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“And take that jewelry out of your nipples,” Mam wailed. “It’s dangerous to play rugby with body piercings.”
“Then you better not check my cock,” I muttered under my breath, making a beeline for the fridge.
“What was that, Bubba?”
“I said I never wear jewelry when I’m on Coach’s clock,” I clarified—and by clarifying I meant I bullshitted my way out of losing my car privileges. “I follow the rules, Mam. No need to worry about me.”
“Have you come off your medication?” Concern filled her eyes. “Because I’ve noticed you’ve been sleepwalking a lot more this summer.”
“Nope,” I replied with a shit-eating grin. “Still taking my pill a day to keep the voices away.”
“Oh, Gerard, you know that’s not what you have to take it for.”
“Which Gerard are you talking to?”
“Stop it!” Keith snapped, looking flustered. “You know that kind of talk worries your mother.”
“My bad,” I replied, and then proceeded to spray the contents of a whipped cream can into my mouth. “I’ll…be…the…good…Gerard.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the bakery?” Keith pressed. “You work Saturdays, too, don’t you? Or have you decided to add skiving off work to the CV? Because I have to tell you, boy, that makes one hell of a read to potential college admission offices. Unreliable work ethic, unintelligible academic portfolio, not to mention your complete disregard to rules.”
“Jesus, I’m a real catch, aren’t I?” I taunted; tone laced with sarcasm. “They’ll be lining up for me.”
“It’s his day off,” Mam explained for me, which pissed me off on a whole new level because I didn’t need to explain shit to this man. “His grounding is up today, remember?”
“He’s not finished paying off the machinery he damaged.”
“I’ve already paid for that, Keith.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to him being ungrounded, Sadhbh.”
“I don’t remember your name being on my birth certificate.”
“Gerard!”
“Since when does he have Saturdays off?”
“Since it’s my last weekend before school starts back up and I have plans with my friends,” I snapped. Asshole.
“What’s with the tone?”
“There’s no tone.”
“You definitely have a tone.”
“How would you both feel if I booked you a family session with Anne?” Mam interjected before a full-blown argument could ensue. Wise woman. She knew us well.
“I don’t need another session with Anne,” I replied in between mouthfuls of cream. Not with him, or on my own. “I saw her the other week.”
Good old Anne. I’d been seeing her on the third Friday of every month since I was seven years old. Mam thought she was a miracle worker and the reason I had come out of the other side of my father and sister’s deaths without having a mental breakdown.
She wasn’t.
I was just that fucking awesome at reinventing myself. Aside from the label of hyperactive dyslexic hanging over my head, I was doing pretty damn well for myself.
Snatching up the bottle of pills on top of the fridge, I unscrewed the cap and popped a Ritalin into my mouth. “Happy now?”
“You just seem so restless lately, pet.”
