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"She needs to rest before tonight," Riggs counters.
Noah opens his mouth, and I hold up my hand, crying out, "Enough! You two argue without me." I go into the bedroom and shut the door, sick of the power play that always ensues whenever Riggs and Noah are in the same room.
My phone vibrates. I glance at the screen and wince. It's another text from my mother.
Mom: I can't wait to see you.
The cell buzzes again, and I stare at the screen.
Mom: What if we go to the country club for brunch? There are so many people there who'd love to see you! We could get you on the committee for the Christmas Ball.
Mom: We could go shopping after. I'll buy you something new.
Mom: I have someone I want you to meet. Don't tell your father.
Mom: Should I book a spa day for us?
Her texts infuriate me. I should have known nothing would have changed. It's so typical of my mother. Get wasted, then send me messages about whatever new boyfriend she has, not listen to a word I say about what my boundaries are, and try to insert me into the life I never wanted to live.
I don't know why I agreed to meet with her. No matter what I say, she's always going to be intoxicated. I gave up years ago trying to save her, but the little girl in me still wishes I could.
Years ago, I attended Al-Anon meetings. The meetings are like Alcoholics Anonymous for family members of people who suffer from addiction. After the last time I ran away from my parents and cut off all contact with them, I stopped attending the meetings. But I remind myself of what I learned from years of weekly sessions.
I must set my boundaries, be clear about them, and stick with them.
I cannot enable my mother to manipulate me.
It's up to my mom to change. I cannot change her.
I send one text.
Me: The only thing I agreed to is coffee on Saturday at the place I choose.
I turn off the phone to avoid further messages, knowing how my mother is once she gets an obsession in her head. In some ways, she's just as bad as Riggs. I'm sure I'll wake up to a hundred different text messages, and every one will annoy me.
Exhaustion suddenly hits me. I crawl under the covers, curling up into a ball. It doesn't take long before I fall asleep, but my dreams haunt me.
I'm back in my parents' home. I'm a little girl, maybe ten, and I'm shaking my mother and screaming for her to wake up. She finally sputters a few times, her eyelids opening and shutting.
My father's voice states in an annoyed tone, "It's just another one of her episodes where she took too many pills."
I'm hugging my mother and sobbing against her when I hear Riggs repeating, "Pet. Wake up."
His warm hand strokes my cheek. He murmurs, "It's time to get up." His lips graze my forehead.
I turn toward him, forgetting for a moment he hurt me and we're at odds.
He tightens his arms around me and quietly asks, "Pet, you okay?"
I take a moment, then remember things aren't okay between us. I slowly retreat.
He smiles, but concern tightens his features. It's the Riggs I know, the one I thought would never hurt me, the one I believed in more than life itself.
My pulse quickens.
Why did he have to do what he did?
I slowly sit up.
