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Jace
“Dinner’s ready!”
My mom’s announcement echoed through my empty house the moment I cleared the threshold. The last thing I wanted to do was sit down to a meal with Sheryll and pretend we were a normal, happy family, but what choice did I have? I told her I’d be home for dinner. She’d cooked. As I walked through the house into the kitchen, I saw that she’d set two place settings on the table in the formal dining room.
Great.
I willed my brain to stop thinking about Greer and how I’d just treated her—the same way I’d treated countless women before her. Worse, actually, because I’d been in such a rush to satiate my recently reawakened lust for her that I hadn’t even waited for her to come. Unforgivable.
I’d wanted to ask her if she’d taken the Ecstasy on purpose. I’d wanted to ask her how she was feeling on her new medication. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it if she brushed me off. Shut me out. I couldn’t believe that after all these years, she still refused—flat-out refused—to open up about the mental health issues she was struggling with. I wanted to help her, not judge her, but she wouldn’t even give me the chance. Instead, she’d let it get so bad that the only thing that had stood between her and death was my precarious grip on the back of that white dress. I needed to stop thinking about it. Every time I considered how she’d kept it from me, how she’d gone behind my back with Marina, how she’d deliberately put herself in danger… How could I be with someone who was using drugs behind my back?
I’d had a front-row seat to my mom’s shitshow of a life once she couldn’t hide her addiction any longer. I couldn’t go through that again. Not with Greer. But I also couldn’t be without her. I wanted to be with her, needed to feel her skin against mine, needed to claim her, own her. She was the only drug that had ever tempted me, and I didn’t want to quit her.
I shouldn’t have used her like that. I should have made love to her and invited her to dinner with my mother. I shouldn’t have left the way I had. Two days into our “official” relationship and I’d already fucked things up.
“Jace! I thought that was you.”
For the first time since I’d picked her up last night, I allowed myself to look her in her eyes. Standing underneath the harsh downlight on the kitchen backsplash, there was little she could do to soften her appearance.
When I was young, Sheryll’s drug of choice had been heroin, but sometime in the intervening years, she’d switched to meth. She’d been beautiful in her youth, her black hair long, straight, and shiny, her perfectly proportioned features set off by delicate winged brows and a straight white smile.
But life had been cruel.
Now, she was gaunt, small sores covering her arms and cheeks. Her hair was sheared off, and even though she’d attempted to comb it into place with the toiletry set I’d bought her, the damaged frizz circled her head like a rebellious halo. The strong black eyeliner she’d worn when I was a child was long gone—as were several of her teeth. The flannel shirt she’d borrowed from my closet was an unflattering addition to the cheap white tank top and jeans we’d picked up for her on the way home last night. For the second time today, I was ashamed of myself. Ashamed that I didn’t want to look at her. Ashamed that I wished I could help her without her living under my roof. Ashamed of how angry I still was.
“How are you doing, Mom?” I asked, holding myself perfectly still as she kissed my cheek.
“I’m fine, son.”
“Yeah, but…how are you doing with…everything?”
She shook her head. “I told you—I’m never going back to that stuff ever again.”
“Because, like I told you before, I could be disbarred if I was found in possession of drugs. Even in the vicinity of them.”
“And like I told you yesterday…Jesus Christ has forgiven me of all my sins and handed me a new life. A life that includes a relationship with my only child. And I’m grateful.”
She turned back toward the stove where she’d been ladling cheap, store-bought marinara sauce onto two bowls of cooked spaghetti.
“Mom, you don’t have to cook. Tomorrow, I’ll grab something for us on my way home.”
“Yeah?” she said, ignoring my offer. “I thought you worked upstairs. But you’ve been gone most of the day.”
“I have…business in town. I’m gone a lot.”
She smiled at me, her missing teeth on full display.
“Are you sure there’s not another reason you might be gone all the time? A woman, maybe?”
“Mom, I…no. I don’t want to discuss it.”
Shrugging, Sheryll picked up the bowls of pasta and carried them into the dining room. I followed.
We sat down, and she held out her hand to me.
“What?”
“I’d like to hold hands. For the prayer.”
