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Thirty minutes after leaving Dave’s, I was home. I nudged the door open with my shoulder and went inside. It was past ten, and the house should have been quiet, but Mom was waiting for me. “You’re late,” she said.
“I said I might be late. Dave needed me to stay to get a job finished.” He hadn’t, but she didn’t need to know that. I just didn’t want to be home with her.
“You don’t need to work. I’ve told you that. Your aunt and uncle are more than happy to—”
“It’s only now and again.” I dropped the paper bag on the counter and helped myself to a soda from the refrigerator. Then I did a double take, studying Mom’s appearance. “Why are you dressed like that?”
It wasn’t as bad as some of her outfits, but the skirt was far too tight and the blouse too see-through.
“I’m going out.”
“Like hell you are,” I ground out. “It’s almost ten thirty.”
“Evan, I appreciate your concern, but I’m a grown woman. If I want to go out—”
“And what should I tell Eli if he wakes and wantshis mom?”
Something flashed over her heavily made-up face. “He has you. You’ll be fine. I won’t be late.” She hung her purse strap over her shoulder. “Lock the door behind me.”
Like she needed to tell me that. I knew the drill. We’d been through this enough over the past few years.
Before she reached the door, I said, “This has to stop, Mom. The dates, the parties. Dad is gone. It’s been four years. Eli needs you.”
Even after everything, part of me hoped that she would turn around, take off that shit she was wearing, and watch some TV with me like a normal mom. But in true Ellen Porter style, she said, “Don’t wait up.”
Minutes passed, and I remained there, clutching the edge of the counter, forcing some of the anger and frustration out of me. I trained my eyes on the door as my pulse throbbed against my skull. Since Dad left, I’d gone through every emotion possible. Hurt. Anger. Hatred. Dejection. Confusion. And when Mom had first turned to the bottle, I’d blamed him. But deep down, I knew he hadn’t unscrewed the lid and handed it to her. He wasn’t the one making her drink until she couldn’t stand straight or passed out on the couch. A storm swept through me, roiling my stomach and building in me until tears pricked my eyes. But I wouldn’t cry because crying wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t help take care of Eli or get Mom sober. I dragged deep breaths into my lungs, shutting out the thoughts until the storm settled.
No longer hungry, I threw the burger and fries into the trash can, checked in on Eli, and went to my room. At least asleep, I was unaware of everything falling apart around me.
* * *
Light streamed into the room as I peeked an eye open, rubbing a hand over my face. Something felt wrong. I threw back the covers and raced to Eli’s room. A head full of dark hair poked out of the top of his comforter, so I closed his door. The house was quiet as I entered the living area, scanning for any signs of life. I doubled back and turned down the hallway leading to Mom’s room. The door was open, light pouring out.
“Mom?”
Nothing.
I braced myself to find her passed out on the bed… or worse, but when I peered around her door, I was met with a freshly made bed. It could only mean one thing.
I jogged back to my room and found my cell phone and dialed her number. She answered on the fifth ring. “Evan? Baby? What’s wrong?” Her voice was raspy.
“Where are you?”
“I’m…” Silence filled the line. “Shit, baby, I must have fallen asleep.”
My heart sank. “Can you get home?”
Something rustled over the line, and then a quiet voice said, “I… I’m going to need you to come and get me.”
I dragged a hand over my face. If it wasn’t for the sleeping boy down the hall, I would have told her to find her own way home, but I couldn’t do that to Eli.
“You’ll have to wait while I figure something out with Eli. He’s sleeping.”
Mom made a sound that sounded a lot like a whimper, and for a second, I was relieved she felt disgusted with herself, but then I remembered how often this shit was happening and my empathy ebbed away.
“I’m at the Sunny Days Motel on Brookfield.”
A shudder worked its way through me as I imagined my mother—the woman who raised me—at a seedy place like that, known more for its after-dark activities than its sunny days.
