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She bent down to pick up the pizza boxes. “Not yet, but I’m sure you’ll work up to it.”
I had to take a step back at her hurtful words. Not only had that stung, but it wasn’t close to being the truth. I’d never end up like her dad. “That’s not fair, Lexi.”
She stood up with her arms full of pizza boxes. Lexi squared her shoulders. “Nope, it sure isn’t. And that,” she leaned forward slightly and spoke in a sharp tone, “is exactly why I promised myself years and years ago that I’d never, ever get in a relationship with an addict. It’s not fair. And I won’t do it.”
She took this too far. “I’m not an addict.”
Her head fell back and she let out a laugh. Then she turned to her father. “Dad, are you an addict?”
“Fuck, no,” he said and took a long drag on his cigarette.
I glared at my wife and decided not to continue this conversation. There were things that needed to be looked after. And fighting over stupid shit was getting us nowhere.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked and looked around the pigsty. I had no idea where to start.
“I want you to leave,” Lexi said as she walked by me.
“I’m not leaving. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“Fine, open the windows in there.”
Was she certifiable?
“It’s freezing outside, you can’t open the windows!”
It didn’t take long for her to reply, “It’s not even that cold, good grief!”
Christ.
Never fight over weather with a Canadian.
I graded each problem that lay in front of me on a sliding scale from bad to fucking train wreck.
And, Wes won out.
By far.
“Let’s go, old man,” I said as I strode up the squinting, smoking figure on the couch. “Party’s over.”
I bent down and pulled his arm over my shoulder, then boosted him up.
“Hey, hey, leave me be,” he muttered. Christ, he stunk like old beer bottles that a skunk had shit on.
“Nope, it’s shower time.” He stumbled along beside me, and I was happy he didn’t fight me on this.
“You don’t have to look after him, I can do that,” Lexi said when we moved through the kitchen.
“I’ve got him.”
I wasn’t sure what the look on my wife’s face meant. But to me—she appeared grateful.
Whatever it was—she’d stopped asking me to leave.
So, I’d take it.
Even if it meant showering with a drunk, stinky skunk.
