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No, this hangover had everything to do with raging disappointment. Disappointment in the guys was bad enough. Worse was the disappointment in myself. And God help me, the disappointment in my mother.
As I stared at the sunlight filtering in underneath the blinds, a sinking realization hit me. I had to deal with my mother today. I guessed the cats understood how bad I felt. Because they hadn’t woken me up at their normal 6 AM for breakfast. Once I opened my eyes and started shifting around, Tiddles’ complaints suddenly increased in volume over wanting his breakfast. Tory and Tabby weren't much better. In fact, they were currently walking back and forth over my bladder, a surefire way to get me out of bed.
Pocketing the dread as much as I could, I dragged myself out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. The cats raced all around my feet and tried to hurry ahead. It wasn’t long before they bumped the door after I closed it, probably disappointed when I didn't rush into the kitchen to open their can of food.
On the other hand, my bladder and I were having a disagreement. I lingered in the bathroom after, washing my hands and face, then brushing my teeth and then my hair. I lingered and kept waiting to hear Mom feeding the cats. I kind of needed some kind of clue as to whether she was home or not.
Since I’d told her I might not be home the night before, there was a possibility of running into Archie’s dad in the kitchen.
Please, please don't let that happen.
Finally, I couldn’t put off leaving the bathroom anymore. I had to get in there and do something. The cats needed to eat, or they were going to stage a full on revolt. As it was, they yowled as they raced around my path to the kitchen. The very quiet kitchen where no coffee waited and didn't even look like any coffee had been made. There were no dishes in the sink. Not a cup or a spoon. In fact, it looked exactly like I left it before I went to the party.
A little curl of dread began to tighten in my belly, but I didn't have time for that because the cats still needed to eat. I busied myself with that task. Soon, they were eating their food, happily ignoring me again. I got coffee started, because whether Mom was home or not, I really needed coffee. The sad truth was, Mom might be home. Archie’s dad might be here.
In her bedroom.
What little appetite I’d developed fled. So I concentrated on what I could do. I made coffee, I checked the freezer for something for dinner, even as I thought about the fact that I was probably not going to be home for dinner it was probably a good idea to look.
The only reason I wouldn’t be home was if I went out with Jake. My head pounded. Crap, I was supposed to go out with Jake later that evening. Or—at least spend the evening with him.
Was that still on? Did I want it to be on?
When the coffee finished brewing, I poured a huge mug full of it, uncaring whether or not I left enough coffee for Mom, because I had no idea if she was here or out. Maybe they were hiding in her bedroom because they heard me coming, I didn't know. Right now, I really didn't want to. The fact I couldn’t stop thinking about where they were or what they were doing was going to make me crazy.
Coffee in hand, I made my way back to my bedroom, moving as quietly as I dared past Mom's door in the small hope that if they were in there and they were asleep, maybe I wouldn’t wake them up. No, I didn't live in a fantasyland. I was, however, not eager for that particular conversation. What would I even say?
When I was twelve years old, my mother came into my bedroom while I’d been sprawled out reading a book.
She said, "Frankie, you need to make a phone call for me."
Wasn't the first time my mom had asked me to do something strange, and I’d made calls for her before—like for pizza and stuff. So I said, "Who do you want me to call?"
She said, “Kenny."
Mom had been dating Kenny for a long time. When I’d first met him, he’d been little more than a guy with a drawl and a kind smile. But he’d always been nice to me and did generous things for us. He once took me to the state fair up in Dallas. Well, actually, he took me and Mom. But he’d taken me on all the rides, even the ones Mom wouldn’t go on. He played the games and won me a stuffed bear. He was fun. He liked to play games. Even got along with my friends.
"Okay, why am I calling Kenny?" I’d asked. Someday, far into the future after that particular day, I’d learned to not ask that kind of question.
"I just need you to tell him I don't want to see him anymore. Tell him not to come around and not to call."
My heart sank. "Why?"
"I don't have to explain that to you. I just need you to call him."
"But if you don't want to see him, why do I have to call him? I like Kenny. He's fun, and he’s supposed to take me to the movies this weekend with Coop and Bubba."
"Frankie, I don’t need your opinion. I need you to do this for me. Don’t ask questions, just take care of it, okay, sweetie? " Mom was insistent, and she wouldn't answer any other questions about it, so I did what I had to do.
She handed me her phone, and I chose his contact. When he answered, I said, “Hi, it’s Frankie. I don't want to be the one calling to tell you this, but Mom doesn't want to see you anymore. She said you shouldn’t call or come by to see us ever again."
And I wanted to cry. But I said it all perfectly, exactly how Mom had told me to say it. The dead silence on the other end of the phone choked me.
Had he heard what I said? Was I going to have to say it again? I didn’t want to have to say it again. I didn't want to say it the first time.
"Sweetheart, it's okay," Kenny said, his now familiar drawl slow and sweet. "You take care of yourself and your mama, okay?"
And while Mom had said that was all I needed to say to him on the phone, I added, "I'm going to miss you, you're a good friend."
