It was probably the hose to the washing machine again. She had replaced it twice now, but for some reason, it kept coming loose. “Do you remember the water valve I showed you to turn the water off?”
“I’m down in my back again. I can’t get to it.”
"Down in her back"meant two things. Either she couldn’t be bothered to stoop down on the wet floor, or her back really was bothering her, and she was low on pain pills.
“Please, Matty. Help your old Grammy out.”
And the guilt punch to the gut. God, the woman was good at manipulation. She looked at the door and her tools scattered around. She was almost done and due for lunch soon. She was lucky she had a work truck today since her next job was at the women’s rehab, something about a washing machine not draining. Grams’s house wouldn’t be out of the way.
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Thank you, baby.”
Dread used to not settle in her belly when she pulled into her grandmother’s driveway, but things had changed so much over the last few years, maybe even a little longer. At some point, before she had actual clarity over her situation, she realized her family resisted changing for her. Even now, knowing how committed she was to it, she knew Grammy would push her boundaries, tiptoeing so close. It had taken her ages, with raised voices and unleashed tears, to get the older woman to stop offering her pills. Well, mostly. She would slip occasionally, but so far Matty had stayed strong.
It was her cousin who was the biggest issue now. The two had been inseparable since they were kids. Clay was her best friend for the longest time. They shared a childhood together. They shared an addiction together. She could ignore Grams. She didn’t make her itch the way Clay did. He came with a past full of memories of that feeling where her brain would start feeling light, her shoulders and legs less tense, her toes tingling, and all the worries in the world slid away. Just looking at him when she was stressed was something that triggered the ghost of those moments. It didn’t help that he’d come into Grams’s stinking of weed, and it made her mouth water almost every time.
Of all the substances she’d put in her body, that was the one she missed the most. The numbing. The barrier it put up for her. The ability to leave the world for a while. They’d hole up somewhere, smoke, and just lose hours in their heyday.
Until the night Matty decided to give getting clean another chance. That changed everything between her and Clay. Her best friend was suddenly gone. He had no desire to join her on the sobriety journey. He’d been trying to derail her ever since.
That was why she had a strict no-Clay rule with Grams, which she completely ignored, so Matty wasn’t the least bit surprised when she spotted Clay’s old clunker parked a little down the road, probably in hopes that Matty wouldn’t see it.
She breathed in and out a few times, willing her irritation down. Grams knew better. She should have given Matty a heads-up or asked Clay to leave for a while, but now it wasn’t a big deal to Grams. She wanted her grandkids back together, regardless if it could cause Matty to slip.
When she stepped in, she was immediately hit with the familiar scent of Grammy’s home, a scent that was once comforting but now put her on edge.
“About time you showed up,” drawled Clay as he came into view.
Grammy’s home was small and well-lived-in. The living room, with its brown shag carpet that had a path worn into it and an old wooden couch and loveseat combo with a velvety covering depicting buffalo and mountains, was attached to the kitchen. Only a cluttered counter separated them. Wood paneling lined the walls, but it was hard to see as she had so much adorning them. Pictures, little shelves with porcelain knick-knacks, and a calendar still on September of 1999 all decorated them.
Grammy was sitting at the metal and yellow vinyl kitchen table. It was older than both her and Clay. A Lazy Susan was off to the side, pressed against the wall. The number of pill bottles on and around it could stock a small pharmacy. Her jaw clenched tightly as she forced herself to ignore them.
“That was more than twenty minutes,” Grammy said.
“I had to clean up the project I was working on. I can’t just leave things a mess.”
“Well, luckily, Clay wasn’t far, so he turned off the water.”
Her eyes drifted over to Clay, who was wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Looks like the hose came off again.”
She turned to Grams. “Why didn’t you call me and tell me not to come if he took care of it?”
“You know you could talk to me like I’m not some piece of shit.”
Frustration filled her chest as she glanced back over at him. “I didn’t call you that.”
“No, but you make me feel like that. Like you’re better than me.”
“I’ve never said anything like that. I’ve only said that I can’t be around you unless you get clean.”
He threw the dish towel on the counter, leaning on it with both palms. He was a tall, wiry man. Hardly any fat on him. “It’s not like I’m doing anything in front of you.”
Her pulse started to race. She could feel it streaming erratically up her neck. “I can smell the weed from here. It’s all in your clothes.”
“It’s just pot. It’s not even a drug.”
The urge to punch the guy came over Matty. Her fist clenched, but then she relaxed when she remembered that this was yet another attempt to downplay the situation. He knew pot was what got her at her first attempt at sobriety. She had gotten forty-seven days under her belt. Well over a month. She thought she could handle just a little smoke. Nothing big. Nothing too extreme. However, that quickly evolved into more, and the next thing she knew, six months had gone by, and she was in the thick of it again.
