings and finally, she answers. “Hello my sweet girl.” I close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath. She’s speaking to me like I’m a child. Usually, it makes me smile. Today it makes me clench my teeth.

“Mom.” My tone is clipped but she doesn’t seem to notice as she asks how I am. “Do you have anything you have to tell me?” I ask, instead of answering her question.

“Emm, no. I don’t think so.”

“Well I have something to tell you.”

“Are you pregnant?" She asks, excitement in her voice. Pregnant? Is she serious?

Again, I don’t answer her question, instead giving her one. “Do you know where Liam is?”

“I’m sure he’s out with his friends. You know what he’s like.” The words hit like a punch straight to the chest. Friends. If only she knew.

“Has he been out with these friends for almost two days now?”

“Maybe. He stays over at his friend's house a lot.” No he doesn’t because he doesn’t have any friends. He told me this last night. He’s getting a hard time from people at school for being different. He has no one to hang out with at home and the fact that his own mother can’t see that is just so fucking sad.

“Liam got a bus to Florida yesterday, mom. On his own.”

“What are you talking about, Sasha?”

“Exactly what I just said.” It’s taking so much effort to keep my voice down when all I want to do is scream down the phone at her. “Liam got on a bus and came to Florida by himself because he’s so miserable at home.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. You’re just overreacting, Sasha.” Is she fucking kidding me right now? I'm overreacting?

There’s a soft knock on my front door before Conor walks in, carrying a tray of hot coffees from Buttons and Books. His smile instantly drops when he sees how angry I am, his eyes flicking between me and the phone in my hand.

“No, mom.” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. “You’re underreacting. He’s just a kid.”

“Sasha-”

“He’s struggling.”

“We know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“We’re trying our best-”

“You’re best?” A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, but there’s no humor there. “Your best is letting your fourteen-year-old son disappear for nearly two days without even checking where he is?”

“We didn’t think-”

“Exactly.” We’re both silent for a few beats. “You didn’t think.”

“You know we don’t know how to help. We don’t understand his illness and -”

“It’s not a fucking illness, mom.” My voice cracks as I try to keep the tears at bay. “It’s a neurological condition. He needs help and support and you’re not giving it to him. You’re his mom, not me, so start fucking acting like it.”

I hang up before she can answer. My hands tremble as I stare at my phone. I want to throw it. I want to smash something. Everything catches up to me at once. I am so God damn exhausted. I am so fucking angry. I am devastated for my little brother who I should have protected better.

Conor sits next to me on the couch, pulling me into his arms. His scent wraps around me like a warm blanket. It’s comforting, easing some of the tension built up inside me. I don't know if it's his cologne, shampoo or just him. All I know is that it's like a drug to me and one hit is never enough.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Conor.” I mumble into his shirt. “I didn't mean to get so mad but… ugh! I had the best parents in the world growing up. Why can’t they be like that for him? He needs it a lot more than I ever did.”

“I don’t know, Angel.”