Chapter 33 #2
It sent her into full-body shivers, despite the temperature. Most guys her age would have seemed like a toddler plodding around in their father’s loafers if they tried to say sweetheart, but he could do it. He sounded like a hot movie character, but not like he was trying to.
She stood on her tiptoes, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. And, thank god, he kissed her back.
She certainly wasn’t going to stay mad. She hadn’t been mad even the morning after their fight. They’d both been stupid. Young, a whole year ago.
Finally, he took her hand in his and said, “Let’s go look at all the drunk idiots.”
They walked through the town, observing the Saturday-night debauchery.
Bad, bad, bad karaoke came pouring out of Dusty’s, a man singing a Spice Girls song, with the whole bar singing along.
Outside Summer Place, Mercy’s resident fancy restaurant, late-night workers were cleaning up from a wedding, rolling extra tables out of the place and into the back of a pickup truck.
And then, at Sunhouse, where an old Rolling Stones song played, they saw a familiar face among the crowd on the packed patio.
She almost didn’t recognize her.
“Is that … my mom?”
Austin followed her gaze. “Oh, boy.”
Babe, with her curly blond hair tossed messily off to one side, was sitting on a man’s lap, smoking a cigarette and telling a story that made everyone around her burst into a huge wave of laughter.
“She’s wasted,” said Didion. “Is she smoking?”
“She does seem to be.”
Didion was in shock. “Should I do something?”
“Do something? She’s an adult. She can take care of herself. It’s Saturday night.”
Didion wanted to say, She’s not an adult, she’s my mom, she’s supposed to be home for dinner and in bed by now.
She knew she couldn’t say that, because it was childish and unfair.
But something about even knowing it was childish annoyed her.
Why couldn’t she be childish? She was only a year older than Sammie, who only hours ago pronounced herself to be a kid, and here Didion was, checking herself for juvenile thoughts.
“Let’s go. I don’t want her to know I saw her.”
When they got into his truck, Austin was quiet for a moment, then said, “You know, it’s okay she’s out having fun.”
“Is she like this a lot? Do you see her out?”
Austin lived here full-time, after all. He was around her, technically, more than Didion was.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, and she made a face to prod him on.
“She’s the life of the party these days,” he said. “It doesn’t seem like a problem.”
Didion didn’t know how to answer that, or what follow-up questions to ask. But then her phone rang, saving her.
Sammie.
“One second.” She picked it up. “Hello?”
“Didion, can you come get me?”
“What’s wrong, are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m sick.”
“Where are you,” she asked, more urgently now.
“I’m at the beach, I tried calling Mom, but…” Her voice faded away.
“Sam, it’s an island, where on the beach?”
She told her, and then Didion directed Austin.
They found her on the outskirts of a party, waiting on the street.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I drank way too much. I just—I didn’t mean to, but then I was trying to keep up with Johnny, which was so stupid—”
“Johnny?” asked Austin, looking in the rearview at Sammie, who was looking green. “Not Johnny Hart.”
And then she threw up all over the back seat.
“Oh my god!” Didion screamed.
“Oh my god!” Sammie screamed back. “I’m so sorry!”
She burst into tears.
“It’s fine,” said Austin, then laughing and making a face, he reached behind him and cranked open her window. “Maybe out there if it happens again, though.”
Austin stayed at the house for a while that night, even once the back of the car was cleaned up, even while Didion went in the bathroom and helped Sammie shower off and change into clean clothes. Didion tucked her sister into bed with a trash can next to her.
“I’m the worst,” Sammie muttered. “I’m the worst.”
“You’re not the worst,” Didion said, thinking, really it seemed like this Johnny guy was the worst.
Austin had to wake up early, Didion knew, so she told him he could go. After resisting, he finally relented.
Once he left, Didion sat down on the front porch and cried. Suddenly everything felt out of control. Her mother was out, having a life, smoking at bars. Her sister was hanging out with someone Didion didn’t even really know, going to parties on her own and drinking heavily.
She felt simultaneously like she had to be the grown-up and somehow like a child left behind as everyone moved on from the wholesome nature of youth into the darker, more sinister adulthood she didn’t yet feel equipped for.
Didion wished Matt were there. He was at Bible camp, bless his soul, where his parents forced him to spend the first week of the summer. He’d be at Birdsong next week, and it couldn’t come fast enough.
She wanted to be four years old again. Small and allowed to need things.
Toted around by competent people whose job it was to keep her alive.
When she could be tucked into bed, when she could be taken care of.
When she was just a lump on the ground playing with the dog and it was her mother loading the dishwasher and carrying the burden of stress.
Didion didn’t fall asleep that night until she heard her mother return home, the storm door shut, her footsteps up the stairs and down the hallway. For a brief second, she thought her mother might stop in and kiss her goodnight like she used to. But she didn’t. She went straight to her own room.
Of course. Because Didion was not a child anymore.