That night, Mom came home at nine p.m. I was waiting for her on the couch, my oversized coat on, bag on my shoulder.
“Where are you off to so late?” she asked, her smile weak. Nervous. “I see you got the car back. What happened—”
“Are you drinking again?”
“Jesus, Harper, let me get in the door. It’s been a long day—”
“Are you?”
My mother took off her coat and hung it on the hook by the door.She wore her “nice” dress, heels, lipstick…or what was left of it.
“Okay, look,” she began.
Oh God…
Something inside me died. Again.
She came toward me, and I stood up and moved away, my arms crossed tightly. I looked harsh and unbending, but really, I was barely holding myself together.
“Dr. Hensley—Alan—and I are dating. I didn’t want to tell you because it wasn’t serious, but it looks like it might be getting serious—”
“Are. You. Drinking?” I demanded, enunciating each word and trying not to shout; Dash was upstairs sleeping.
“I was getting to that,” Mom snapped, flouncing on the couch and taking off her heels. “I lied. I haven’t been working late.”
“No shit.”
“He’s been taking me to dinner after work. To nice restaurants,” she said, ignoring my sarcasm. “Not like the crappy places the losers I used to date would take me to.”
Nice restaurants. While I tried my best to cook something healthy for Dash but wound up resorting to frozen dinners most nights, either because I was short on time or we were short on money. Usually the latter.
“He’s a nice guy, Harper. He’s makes good money—”
“Isn’t he married?”
Mom looked away, and I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my back teeth would shatter.
“It’s complicated. He and his wife have been having issues for years, and he’s going to file for divorce.”
“Sure he will,” I said. “Any minute now.”
“My God, you’re snotty,” Mom said. “You can’t let me have one nice thing.”
I thought my eyes were going to explode out of my head, and it was all I could do to keep from throwing the little vase of flowers on the coffee table at the wall.
For Dash. Be cool for Dash.
“So?” My foot was tapping, and my hands were claws on my arms. “Drinking? Yes or no?”
“So that’s the thing. Alan thinks it’s weird that I don’t have wine with dinner. So that’s all it is,” she added quickly. “Wine with dinner. One glass. Maybe two. No more than that, and I’m fine, Harper. I swear. I can handle it.”
I shook my head, waiting for the tears to come, but they didn’t. Not yet. I could feel the lump of dread in the center of me, pulling all the stress and fear and pain and betrayal tighter and tighter.
“There is no third door for addicts,” I managed through stiff lips. “Remember AA? There is sober and there is relapsed. That’s it.”
“Not for everyone,” Mom said. “Doesn’t have to be.”
“Right. You’re the exception,” I said. “In all of human existence, you’re the one exception.”
