Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Family isn't always blood
And blood isn't always family
Family is the hands that lift you
The arms that hold you steady
And the voices that call you home
11:40 a.m.
The blinding light crept through the window, waking me up from my hungover slumber.
My eyes peeled open, revealing the morning light as the world around me appeared distorted and overly bright.
I squinted and peeked one eye around, my brain still slightly dazed as I shrugged awake.
I pulled the comforters high up over my aching body, wrapping them tightly around me like a little cave filled with warmth and comfort.
Today was the day. Today was the day I would be forced into a room with people I hadn't seen in five years, people I planned on never seeing again.
Maybe I could pretend to have a contagious illness and fake a quarantine for forty-eight hours . ..
No, I can't do that.
Can I?
No. No.
Well...
No!
You have to get out of bed, my inner monologue ordered me. I pulled the covers off, but nothing happened. Move. Still nothing. Any time now? I tried to sit up, but a sudden wave of pain knocked me back down.
“Oh God, my head,” I grumbled, squeezing my temples as if my head were an orange I was trying to juice.
The room spun, and the ceiling refused to stop moving.
I closed my eyes and pushed my forehead into my pillow.
I didn't know what was worse, being this hungover or the sickening anticipation of the coming day.
After 4:00 p.m. today, I could hide away and die, but right now, I needed to grow up before I threw up.
I heaved myself upright on my bed and rested there for a few seconds, trying to force my vision to steady.
Then, I allowed my feet to graze the floor beneath me and hoisted myself up to stand before taking a deep breath and moving forward.
I tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other as I approached the door.
As I reached the door handle, it emitted a high-pitched, piercing sound.
“I hate these rusty hinges,” I cried.
I dragged my lifeless body down the stairs, my hand tightly gripping the railing with each step, my legs wobbling and shaking as if the wood beneath was a surfboard in a thunderstorm.
My foot hit the last step, and my nose caught the beautiful aroma of salty pig wafting through the hallway.
I followed the smell to find my mom cooking a perfect combination of crispy bacon, juicy sausage, and fluffy pancakes.
Lucky for me, my mother cooked when she was angry.
My mom stood over the stove, scooping pancake batter into a steaming pan. Julian was already seated at the dining table, reading his morning newspaper as he did every day. Lucas and Kayla, looking almost as bad as I felt, were drowning their headaches in syrup and gallons of coffee.
“Did a chicken try to murder us last night?” My brain was taking a minute to wake up.
My mother flipped a pancake on the skillet. “Yes, and with just cause.” She slapped the pancake onto a plate, drizzled syrup on top, and aggressively threw sausage on the side. “What were you three thinking?” She shoved the plate at me.
I stared at the plate in my hands. “Coincidentally, pancakes had something to do with it.” I pulled my eyes back to my mother. “Wait, how did you make pancakes without eggs?”
My mother's nose flared. “There were extra eggs in the garage fridge.”
I carried my plate to the dining table, set it down on the surface, and slammed my body into the chair. “We have a fridge in the garage?”
Frustration etched between my mother's wrinkled forehead. “Only since you were ten.”
I sheepishly smiled back, but that seemed to irritate my mother further. So, I shifted my attention towards Kayla. “Hey, at least you finally got your pancakes.”
“If only I could keep them down,” she grumbled, her face tinted green.
Lucas shoved his fork into his stack of syrupy flapjacks. “These would have tasted much better if I hadn't slept on a jail cell floor last night.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on, we were only locked up for a few hours. Don't be such a crybaby.”
“Crybaby?! You got me thrown into jail!” He huffed back.
“No,” I argued and shoved my finger toward Kayla, pointing at her dramatically. “We got you thrown into jail.”
“Why are you dragging me into this?” Kayla pouted.
I raised my brows at her. “You're the one who wanted the pancakes. And you're the one who came up with the brilliant idea to steal the eggs.”
Kayla opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. “... yeah, okay, you're right. Mixing weed and vodka was not a good idea.”
There was a sudden clamor of clashing pots and pans from the kitchen.
The noise jolted me awake and made me sit up straight in my seat.
I could hear my mother's sharp intake of breath from the kitchen.
She stormed her way into the dining room, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing through the house.
In her mitten-covered hand, she held a sizzling pan of perfectly cooked hash browns.
Although I should have been worried about my mother's bright red face of fury, all I could focus on was the enticing smell of greasy potatoes that seemed to call out to me.
“You kids got high!” She pointed at us with an accusing finger.
Julian's newspaper dropped from his face to the table, his eyes wide as he stared at Kayla. “I was leaving that part out of the story ...” He uttered each syllable through clenched teeth; panic laced in his voice.
My mother placed her hand on her hip. “After everything that happened on graduation night, I assumed you kids would have matured, but obviously not.”
The thought of graduation sent a shiver down my spine. For most teens, graduation is the best day of their lives, when high school becomes a thing of the past and the future embraces them like a warm hug. For me, however, graduation was not a new beginning. It was the end.
I tried to lighten the mood. “You know, technically, we're not kids anymore. You keep calling us that.”
From the look on my mother's face, there was a good chance I was about to be wearing those hashbrowns.
“Until you three stop acting like toddlers, I will call you whatever I damn please.” She tossed a hash brown on Julian’s plate but snatched it away when I tried to grab one. “I don't think I've ever been so mad at your stupidity.”
Lucas squinted. “Really? Not even senior year when she drove the car through the school gym.”
“Hey, that was over five years ago!” I pouted. “And it wasn't even that bad.”
“Not that bad?” Lucas leaned back in his chair, folding his arms like a judge about to win a case. “You were three feet from running our PE coach over. I'm surprised he didn't sue you for emotional distress.”
I looked over at Kayla. “Maybe if someone had set the alarms like they promised, I wouldn't have had to race to the school at ninety miles an hour.”
Kayla choked on her orange juice, barely managing to swallow before bursting into laughter. “Don't turn this around on me. You busted through a cinder block wall!”
“Thank God you don't drive in the city,” Lucas added. “You're twenty-two years old, and I bet you still drive like an 80-year-old with cataracts.”
I paused in mid-bite of my toast, narrowing my eyes at him. “I can drive just fine, thank you very much. I just haven't needed to since senior year.”
Julian let out a hacking laugh. He rested his elbows on the table and gave me a smirk that indicated he was about to share some unsolicited dad wisdom. “We could test that theory. How about we all get into the car for a driving lesson? Let’s settle this debate once and for all.”
I stared at him, the toast halfway out of my mouth. He couldn't be serious.
“It's almost noon. We don't have time.” I pointed to the clock hanging to my left as if it were the prince who would save me from this madness. “We have to leave by 2:30.”
Julian shrugged as if it were no big deal. “We've got time. And we could all use a little distraction before tonight, right?”
“I'm still in my pajamas. We all are.” I tried one last defense.
Mom jumped in. “So? It'll be like when Jamie would come over for sleepovers, and I took you kids to McDonald's in your pajamas in the middle of the night. Remember?”
“Yeah,” Lucas chimed in. “I remember you and Jamie getting the same thing every time. He got the Oreo McFlurry, and you got the M&M. Then, halfway through, you guys switched, which was disgusting.
Kayla grimaced. “Gross.”
“We were eight,” I defended.
Julian chuckled. “I'm pretty sure you two continued that little arrangement throughout senior year.”
I let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Fine, I'll go along with this driving lesson if we stop talking about Jamie and me swapping spit, okay? I pushed my plate away and crossed my arms in defeat. “But I'm not responsible for anything that happens in that car.”
It wasn't so bad.
The car rolled slowly into the empty school parking lot. My palms clung to the steering wheel like it was a lifeline, but my pulse had slowed down from “impending doom” to “mild anxiety.”
“See? You've got this. There's nothing to be scared of,” Julian said from the passenger seat, his voice annoyingly calm, like always. I did appreciate him not mentioning the mailbox I almost demolished on the way out of our driveway.
Of course, Lucas wasn't going to let me off that easily. He watched me like a hawk from the back seat, his judgmental eyes glaring at me in the rearview mirror, his grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, waiting for my next disaster.
Kayla leaned lightly forward to speak. “You're doing pretty good, Alex. I mean, you're driving like a grandmother on sedatives, but technically, this is driving.”
I shot her a look. “Hey, I'm respecting the speed limit, thank you.”