Page 122 of We Drank the Dawn

What a dumb question.

His eyes fluttered closed.

Appearing to fall back asleep, his head lulled to the side. I awkwardly moved to the mauve couch, the cushion squeaking as I eased down on it. Mom wrung her hands, unsure of how to break the ice.

“So…” I said, starting us off despite not having a single thing to say. “How have you been?”

Mom sucked a breath, the sunken hollows in her cheeks deepening. “Well, I’m good.” She picked at her thumbnail. “We’ve been watching the postseason games before the World Series, and that’s been fun.”

It took every bit of my self control not to scoff. I asked her about her and she told me about Dad. Once upon a time she told me she didn’t really like sports, just watched them because Dad did.

A familiar lump rose in my throat and I choked it down, disallowing tears to coat the rims of my eyes. Unbidden, I remembered the year Dad took Mom out to eat for Mother’s Day. He went through the show of asking Mom what she wanted, and Mom’s knee-jerk choice was Mexican.

She didn’t like Mexican food. He liked Mexican.

So on Mother’s Day she nibbled french fries and a cheese quesadilla and pretended to enjoy it.

Mom used to be a sweet lady. When I was too young to attend school, she used to take me to get ice cream at the gas station near our house and she enjoyed cooking and going on walks.

She was still chattering about October sports highlights when my older sister, Tonya, burst into the room. She wore Garffield pajama bottoms and a stained white t-shirt. “Hey, Mom,” she mumbled. “His color looks better than when I saw him at home yesterday.”

“It does.”

She cast me a glance. “Well, look who showed up.” Giving me an obvious once over, she pulled a vape out of her canvas bag and drew in a long breath. Tonya saw our parents more often than I did and gave me as much crap about that as she possibly could. Already, I could see her calculating.

“Ton, we aren’t supposed to do that in here.” Mom weakly hissed.

“Just a puff or two and I’ll be done.” Her messy bun flopped to the side as she stepped toward me. “So, does your big sis get a hug?”

Knees quaking, I stood and gave Tonya a hug. She smelled like mint and vanilla, and something so very Dunn that my heart ached for simpler times. “Hey, Tonya.” Our hug only lasted a second and I put distance between us as quickly as possible.

“Where’s your man?”

“He’s at home,” I lied, unwilling to admit I left him in Texas.

“A shame. He’s more fun to talk to.” She took a second draw on her vape. “And look at.” She smirked.

I scowled at her. Why was she so like Dad? She couldn’t pass up a chance to belittle someone but never instigated a fight she knew she couldn’t win. Despite having a fair amount of guts, I was easy prey.

For a few minutes, we made small talk and Tonya only put the vape away when Mom’s eyes got teary with frustration. Not one single time did she ask about me, my job, or Peter. Mom knew about his accident and resulting blindness and didn’t bother to ask how we were adjusting.

Everything was Bob, Bob, Bob.

Which should speak to how pointless the conversation was considering all Bob did was drink Coors Light, watch TV, and spew baseless opinions. The entire time, I shrank, feeling very much like the Sarah that would bound into the house after being gone at school all day only to be ushered to my room and forgotten.

I ached for Peter, who saw me when no one else did. Who could sense the tears in my eyes before I even looked him in the face. Who had busted me out of my house with my favorite milkshake sitting in his cupholder. Who dried my tears and then pulled me over the console to hold me in his lap. Who kissed me until I forgot all about the pain.

By 7:15 p.m., I buzzed with anxiety. I couldn’t sit there anymore.

I pestered one of the nurses to speak with a doctor. Mom made it sound like Dad was on death’s door, and I just needed to know what was really going on so I could get out of there. Stepping up to the computer where she typed, I whispered so that my mom couldn’t hear. “Can you give me a quick run down?”

Her brown eyes softened. “Of course. Dr. Hawthorne confirmed he has alcohol-associated hepatitis, which means his liver is inflamed due to heavy drinking. That’s why he’s jaundiced. Sometimes hepatitis is treated as out-patient, but he came in pretty confused and his abdomen was swollen from ascites. Plus, he’s at a high risk of withdrawal complications which absolutely need to be monitored, so that’s why he’s here.” She gave me a gentle smile. “Hopefully he’ll improve over the next few days. The real risk is what happens when he goes home. If he starts drinking again before his liver has the chance to recover, he could end up here again.”

I thanked her and sat back down.

Tonya walked with me to my car around eight, puffing her vape the entire way. Even though she took after Dad in a lot of ways, she wasn’t all bad.

Attempting to connect with her, I asked, “So, how are things going with Brad?”