Chapter Eighteen
Taylor
Despite my previous decision to give Emma the space she wants, I drive up to Cleveland to check on her before baseball season kicks off this weekend.
My stomach tightens when I pull into the driveway and see my mother’s car, and I instantly miss the carefree bubble I’ve been in with Todd.
But it turns out a fight with my mother isn’t in the lineup since she’s passed out on the couch.
There’s also no sign of Emma and the house is a disaster—a half-empty wine bottle lies on the floor beside my mother, two empty ones clutter the kitchen countertop, and her work papers are strewn across the table.
I recycle the wine bottles but refuse to touch the papers, knowing I’ll be the one blamed if something goes missing. But as I’m cleaning up the rest of the kitchen, an email catches my eye. I skim it quickly and realize it’s dated the same day my mother claimed her salary was cut.
I am writing to inform you of my intention to take my concerns about your gross misconduct to management . . . While the investigation is ongoing, if this conduct is established, it will at the very least injure and at the very most discredit the reputation of this law firm . . .
It continues, listing grievances against my mother and detailing specific instances when she was suspected of being under the influence of alcohol at work.
At the end, it requests her immediate resignation, warning that if she refuses, the partner will hand over evidence to management, who will decide whether to terminate her employment.
I collapse into a chair. I’ve always known my mother has a problem, but this email forces me to confront the truth: my mother isn’t a functioning alcoholic—she’s simply an alcoholic. One who’s intent on destroying herself and the people around her.
I take a quick picture of the email and then get out of there, my mind swirling as I drive back to Crestwood.
“How was practice?” Todd asks when I walk through the door.
I ignore the aroma of pizza and drop onto the couch beside him. “Get a look at this.”
He takes my phone and his eyes dance over the screen. “What does this mean?”
“I don’t think my mom’s salary was cut—I think this happened instead.”
“So you think she resigned?”
I shake my head. My mother is too stubborn to make it that simple. “No, they must have fired her.” It feels like the only logical explanation. I hug myself, as if I can hold myself together. “What am I going to do? My mother probably has no income now—there have to be unpaid bills piling up.”
“That’s not your responsibility.”
I scoff. “Well, who’s going to take responsibility for it? Not my passed-out, drunk mother.”
“You should call Chase or your dad—I’m sure they’d have some ideas about what you can do.”
I avert my gaze. Maybe I could tell Chase—he already knows about our mother’s supposed salary cut—but there’s no way I’m calling our dad.
Honestly, I’m not even sold on calling Chase because he’d just feel obligated to come home, which would just mess up law school for him and his future.
I’m the one with limited prospects post-graduation. I could easily get a decent job with my college degree—not in my preferred field of sports management or even sports journalism, mind you, but a job that would pay the bills and support Emma.
“Taylor!”
Todd drags me out of my head. “What?” I ask.
“You’re going to tell Chase, right?”
“Yeah . . .” I reply, even though I have no intention of doing so.