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She was already on her way back inside by the time I settled in my car, kicking the engine on and pointing my wheels in the direction of my gym. My throat was tight, my chest aching, but I knew at least there I couldn’t hurt anybody else. At least not tonight.
***
“Good morning.” My mother’s voice may as well have been a stake straight through my brain for the effect it had on my hangover. Leaning against the counter in my still-dark kitchen, I stared blurrily at the lights above the oven.
“Is it? Why are you calling so early?”
“Usually, you’re at work already. Did I wake you?”
“I’m working from home today.”
“Are you sick?”
“No, Ma, just been a long week.” I rubbed my temple. The week had been good. The last twenty-four hours, not so much.
“I’ll be quick. I know you’ve been talking to Katie a little bit lately. I thought maybe you might want to come down to see Adriana when we go next week.”
“What?”
“After all, you’ve been paying for her treatments all this time. I thought maybe you wanted to visit. We did talk about this.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Never mind. I just don’t know if I want to go.” I sounded like an asshole. Probably because I was being one. Yet somehow, it was empowering, feeling this rush of frustration and finally being able to voice it.
“Again, you know she’s not in jail or something right? This is a long-term treatment facility and sober living. It looks like some kind of high-end spa to be honest.”
I knew that. I’d checked into the place extensively. I’d even driven down to tour it before my sister got off probation this past time and moved there. Of all the places I’d tried to set up for her, she did seem to be happiest there. Minus that random time she left a few weeks before and ended up at Ruby’s diner.
“I know, Ma. I’m just working through some stuff.”
“Clearly. You don’t think we all aren’t? You’ve got to stop putting so much on your shoulders.”
“I can’t do that. You know that. I’m supposed to…” Take care of the family. That was my line. My go-to line.
“You’re supposed to be happy, Brady. So if coming with Katie and me to see your sister would make you happy, then you should. If you aren’t ready to face her still, then that’s fine too.”
“Thanks,” I said tightly. “I’ve got a meeting in ten to get to. I should let you go.”
The soft static hummed between us. My guilt grew. It was perfectly clear my mother knew I was lying.
“Enjoy your meeting,” she said finally. “Let’s talk soon.”
“Yes, sounds good. Talk soon.”
She sighed breathily into the phone. “Love you.”
“I love you too.”
She hung up before I had a chance to, only drilling down the reality of the situation and that I’d just pissed off yet another woman in my life who I cared about. And who was trying to help me.
But I wasn’t ready to talk to my sister. In the years between the car accident and her moving into this facility, we’d talked plenty. Mostly her shouting at me or throwing empty bottles my direction while I hauled her out of whatever bar she’d hidden out in. She’d blamed me. She’d screamed at me for not helping her, for letting her ruin her life.
And I’d taken every one of those verbal beatings happily, soaking up her words so much that they became a part of me. When people asked where my sister was, I said she was unwell, but in reality she’d been in and out of jail, treatment centers, and on benders since that night we’d gotten in the accident.
I’d wanted to call her a lost girl. Someone who didn’t know which way to go. Katie called her an alcoholic. And now it’d been so long since we talked that I didn’t know what to call her. By my count, it’d been almost eighteen months since we’d spoken. Even via text.
