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By the end of the night, he says he’ll drive my drunk mother home.
She had too much wine, no surprise there, and she’s the type who bursts into tears when drunk. No surprise there either.
“Thank you, Nicole.” She pulls her into a long hug. “Thank you for bringing my baby home.”
“I’m neither back nor am I your baby.” I resist the urge to inform everyone that I’m the one who brought Nicole back, not the other way around.
But then again, if it weren’t for the fucker, whom Kyle informed me that he can’t take a piss without crying like a whore, I wouldn’t have returned. I wouldn’t have learned about my brother’s condition.
So I guess Nicole did bring me back.
That doesn’t mean I’m less pissed off at her.
“You can hate me all you want, but you’ll always be my baby.” She releases Nicole to grant me one of her rare hugs. One I don’t return. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a good mother, Danny. I’m sorry I never grew a backbone, but if you give me a chance, I’ll try.”
I say nothing, and she eventually lets me go and sways on her feet, her tears cascading down her face. Zach grabs her by the arm and nods at me. “If you intend to stay, let me know.”
“I don’t. And Zach?”
“Yes?”
“You hated me back then.”
“Back when?”
“When I left. Why?”
“I suppose I disliked the fact that you were running away. You’re not a coward, Daniel. But you acted like one, and that probably grated on my nerves.”
“Past tense?”
He smiles a little, then taps the side of his head. “The benefit of this brain is that I couldn’t care less anymore.”
Then he drags my mother who’s blabbering about her sons and herself and how much she regrets everything.
As soon as the driver speeds out, I want to hit something.
Anything.
And just right then, Nicole comes in front of me, in her white dress and a little smile. “I’m glad you guys could finally talk.”
“That makes one of us.”
I turn around and head to the kitchen. One of the tea monsters, the gardener, sees my face and bolts out with a bow.
Good choice because I’m contemplating drowning him in his tea.
I swing the cupboard open and wrench out a bottle of whiskey, the expensive type, the one that will get me drunk slower but deeper.
Nicole comes to my side while I’m popping the bottle open. Or trying to, anyway; the thing is stuck as if mocking me as well.
“Are you mad?” she asks cautiously.
“Am I mad? Oh, let me see. You invited my mother and brother over when I’m barely on speaking terms with them and forgot to mention that detail. On a scale of zero to ten, I’m one hundred at being mad.”
“You had to speak to them eventually.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
