“You said you were off at three today,” she tells me. Her voice is rough.
“I said I was off at five, and it’s five now. I’m just getting in the truck. What’s up?” I know I sound impatient, but I don’t want to deal with her right now.
“Did you hear about Westin?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I start the truck, then take a second to breathe. “Uh, yep. I was there when she and Henry told you about the engagement.”
“That’s a shitty idea. He’s disabled.”
My stomach clenches. “Yeah, and whose fucking fault is that?”
“It wasn’t mine!” she shouts, going from zero to a hundred. Fuck, it’s going to be one of those days. “You always blame me for everything that goes wrong in your life!”
I can tell she’s not herself, and I count to ten before I answer so I don’t set her off again. “Westin’s happy, Mom, so you should try to be happy too.”
“I need a beer.”
“You fucking don’t,” I snap. She does this every now and again. She won’t actually drink the beer. She says it to get an immediate, visceral reaction out of me when she’s not getting her way. “I can’t do this right now. I’m in the middle of an emergency.”
“I’m having an emergency. It’s fine and dandy to say you give a shit about your mom until I actually need you, and you refuse to show up.”
“Where’s Meadow?”
“She’s with a friend.”
I groan. “I’m gonna call Westin or Starr and see if they’re able to help you. I have too much to do.”
“Fine. But you can be a really shitty son sometimes, you know that?”
It hurts. It shouldn’t because I know she doesn’t mean it, but those words are sharpest—the ones that cut deepest. She lashes out when she’s tired or her brain is misfiring.
But knowing the truth about why she says that shit doesn’t stop the pain.
“I’ll talk to you soon.” I hang up before she can say anything else, then take several deep breaths before calling Starr.
I don’t usually bother her with stuff like this, but I don’t want to put the burden on Westin every time, and I don’t think Meadow will bother coming home. Her connection to the family right now is a very thin thread, and I don’t want to be the one responsible for breaking it.
“Let me guess,” Starr says when she answers, “Mom’s going off about something again?”
“I can’t deal with her tonight. I have a lot going on, and I won’t have much free time for the next few days,” I tell my sister quietly.
Starr and I aren’t as close as Westin and I are. She’s only eleven months younger than West, but she’s always been quiet and reserved and doesn’t like to show emotion.
She says nothing for a long beat, then, “It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” I press. Maybe I should suck it up and do this. Maybe I should?—
“I’m sure. You’re always doing too much for her, and my week is pretty open,” she assures me.
“It’s not a big deal if you need me to help.” That’s a lie, but it’s one I’ve been telling them and myself for years.
Starr laughs. “Just don’t, okay? Accept reality for once.”
I don’t bother replying.
“How bad is it?” she asks in the silence.
Closing my eyes, I fight back a heavy sigh. “She’s in a mood. She called me a shitty son.”
