Chapter 2
Aoife
T he kids were sitting around Saoirse’s school laptop, wringing every last minute of time they had before she had to return it on the last day of school when my mom finally showed up.
She was half drunk and wearing the same clothes I’d seen her leave the house in four days before.
She also looked half dead, her eyes bloodshot and her skin gray.
The back of her hair was matted, and she had scratches down her arms that I was willing to bet she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten.
I’d learned to say hello and leave her alone when she came home like that. She wasn’t up for company, she didn’t give a shit what she’d missed while she was gone, and trying to talk to her was a fruitless and frustrating endeavor.
I forgot all of that when she walked through the front door.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“Well, hello to you, too,” she snapped, shaking her head.
“Mammy!” Aisling yelled, scrambling off the couch to run at our mother.
My stomach twisted with a mixture of sadness and worry as she caught Mom around the waist, squeezing her tight.
“Hi, my baby,” my mom crooned.
That tone used to make me nostalgic, now it just makes me angry.
“I’m waiting,” I said, ignoring the way Aisling glared at me.
“Good for you,” Mom scoffed. “I’m starving. We got anything to eat?”
“Kitchen’s closed,” Cian said tightly, stomping down the stairs. “Why don’t you go out and pick somethin’ up? While you’re at it, grab somethin’ for your kids, too.”
“Cian,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Getting a little big for your britches there, son,” Mom replied, staring him down.
“Funny you should say that,” Cian snapped back. “Since I’ve got no fuckin’ jeans that fit. You gonna help out with that, or leave it to Aoife to take care of it like everythin’ else?”
I fucking knew he didn’t all of a sudden decide shorts were his favorite thing to wear.
“You’re not helping,” I told Cian firmly, waiting until he looked at me to widen my eyes at him. “Can you take the kids upstairs and make sure they don’t eavesdrop? I need to talk to Mom.”
“ Mom ,” she huffed.
“Fine,” Cian grumbled.
I turned back to Mom as Cian threw Aisling over his shoulder, making her laugh and look back at Mom worriedly. “What?” I ground out. “What’s wrong with Mom ?”
“Since when do you call me Mom?” She strode toward the kitchen.
“Can we cut through the bullshit?” I asked in frustration, following her.
She knew exactly when we’d stopped calling her mam and started calling her mom—about six months after Dad died and we realized that for all intents and purposes, she was gone, too.
Using the word Mam like Dad used to had seemed almost like an endearment—one she no longer deserved.
She was no longer that person to us and pretending was useless.
Only Aisling used it anymore, and only when she was emotional.
“What’s your problem?” she asked, rummaging through the fridge. “Jesus, haven’t you been shopping lately?”
The sound of feet on the stairs had gone quiet, but I still waited a minute longer to make sure Cian had gotten them away from the top of the stairs before I spoke.
“Child services was here yesterday,” I said quietly, crossing my arms over my chest.
“And?” She was still rummaging around for food.
“And they want to talk to you.”
“You told them I wasn’t here, right?” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “There you go.”
“They’re coming back,” I spat.
“So, tell them I’m not here. Tell ’em I’m at work.”
“Jesus Christ,” I blurted, throwing my hands in the air. “Could you stop for half a second? I’m trying to talk to you!”
“Don’t talk to me like that!” She spun on me. “You might be eighteen, but I’m still your mother!”
“Oh, you noticed that I turned eighteen?” I asked sarcastically. “Good to know.”
“Your father would—” She took a step toward me.
This was why I didn’t try to talk to her. It was useless. She was saying words and replying, but nothing she said was ever even halfway helpful.
I was so done. So frustrated. So scared out of my mind.
“My father?” I blew up. “My father? Sean Kelly? That one? The one who would’ve killed you if he knew what you were up to? That father?”
“You don’t know—” She took another step forward.
“She’s right,” Cian said, stepping out of the hallway.
“Cian—”
“Kids are in their rooms,” he assured me before looking back at our mother. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve been gone four days.”
“Watch your mouth,” my mom retorted.
“That’s what you’re gonna choose to address here?” he asked in disbelief.
“It’s none of your—or your sister’s—business where I’ve been,” she replied stubbornly.
“Listen,” I ground out, setting my hand on Cian’s back. He was practically vibrating with anger. “Child services needs to talk to you, and they’re not going to stop coming around until they do.”
Mom scoffed.
“I didn’t let them inside today—”
“Nothing wrong with the inside of our house,” she snapped.
“You’re not listening ,” I said desperately. Jesus. I just needed her to grasp what we were dealing with. “They want to talk to you. They want to check out our house. They said they’ve been getting calls.”
“What have you been doing?” she glared at Cian. “Have you been getting into trouble?”
“Don’t look at him,” I ordered, rage filling my chest. “You’re talking to me .”
Cian stood a little straighter.
“I don’t need this shit,” my mom said, shaking her head as she strode toward us.
It felt almost as if I was outside my body when my hand shot out, catching her in the chest and shoving her backward a step.
I’d never put my hands on our mother. Not once.
No matter how many times she came home drunk and belligerent.
I’d never crossed that line. More than once, I’d wondered what would happen if I did.
Which of us would win in a fight if she pushed it that far or if—God forbid—I had to protect the kids.
“Shit,” Cian murmured, taking a step sideways and squaring up to protect me.
“They’re going to come back,” I hissed before Mom got over her surprise. “And if they come back while I’m at work, and you’re off on a bender—what then, huh? If Aisling opens the door and lets them in? Tells them, oh no, I haven’t seen my mom in days ?”
“I’ll stay home,” my mom yelled, throwing her hands out. “Is that what you need? Fuck.”
“Home and sober,” I corrected, staring at her.
“Fine.”
She strode by us, and Cian wrapped his hand around my waist to stop me from following her.
“You’re not gettin’ more out of her tonight,” he said quietly as we watched her stumble into her room. “Let her sleep it off.”
“She’s such a fucking nightmare,” I said with a sigh as her bedroom door slammed. “Sorry you had to see that, kid.”
“Are you kidding?” He scoffed, mimicking the way my hand had shot out to shove her. “I would’ve paid to see that.”
“I’m just glad she’s just drunk enough to be unsteady on her feet—”
“And not drunk enough to think gettin’ into a fistfight with her daughter is a good idea,” he added.
“Yeah, that,” I replied tiredly.
“Told Aisling and Ronan if they went straight to their rooms and got in pajamas, they didn’t have to brush their teeth,” Cian said with a grin. “They booked it upstairs.”
“How’d you bribe Saoirse?” I asked as we maneuvered up the stairs.
“Didn’t have to,” he replied, glancing at me. “She wanted to get as far away from that shit show as possible.”
“Me too,” I mumbled.
“I’ll read to Ronan for you tonight,” Cian said as he passed me, headed further down the hallway. “But only tonight. I still maintain that he’s old enough to read to himself.”
“Thanks, brother.” I gave a little wave. “Night.”
“Night.” He walked into the room he shared with Ronan and closed the door as I opened the door to Saoirse and Aisling’s room.
Usually, I had to read to Aisling and then to Ronan before I headed to bed. Dad had read to all of us before bed when we were little, and I’d taken up the task when he died. Neither of them were ready to let it go yet, and I was okay with that.
Thankfully, we’d moved onto chapter books and were working our way through a series at the moment, so at least it was a little more exciting than Go, Dog, Go . Even Saoirse had begun to lay her own book down to listen while I was reading, even though she’d never admit it.
“Gotta pee,” she said after I’d read for a few minutes. “Night, E.”
“Night, Sersh,” I called back, glancing up at her retreating back.
“Keep going,” Aisling ordered.
When I was done with the chapter, I tucked Aisling in like a burrito and shut off the light as I left their room. Saoirse was waiting for me in the hallway.
“Okay, tell me what’s going on,” she demanded quietly.
I jerked my head toward my room, and she followed me there.
“Child services showed up today while you guys were at school,” I said flatly, making her eyes flare with surprise.
“Why?”
“Because Ronan keeps going on the fucking roof,” I mumbled, pulling my hair out of the bun I’d been wearing all day.
“And Aisling must’ve made a comment at school that her teacher overheard.
And probably because they’ve finally realized that I’ve been the only one at parent-teacher conferences for the past two years, and no authority figures have seen our mother for longer than that. ”
“Shit,” Saoirse muttered, dropping onto my bed.
“Understatement,” I replied, reaching for my pajamas. “The only reason I know about the Ronan shit and that Aisling had said something is because a girl who graduated my freshman year was with the social worker lady today.”
“What?”
“College summer internship or something,” I said, pulling off my shirt. “I wouldn’t let them in the house since Mom wasn’t here, so she called to give me a heads up on what was going on a couple hours after they left.”
“Nice of her.”