Tyler
“You almost ready, Ty?” Orla’s voice carried up from downstairs, all steady like she had no idea my stomach was in knots.
I wasn’t even close to ready. My hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting with the buttons on my shirt.
The last time I saw my mother was almost a year ago; I’d hauled her half-conscious out of some bar, shoved her in bed, then lay awake on her sofa all night listening to make sure she didn’t choke on her own breath.
The next morning, I checked her into rehab. Again.
Every time, the guilt clawed at me. Because in reality, I hadn’t been much better back then.
I’d chased release in bottles, in beds I didn’t belong in, in anything that dulled the torture in my head.
The difference was, I knew when to walk away.
I could lock in for months at a time when I really had to. She never could.
“I’m coming,” I called, forcing my legs down the stairs, each step heavy as lead.
Outside, headlights washed across the drive as Trav and Eve pulled up in his big SUV.
Next to it, gleaming in the dusk was my pride and joy, the vintage Bronco I bought out of my first big paycheck.
I’d bought it because it was solid, stubborn, and dependable.
The exact opposite of what was waiting for me at my mother’s door.
Orla stood by the window, stunning in a green dress that clung just right.
Elegant as hell, like she’d decided if we were doing this, she’d do it with dignity.
She didn’t know it wouldn’t matter, Mom would’ve loved her no matter what she showed up in.
Still, my throat tightened. I had no idea what version of my mother we were about to find.
The four of us piled into Trav’s car and drove mostly in silence to my mom’s house.
That familiar sinking feeling clawed its way into my throat as we pulled up outside her bungalow.
It was a modest little place Travis and I bought for her years ago.
Safe enough, in a good neighborhood so that we’d know if anything happened to her.
It was a roof over her head and that was all that mattered.
“You ready?” Travis asked.
“No,” I answered bluntly. From the back seat, Orla’s hand found my shoulder. She gave one squeeze, just to show me that she was there as my quiet, steady anchor.
The four of us walked up the path. The grass was trimmed, by one of the neighbors no doubt. There were no trash bags stacked on the porch. A flicker of cautious hope sparked in my chest.
Travis stepped ahead and knocked, the door flew open within seconds.
“My boys!” she sang, arms wide.
She looked thinner than I remembered, hair still that box-dye blonde, lipstick too pink against lips that had gone pencil-thin. But she looked sober. Smelled sober. That was something, at least.
“Hi, Mom,” I muttered, stiff in her arms.
“Oh my, look at these beautiful girls you’ve brought,” she beamed. “I’m so proud.”
Orla gave her a polite smile. “Hi, Mrs. Reed.”
Mom folded her straight into a hug. “Please, call me Caroline. You must be Orla.”
Orla blinked, surprised, but hugged her back.
We followed her in. The living room smelled faintly of overpowering lemon floor cleaner and the lace frilled sofa cushions were lined up too neatly. Either she’d scrubbed the place spotless expecting us or she was covering something. It was too soon to call it.
“Can I get anyone a drink? Coffee? Lemonade?” she chirped.
“Coffee sounds great, Mom. I’ll make it, you sit down.” Travis said, ducking out to the kitchen, leaving me square in the spotlight.
Orla and I sat in the two leather armchairs, Mom and Eve on the sofa opposite us.
Mom’s sense of style was stuck somewhere in the early nineties with decorative throws and gaudy floral wallpaper that distracted from the dust. Deep down, I knew that was when she’d been happiest, but in reality it was the markings of a functioning alcoholic.
Picture frames crowded every surface. Us as kids, with frozen smiles and staged moments. Each one a false reminder of a childhood we never actually had.
“So, you two,” Mom said, eyes sparkling, “how’s married life? I still can’t believe you snuck off to Vegas. That’s so you, Tyler.”
I gave an awkward laugh. “Yeah. That’s me all right. We’re good.”
Orla tightened her hand on mine, smiling at her like she wanted to stitch the cracks together herself.
Travis came back minutes later balancing a tray, a French press and mismatched mugs. Orla jumped up to pour, probably just to keep her hands busy. Mom leaned back, eyes wide and a little damp around the rims.
“Look at you all here,” she gleamed. “Feels like yesterday my boys were running barefoot through my house, tearing it apart.”
Yeah, I thought. Half the time you were too hammered to notice.
Across from me, Eve was twitching with the weight of the secret they’d been keeping. Finally, Trav slid an arm around her shoulders.
“Actually, Mom…speaking of little ones running around…we’ve got news.” He glanced at Eve who nodded at him with a warm smile “We’re uh… we’re having a baby.”
Mom froze, hands clapped beneath her chin. For a heartbeat I braced for the crash out. But instead, she laughed, an actual real laugh, and tears spilled. “Oh my God. Finally. I’m going to be a grandma.”
Orla’s hand pressed against my thigh. She was smiling at my mother like she believed it.
Like maybe this could be a fresh start. I wanted to believe her.
But all I could think was how strange it felt, watching my mom cry clear, honest tears.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her reacting within the realms of a normal functioning human being.
Mom hugged Eve like she’d never let go, then stood, dabbing at her face. “I’m sorry, I just need a moment. Both my boys are here, and now a grandbaby…it’s a lot. Happy tears, I promise.”
She left then I heard the bathroom door clicking shut. Typical. A flicker of joy, then retreat. Same old pattern. I rolled my eyes, couldn’t help it.
“Ty, come on. Be nice,” Orla muttered.
“O, you don’t know the cycles,” I snapped under my breath. “This never lasts.”
Her eyes burned into me, sharp and unyielding. “No, I don’t. But I do know what it’s like to spend every Christmas without my own mother. Just give her a chance.”
That sliced straight through me and shut me up cold. Fuck. She had me on that one.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But if she slips, I’m bringing her home. You ask her, Trav.” I glared at my brother.
He opened his mouth to answer but Orla’s voice cut through like steel. “I’ll ask her myself if you’re going to be such an arse about it.”
A moment later, Mom reappeared, lipstick fresh and a smile that wasn’t convincing to me.
“Caroline,” Orla said warmly, before I could poison it, “would you like to join us for Christmas dinner today? We’d love to have you.”
Mom’s face lit. “Oh…oh that sounds wonderful. Bless your heart. That’s sweet of you. Just give me a moment to freshen up and grab my bag.” She ducked away to fetch her things.
I sank back in the chair, muttering under my breath, “Yeah, and your vodka.”
Orla’s hand shot out, smacking my arm sharp enough to sting.
An hour later, after one of the most awkward car rides of my life, my mother wedged between Orla and me in the back, the five of us rolled up to our place just as the catering van arrived.
Neither Orla nor I had ever cooked a Christmas dinner in our lives, so we’d called in the pros. Everyone grabbed a tray from the van, Orla muttering under her breath about the lack of Yorkshire puddings and “proper gravy” as she hauled one inside.
A second set of headlights swung into the drive, and Sarah and Eddie piled out, arms full of bottles and wrapped boxes. Eddie’s voice boomed across the gravel before he was even through the door.
“Caroline! What a pleasant surprise. You’re looking well,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek once we’d all gathered inside. He meant it kindly, but I heard the edge underneath, the careful phrasing. Not you look great or you look healthy. Just…well.
Mom preened under it anyway, smoothing her hair back. “Thank you, Eddie. Merry Christmas.”
Sarah stepped forward, elegant as ever, a bottle of red tucked under one arm. Mom’s eyes lit up, scanning her from head to toe. “Sarah, darling, you look stunning as always. Honestly, I don’t know how you do it.”
Sarah laughed politely, setting the bottle on the counter with a look that said she regretted her choice of gift considering my mother’s presence.
“Trust me, it’s mostly smoke and mirrors these days.
” Eddie and Sarah lived close enough to keep an eye on her, close enough to step in when they had to.
But years of thankless help had taught them where to draw the line.
Eddie and I never talked about it outright, but we didn’t need to. He pushed me to focus on tennis. He kept watch. And somehow, between us, things held together.
“Well, you look fabulous, I must go touch up my lipstick, excuse me for a moment,” Mom said, sloping off to the bathroom.
Everyone exchanged warm pleasantries, the conversation floating easy on the surface, like no one wanted to disturb the water below. That was always how it went with her. Compliments, safe topics. They all danced around the landmines, careful not to press too hard.
Everyone except me.
Orla clapped her hands lightly once the catering trays were laid out.
“Right, everyone grab a plate and help yourselves before it all goes cold.” She moved around the table like she’d been born to host, urging people toward the spread with that soft Irish lilt that made even bossing sound sweet.
And it was sweet, she’d been so excited for this.
Before we’d landed in Cali she’d been planning for weeks, ordering dinner sets to be delivered, researching the perfect caterers. It looked good on her.
When Mom made her way back to the dining room Orla called to her, smiling. “Caroline, can I plate one up for you?”