8. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
CHARLOTTE
I take another bite of my Twizzlers as I stare down at my phone with a scowl.
DAD :
Hey, I was hoping maybe we could meet for lunch. I’d like to talk about the wedding.
DAD :
I know you’re super busy at school, but Barb would really love it if you could spare some time to go dress shopping.
DAD :
I ran into Tim the other day and know your car broke down when you were home. He told me you had it towed to his shop. If you go dress shopping with Barb, I’ll fix your car. Just say the word. I’m sure you miss having a vehicle.
DAD :
Charlotte, come on. You’ve gotta talk to me about this sometime.
Apparently, someone can’t take a hint.
I pull another candy rope from the package and take a bite before I debate on a response. If I continue to ignore him, he’ll just keep texting, but if I text what I really want to, he’ll only get angry.
With a sigh, I start to type, knowing there’s no way around it.
ME :
I already told you where I stand.
When I see the little text bubbles dancing, I shut my phone off. I can’t deal with this today.
“How long do you think my dad’s going to bug me about the wedding thing?” I ask, glancing over at the girls. Brynn is giving Samantha a pedicure while Elizabeth sits cross-legged on her bed, studying for a Psych exam.
“Until you either cave or they finally get hitched,” Brynn says, concentrating on Samantha’s toes.
I grunt out a response because that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
“I don’t see what the big deal is. If he’s so intent on marrying her, then why can’t he just do it without me?”
Brynn exchanges a look with Elizabeth who peels her eyes from her textbook and says, “Um, because he loves you and wants to be a part of your life and vice versa?”
I scoff. “It’s his life, and his marriage, not mine,” I say, glazing over all the love talk.
“I also know how close Chris is with his family,” Brynn says. “So, it makes sense to me that his mother doesn’t want to get married without your approval.”
“Tough,” I say, crumbling the wrapper of my candy and throwing it in the trash can beneath my desk, ignoring Brynn’s pinched expression.
I can tell she has something to say, but it’s likely I don’t wanna hear it, so I don’t ask.
Raising my arms above my head, I stretch on a yawn. “Man, I’m dragging today. Tell me why I thought a five-p.m. class was a good idea? Everyone is already done with their day, and I have to go back out.” I grimace.
“What class is this?” Elizabeth asks.
“Principles of Education.”
“Sounds riveting.” Brynn smirks.
“Oh, yeah. Keeps me on the edge of my seat.” I laugh.
“It might be boring, but did she tell you there’s a cute boy in her class she’s been talking to?” Samantha asks with a mischievous smile.
Brynn gasps at the same time Liz’s eyes brighten, suddenly interested.
“Who?” Brynn asks, eyes wide.
“His name is Mason Danger, but everyone just calls him Danger. He plays for AAU’s soccer team. Total babe,” I say with a grin. “We’ve been flirting for weeks.”
“And I’m just now finding out about this?” Brynn asks. “Is he boyfriend material?”
I have to laugh. Ever since Brynn fell in love, she’s obsessed with everyone else finding their happily ever after.
“I don’t know, but does it really matter when he’s hot and available?” I ask.
Brynn frowns. “You don’t want to find someone you’d actually want a relationship with?”
“I do,” Liz says with a dreamy sigh, and I shoot her a sympathetic look. Poor Elizabeth. She’s the definition of a romantic if there ever was one.
“I don’t know,” I hedge, feeling a heavy pressure in my chest at the thought. “Maybe someday.”
Samantha grunts. “Then why do you keep going out with guys that aren’t interested in anything serious?”
“It’s not like that,” I insist. Isn’t it?
Brynn arches a brow and even Liz can’t keep a straight face. “First, you dated that commuter last fall that was obsessed with action figures. Then you dated Mario, the pothead,” Brynn says, ticking off her fingers. “And after him, you went out with Todd, who ignored you the whole time you were at his apartment so he could play video games with the bros. And don’t even get me started with the array of men you flirt with at the club when we go out. They always have red flags written all over them.”
Liz nods in agreement. “It’s almost like you seek out the losers so that there’s no chance of falling for them.”
All three of them turn accusatory glares at me while I lift my chin in the air and sniff. There might be the slightest grain of truth to what they’re saying, but I’ll never admit it.
“I can assure you that’s not what’s happening here,” I say as I get to my feet. “But as much as I’d love to finish this conversation and debate the many failures that is my love life, I have to go, or I’ll be late.”
“Fine.” Brynn sighs. “But will you at least do me a favor?” I glance at her expectantly while I lift my bookbag from the floor by my desk. “When you’re flirting with Danger, try and picture dating him six months out. See how it fits.”
“Sure thing,” I say with a grin. “I’ll picture myself in a white dress, walking down the aisle while I’m at it.”
“Hey, whatever works.”
I roll my eyes and flutter my fingers in a wave as I wrench open the door. “ Byyyye .”
Once I’m outside, I tug my coat tighter. Even though it’s only the first week of October, the temperatures have been unseasonably cold, and I don’t particularly enjoy the frigid trek to class every day. Our dorm is the furthest from the lecture buildings, which means walking past the cafeteria and the other dormitories before I even reach the heart of campus, and it’s not even the dead of winter yet.
The massive library looms on my left, its large windows dark beneath the overcast sky. On my right, the courtyard normally dotted with students in the spring and summer is mostly empty and I follow the walkway winding along the colorful oaks and maples until I spot the education building. With my head lowered to brace against the breeze stinging my cheeks, I push through the heavy glass doors, making my way past the lobby to my right and down the long hallway that leads to the lecture hall.
Pausing in front of the large double doors, I slide my phone from my book bag and check the time. Seeing I’m early, I decide to call my mother. It’s been a week since I visited for my birthday and broke the news about my father, and she hasn’t answered any of my calls since.
I listen as the line rings, praying she picks up, but when her voicemail clicks on, I deflate and leave yet another message. “Hey, Mom. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Give me a call as soon as you get this.”
Gnawing on my lower lip, I stare down at my phone as the call ends, willing her to call me back.
Why the hell is she not picking up her phone?
Shit. What am I saying?
I know exactly why.
Heaviness descends over me, darkening my thoughts as I shove the phone into my back pocket where it lies heavily like a lead brick.
Somehow, I’d convinced myself Mom would snap out of her depression when I left for school, but I know firsthand that’s not how depression works. She’s likely spiraling, and I’m helpless to stop it.
All the progress she made in the last year, gone in an instant.
Inhaling, I take several deep breaths in an effort to loosen the tightening in my chest. Knowing there’s nothing I can do right now to help her doesn’t make it any easier, but as much as I don’t want to, I need to go to class and push this from my mind.
So, that’s exactly what I do as I push the lecture door open and make a beeline for Danger.
I follow behind the drove of students leaving the lecture hall with Danger at my side as he regales me with stories about his roommates. There’s no denying I’m attracted to him, but he also seems like a genuinely nice guy, and I can’t help but think about everything the girls said.
Don’t I want a boyfriend?
I glance over at him, taking in the strong jawline, the tiny dimple he gets on the left side of his mouth when he smiles, his hazel eyes. I should want him, and I do, but the idea of investing more than a couple of dates or outings with him turns my stomach inside out.
“What?” he asks when he notices my staring. “Do I have something on me?” He runs a hand over the side of his face.
“No.” I smile, trying to lift the weight on my chest. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, but in case you didn’t know, you’re pretty nice to look at.”
“Yeah?” He beams, staring down at me, the corners of his mouth lifting in a familiar grin, not unlike Chris’s.
Wait. Why the hell am I thinking of Chris?
“Yeah.” I swallow and offer him a nod. Surely, I’m just scared to put myself out there and get rejected; that’s what this weird knot in my chest means. Just because we’ve been flirting for weeks, doesn’t mean he’s interested. Maybe I just need to jump in headfirst.
“Actually, I was thinking?” The sound of my ringtone blaring from the pocket of my jeans cuts him off.
I wince, raising a finger out in front of myself. “Just hold that thought,” I say as I slide my phone from my back pocket and glance at the screen.
My stomach drops when I see it’s Carol. I have no idea why she’s calling, but since I haven’t heard from my mother, I can only imagine it’s not good.
“Um, I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I really need to take this.” I glance up at him to find him staring warmly down at me. “It’s about my mother. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her . . .”
“No worries,” Danger says, taking a step back. “I’ve gotta head to my next class anyway. Maybe we could meet up after the football game this weekend?”
I nod, biting my lower lip and hating the swell of relief settling inside my chest as I accept the call and press the phone to my ear. “Carol? Is everything okay?”
“I didn’t know if you’d answer,” she says, sounding relieved. “Honestly, I debated whether to even make this call . . .”
I step to the side, off the sidewalk and out of the path of students headed to and from class, ducking beneath the overhang of the education building. “What’s going on?”
“It’s your mother. She hasn’t gone to work all week, and I’m afraid she’s going to get fired. I don’t even know if she called in or if she just flat out doesn’t show up. I tried to ask her, but you know how she gets. She didn’t have an answer for me, and as far as I know, she hasn’t gone to therapy in at least two weeks. Even before your visit, she started canceling appointments. So, when she missed her therapy this evening and I watched her reject your phone call, I got really worried.”
“What do you mean she missed her therapy session last week?” I ask, alarmed. “I thought she was still going to Dr. Sherri. She told me as much just this past weekend, said it was going really well.”
“She’s missed three sessions now. Said she was doing great. Promised me she’d keep going but only once a month, and I know how expensive those sessions are, so I didn’t think anything of it. But then she told me about Garry, and it got me thinking. . .”
This is about more than Mom thinking she’s made progress.
The air hisses from my lungs as I let this sink in.
Mom decides to stop going to therapy just before she finds out my father’s getting remarried. Perfect.
“What else? How’s she functioning otherwise?”
“I came over today to check on things like I usually do, and she had a sink full of dishes, but nothing too awful. Her cupboards were bare as bones, though.”
“Yeah. They were empty when I showed up for my birthday, too. I had to go shopping that morning.”
“I told her to go to the store, but she didn’t listen. Said it was fine, that you’d figure it out once you got there. I swear, sometimes I can’t with that woman . . .”
Panic needles beneath my skin at the prospect Carol might give up on her?on us.
“I hate calling you like this,” Carol continues. “I know you’ve got your own life up there in Ann Arbor. The last thing you need is to worry about this, but I thought you’d want to know.”
“No, yes, of course I do.” I reach up to pinch the bridge of my nose, wondering where I’d be without her the past year I’ve been in college. “You did the right thing by calling me.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’m just hoping this is a one-off.”
You and me both.
I swallow down the anxiety rising in my chest, trying to think clearly through the haze of panic. “You’ve always been so good to us, and I appreciate it. So does Mom, you know that.”
“I thought you leaving for school would hit her hard, but after she seemed okay last year, I breathed a sigh of relief. Thought things were turning around. But this news with Garry, it’s hitting her hard.”
“I know.” I bring my thumb to my mouth and chew on the edge of my nail, my stomach a tangle of knots.
“She can’t lose this job, Charlotte. Her alimony payments ended in August.”
“Shit,” I hiss, staring out at campus. “You’re kidding?”
“I’m afraid so.”
I knew they were bound to end at some point, but rather than face the reality of what might happen when they did, ignoring their approaching expiration was easier.
Students pass by on the sidewalk, laughing and smiling, carefree as they talk about the upcoming weekend, and I wonder how many of them are contemplating how the hell to get their mother to climb down from the proverbial ledge.
I rake a hand through my hair. Somebody needs to get through to her, and if she won’t go see Dr. Sherri or take my calls, then I only have one choice.
“I’ll pay her a visit,” I say, nodding to myself. “I’ll talk to her about work, make sure she goes in tomorrow, and stress the importance of going back to Dr. Sherri.”
“Are you sure you can leave school? I don’t want to worry you, but I?”
“No. It’s fine, Carol, really. I have an exam tomorrow I can’t miss, so I can’t spend the night, but I’ll go over tonight and see if I can talk some sense into her.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
“I am. I’ll get this straightened out, and you have my number if you need anything else. Thanks, Carol,” I say as I disconnect the line and start to walk away from the building, wondering how exactly I plan on getting to my mother’s house when I no longer have a vehicle.
Samantha is having dinner with James, and I know she’d cancel if I asked, but I’d hate to do that, especially when it means unloading on her and explaining the whole situation with my mother. Elizabeth has to work at the library tonight, and Brynn doesn’t have a car. Unless Jace is available, that leaves me to call an Uber and spend more money I don’t have.
“Looks like I’m on my own,” I grumble.
“Talking to yourself, Lettie?”
My stomach flips at the sound of the familiar baritone and instantly my heart rate spikes.
Placing a hand over the pounding in my chest, I spin around to find Chris grinning at me from the side of the education building. “Where the hell did you come from?” I ask. “The bushes?”
“Actually, I came from the other side of campus,” Chris says as he motions behind him, “but you were so deep in thought, you didn’t see me coming. Tea?” He reaches out, a paper to-go cup clutched in one giant hand.
I hesitate, staring at it like a bomb.
“Go on,” he says, giving the cup a little shake. “It’s some kind of fancy black tea, herbal blend with a splash of milk and tons of sugar since you’re an addict,” he says with a smirk.
“First of all, I’m not addicted to sugar.” Liar!
“And second of all?” He arches a brow.
I glance around me to see if he’s with anyone. “You got this for me? Like, on purpose?”
When I still don’t take the cup from him, he sighs and reaches out, opening my hand like a claw before he slides it inside my grip. “I did.”
“ Why ?” I ask, bringing it to my nose, inhaling like I’m some kind of sniffer dog that can sniff out poison.
All I smell is fruity floral deliciousness. “What did you do to it?”
Chris places a hand on his chest, feigning offense, and I try not to notice the way his pecs flex through his long-sleeve T-shirt. Damn football players . “What? I can’t do something nice for someone?”
“What do you want from me?” I narrow my eyes.
“Nothing.” He chuckles. “Do I have to want something in order to do something nice for you? What kind of men do you usually date?”
“We’re not dating.” I point with my cup.
“ Yet. ” He grins while my scowl grows.
“If you think tea will change my mind about our?”
“Let’s not talk about our folks for once, yeah?”
I shift on my feet, trying to discern his angle but come up empty when he sighs and says, “Fine. If I must give you a reason, I wanted to do something nice for you because you seemed stressed this week, and for me, coffee is a comfort thing. It always makes me feel better. So, I imagined a hot cup of tea might do the same for you.”
I grunt, because no one ever does nice things for me without expecting anything in return other than my girlfriends, and because he’s right. The hot cup warms my hands, and when I take a sip of the tea, it’s like a shot of liquid comfort. It’s perfect, and even if it is poisoned, the upside of dropping dead is I won’t have to go on this rescue mission to my mother’s house.
I take another sip at the thought, only partly disappointed I haven’t keeled over yet.
“Good, huh?”
“I can use the caffeine,” I answer.
“I’ll take that as a thank-you .”
“Suit yourself.” I reposition my bag over my arm, wondering the best way to bail after he just did something nice for me and decide on the direct approach. “Listen, as much as I’d like to stand here chatting, I have somewhere to be.”
“Big test?” he asks, falling in step beside me as I start walking.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Hot date?” he asks, wiggling his brows, and I scoff.
“Like I’d tell you.”
“You know, Lettie, if you need caffeine to stay awake on your date, he’s not it.”
“Thanks for that piece of advice,” I say with a roll of my eyes, “but I don’t have a date.”
“Why the hell not? Look at you.” He motions up and down my body, and I fight the flush spreading up my neck. “You should always have a date.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, ready to be rid of him. He’ll pester me all night about where I’m going if I let him.
“Not really. I just finished practice, so I’m done for the night. Which means if you want some company . . .”
“Want I want is for my car to be miraculously fixed so that I don’t have to find someone to bum a ride off. Speaking of . . .” My brow wrinkles as I glance over at him. “Jace has a truck, right? What’s he doing at the moment?”
“Uh, he does, but he’s currently doing your best friend, and my guess is they’ll be a while.”
I tip my head back and groan. “Why does everyone with a car have a life but me?”
“I mean, if you need a ride, I’m available.”
“Of course you are,” I grumble.
“I’m serious.”
“Ha, no. I’d rather Uber.” I wouldn’t, but I am not asking Chris for a ride. I’d rather hitchhike to Lockport and risk getting picked up by some skeevy guy in a white van who will inevitably dump my body in Loon Lake once he’s done with me.
“No way am I letting you take an Uber when I’m right here, willing and able to take you wherever you need to go. Consider me your personal chauffeur for the night,” Chris insists.
Why is he so nice?
I freaking hate it.
When I say nothing, he halts and places a hand on my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “I’m serious, Lettie.”
I exhale, turning to face him while I debate my options. I can wait a couple of hours until Brynn and Jace are available in the hopes Jace will take pity on me and drive me to my mother’s house, but then Brynn will ask questions. Ones I’m not sure I want to answer.
Or I can take an Uber, which will cost me at least sixty bucks, money I don’t really want to spend. Not to mention, having to endure the awkwardness and anxiety of riding with a stranger alone.
Or . . .
“Fine,” I say, swallowing my pride. “You can drive me on one condition.” I raise a finger.
He snickers. “Only you would have conditions on favors.”
“Oh, please. Like you’re not chomping at the bit to help me.”
He purses his lips, hiding a grin.
Does this man ever frown?
“You have a point,” he says with a wave of the hand. “Lay out your conditions.”
“They’re simple. You have to stay in the car. No getting out. And no asking questions.”
His brow creases as he considers my offer. “Are you going to be in trouble wherever you’re going?”
Only my mental health.
“I’m going to my mother’s, so no.”
He nods. “Then I have no problem staying in the car.”
I eye him like I don’t believe him. I have no idea what kind of state my mother will be in when I get there, and the last thing I need is him getting an up close and personal glimpse of her dysfunction. But it’s not like I have much of a choice.
“Okay, then, Collins. I’ll give you the honor of driving me.” I point and add, “Just try not to annoy me.”
Five minutes later, I’m sitting beside Chris, breathing in the crisp clean scent of him while we hit the road, headed toward my mother’s house. “This is your car?” I say, glancing around me in disbelief.
A smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Not what you expected?”
I take in the sleek turquoise paint and the smooth black leather interior with classic lines. “Not exactly. I would never have taken you for a vintage car guy.”
Chris snorts. “And what exactly is a ‘vintage car guy’?”
“I don’t know. Someone interesting, sophisticated . . .” Hot.
I eye him for a second longer as he chuckles and fight the shiver of desire rolling up my spine. The second we slipped inside his car, he abandoned his jacket, then pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms with a smattering of golden hair that shouldn’t be as hot as they are.
His large hand rests on the gearshift, relaxed and in contrast to the way my entire body is tensed like a spring, and every time he shifts gears, the muscles in his forearm flex.
It’s fucking hot, which is more than a little disconcerting because this is Chris we’re talking about here. The man with the annoying tenacity of a gnat.
“I’ve never ridden with anyone who drives a stick shift,” I say as if voicing some of what I’m thinking might rid me of these toxic thoughts.
“No?” He glances over at me, then back to the road. “Manual transmissions are far superior. Everything is automatic now, and it’s boring.”
“It’s also easier,” I point out. “Who wants to think that much or work that hard while they’re driving?”
“You get used to it, and then it’s automatic .” He grins at his own joke while I scowl.
Look at him being all cute and funny.
I grunt in response, forcing my gaze away from his forearm porn. “What kind of car is it, anyway?”
“First of all, never call her an it .”
I snicker as I glance back at him. “It’s a her?”
“Of course it’s a her. Just look at her.”
“Oh, I’m looking,” I say, taking another sip of my quickly cooling tea.
“Not only is she gorgeous, but you should hear the way she purrs underneath the hood when I work on her.”
I choke, sputtering and hacking so I don’t aspirate when Chris removes his hand from the gearshift to slap my back. “You alright there?”
“I’m good. All good.”
Other than the mental image those words just conjured.
“So, what kind of car is she?” I ask, putting the emphasis on she.
“A 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 429.”
“That’s very specific. I’m not much of a car person, so that means nothing to me, but she is beautiful,” I admit begrudgingly. “Sounds expensive.”
I may not know a lot about Chris and his family but growing up with no father and a single mom to six kids, I can’t imagine they had a wealth of money sitting around, even if his mom did have a stable job.
“Is that an actual compliment, Lettie?”
“Again with the annoying nickname.” I roll my eyes even as my lips twitch. “This car is probably the coolest part about you, but don’t get used to compliments from me. Any second, I’m sure you’ll do or say something that’ll make the hair on the back of my neck rise.” When he opens his mouth to speak, I add, “And not in a good way.”
He snorts out a laugh and shifts gears. “It was my dad’s.”
I stare at the side of his face, wondering if he’ll elaborate when he says, “He owned a mechanic shop, and he was really into restoring vintage cars. Being the oldest, I used to sit out in the shop with him at night while he worked on them. Most of the cars he restored were for clients, but the Mustang Boss was his. Never got around to finishing it though, and when he died, my mom gave it to me. I was too young at the time to do much with it, but as soon as I was old enough to get a job, I scrimped and saved until I had enough to fix it up. Took me three years of hard work and pinching pennies.”
I inhale through the tightening in my chest, trying to keep my eyes north of his sexy-as-fuck stick-shifting hand while I contemplate this side of him. It’s so different from the Chris I see every day, the guy who takes nothing seriously and tends to view the world through rose-colored glasses.
This side of him throws me off balance, and I’m not sure I like it. I prefer my feet firmly on the ground.
Turning, I say nothing as I stare out the window, lost in my own thoughts and thinking about the impending visit to my mother.
Ten more minutes, and we’ll be at her house.
“So, where’s your car? In the shop somewhere?” he asks after a short time.
I shrug. “It’s a piece of junk. Broke down on the way to my mom’s after . . . well, the visit to my father last weekend,” I say, avoiding mention of the engagement.
“You know, I could probably take a look at it. I don’t know everything, but I?”
“It’s fine,” I cut him off. “I’ll work over Christmas break and make enough to cover the repairs,” I say, unwilling to accept his help.
“But there’s no point in paying someone when I can probably?”
“I said it’s fine,” I snap, turning to him.
His jaw tenses, the muscle flickering in his cheek. I can tell he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just nods and says, “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“Is it just me you don’t want help from?” he asks, his tone unbothered. “Or are you like this with everyone?”
I clench my jaw, refusing to answer because I don’t need anyone’s help, especially from a man.
This realization hits a little too close to home. I wonder if the girls are right. Maybe I do only talk to men when I know it won’t go anywhere.
When I say nothing, he persists. “So, after your parents split, did you spend more time at your mother’s or your father’s?”
Again, I ignore him, and again, he doesn’t take the hint. “Isn’t it weird to think we grew up only twenty minutes apart? I mean, we practically went to rival high schools. You probably saw me on the football field when we played Lockport. I bet you even wondered who the running back was with the tight ass and amazing hands.”
“You know, we really don’t have to talk the entire way,” I say, my voice flat. “Silence is underrated.”
“Damn. I would’ve liked you in high school,” he continues. “Always did have a thing for the girls with a mouth on them. Give me one that also plays hard to get, and I’m cooked.”
My head jerks toward him, eyes narrowed on his stupidly proportionate face. “I am not playing hard to get.”
“Are you saying you’re easy, Lettie?” Chris winks, and I want to punch him.
“What I’m saying is I’m not playing at all. I’m out of the game. Period. This isn’t some act. I know this is probably shocking news to you, but not every girl is automatically impressed because you can catch a pigskin at fifty yards.”
“Seventy.”
“What?” I blink at him.
“The furthest I’ve caught a ball during a game is from seventy yards.”
I growl and shake my head. “Whatever. My point is I’m just not interested, nor will I ever be interested.”
“Never say never.” His blue eyes twinkle as he focuses back on the road, and I wonder if he gets off on annoying me.
“I’m pretty confident in saying never,” I grumble.
“You know what your problem is?”
“Please, do tell me,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek.
“You just need a really good?”
“Go there, and you’ll have one less nut.”
“What?” Chris mock-gasps, feigning offense. “Lettie, what did you think I was going to say? I was going to say you need a really good massage . I mean, massage therapy can work wonders, especially in releasing all that pent-up tension. You’re always so stiff.”
“Maybe it’s you that just makes me uptight.”
He cocks his head, a grin curving his lips. “I like to think of it as making you nervous.”
I grind my teeth, my hands fisting in my lap. “Are you trying to get under my skin on purpose?”
“Are you admitting I’m under your skin?”
I groan and rest my head against the glass pane of the passenger-side window. “It’s like talking to a child,” I mumble.
“Kids are fucking hilarious, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Silence,” I say, closing my eyes and bringing my fingers to my temples. “Just two minutes of silence. That’s all I want.”
Because my head is already pounding, and I know the second I get to my mother’s and step inside, I’ll have a jackhammer in my brain.
Miraculously, Chris shuts up, but it does little to ease my nerves because a couple of minutes later, he’s pulling up to my mother’s house, and my blood pressure instantly skyrockets.
“So, this is it, huh? The house you grew up in?” Chris peers out the window, and I know what he’s thinking; it’s smaller and less lavish than my father’s place by a lot. At one time, it was a beautiful starter home with its pale blue exterior and charcoal accents. However, it’s seen better days. The siding is in desperate need of a power wash and the front porch needs staining. The landscaping is full of weeds and overgrown, while leaves cover every square inch of the yard, unlike my father’s place with his perfectly manicured lawn and his professionally groomed landscaping.
I straighten in my seat and unbuckle my seatbelt. Turning to him, I don’t even bother answering his question as I say, “You’re staying here, remember?”
“Keep my ass in my seat. Got it.” He smirks.
“I’m serious. If I see you step through that door, I will literally tear your balls off and eat them for dinner.”
“Oooh, kinky.” He wiggles his brow. “I’m starting to think you have an obsession with my balls, and I’m okay with it.”
I sigh, muttering an obscenity under my breath before I swing open my door and step outside. The cool air wraps around me, stealing my breath as I make my way down the sidewalk toward the porch. Using my key, I unlock the front door and enter, locking it behind me just in case.
Dealing with my mother is hard enough without having Chris nipping at my heels with his endless commentary and invasive questions.
The living room is empty, so I pass through it, calling out for my mother as I go. “Mom, it’s Charlotte!”
I skirt past the kitchen, catching the sound of a television coming from the second floor and take the stairs. Following the noise, I pass my old bedroom and the spare before I get to the master and pause.
With a small knock on the door, I push it open to find my mother lying on her bed, wide awake, her glazed eyes open and trained on the television.
“Mom?”
She turns toward me, blinking like she hadn’t heard me enter. “Charlotte?” She pushes herself up in bed, raking a hand through her ratty brown hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in days. “I didn’t know you were stopping by. What are you doing here?”
Her cotton pajamas hang on her thin frame, and as I step closer, I note the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the pile of food wrappers on the nightstand beside her bed. There are so many, I can even make out her alarm clock beneath the trash.
“You would know what I’m doing here had you answered my calls,” I say, unable to keep the anger from my voice.
“You called?” She turns away from me, patting the blankets around her as if searching for something. “I must’ve misplaced my phone.”
I hum under my breath as I take a seat on the edge of her bed because I don’t believe for one second she doesn’t know exactly where her phone is. If anything, she’s spending her days trolling my father on Facebook and hoping for a glimpse of his new fiancée.
“Carol called,” I say, glancing around the room, spotting the dirty clothes spilling from the hamper. “She’s worried about you.”
Mom scoffs and rolls her eyes but says nothing.
“Said you haven’t been to work this week.”
Mom stiffens, clearing her throat before she says, “Yes, well, I was feeling a bit under the weather.”
“Did you call in sick? Did they approve time off?”
“Of course,” she mutters but not before she lifts her hand to rub her nose, and I groan.
“You didn’t, did you? You didn’t call off or get time approved. You just didn’t show up.”
“I told you?”
“Yeah, but you did the nose rub thing. That’s your tell, Mom. I know you’re lying.” I curse under my breath and inhale, trying to contain my anger and failing. “Mom, you’ll lose your job. You can’t just not show up at work for an entire week without even letting them know.”
“They’ll understand, and if they don’t, then I don’t need to work for a company like theirs.”
“And what kind of company is that? One that expects their employees to show up?” I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustrated. “No. You need this job, Mom. You cannot afford to lose it. Do you understand that?” I search her face, but her expression is blank, placid, like tepid water. “Your alimony payments have dried up. They’re over. This is the only income you have, and if you get canned for not showing up at work, you won’t receive unemployment, either.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine.” I rake my hands through my hair, wondering what I can do to get her to snap out of it, knowing that nothing I say will make a difference. I’ve been through this a million times before, and I’ve never been enough to get through to her. The only one who ever made a difference was my father, but even his effect on her mental health was limited, and in the end, he left.
“When was the last time you showered?” I ask, eyeing her. “Cooked a hot meal? Went for a walk? Got some fresh air or went to the grocery store?”
“I told you, I don’t?”
“Feel well. Yeah, I know. It’s the story of your life,” I snap.
Or more aptly, the story of my life, and I’m so sick of reading the same ending over and over again. “But you need to get up. You need to take care of yourself, brush your teeth and your hair, and get out of the house,” I say, motioning with my hands. “You need to see Dr. Sherri. You need to make sure you’re taking your meds, and you need to go to work.”
“I can’t,” she wails, tears springing to her eyes. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” She shakes her head, her brown hair falling over her face like a waterfall.
“You can. And you will.”
She sobs, and my stomach clenches, but my heart is oddly silent. Maybe I’ve finally gone numb.
“I don’t want to,” she wails. “I don’t care what happens anymore.”
My hands fist at my sides, her words wrapping like barbed wire around my heart, because why can’t she just do this for me? Why am I never enough to get through to her?
“I know you don’t feel well. I know you’re sad. But it’s part of being an adult. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.”
Like come to your mother’s rescue because she can’t find the fucking energy to get out of bed.
Her body shakes in answer, a keening sound coming from the back of her throat.
“Come on.” I stand from the bed and whip the covers off my mother while she moans. “You’re going to get up and get a shower,” I say, reaching for her hands where I grip them in mine and tug.
She resists at first, but eventually, she stands and follows like an extra from The Walking Dead into the master bathroom.
Standing in her pajamas, she watches as I turn the shower on and check the water, then grab her a towel and a washcloth. “You’re going to have a nice hot shower and wash your hair and shave your legs, and then you’re going to come out to the kitchen and eat something at the table like a functioning adult. Afterward, you’re going to call Hartfield it just didn’t happen for her, whether because of my father or because it couldn’t, I don’t know. And maybe that’s the reason she’s so damn depressed all the time. Maybe I was never enough, but I’m tired of helping her carry this load.
“It doesn’t matter if I understand or not,” I say. “This is life, Mom, and you can’t just sit around, watching it pass you by because it’s going to catch up to you. I can’t be here every second of every day, and Carol is moving to Florida as soon as her house sells. So, you need to get it together.”
“I’m just so sad all the time,” she says, her voice thick.
“I know.” My heart squeezes even while my head rages. Part of me wants to reach out and throttle her. To shake some sense into her and open her eyes because she has me. I’m still here, and she could have whatever life she wants, if only she’d just try .
Rising from the table, I find her cell phone on the counter and hand it to her, resigned to the fact there’s only so much I can do, especially if she won’t help herself.
“Please,” I say, pressing the phone into her hands. “I have to go, but before I do, call work and leave a message if they’re not there. Tell them you’ll be in tomorrow morning.”