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I laugh again and smile. “Okay. Sounds like I don’t have a choice.”
He nods, tapping his phone to his chin as a subtle reminder to message him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Goodnight,” he says.
“Night,” I reply, leaving him behind.
I walk through our front yard and up our porch steps. I crack the door open and slip inside.
Mom sits at the bottom of the stairs, wrapped in her robe. She has a tissue encased in her hand, and she looks up the moment the door opens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how you’d feel when we started packing up his room.”
I stare at my feet, pulling at my sleeves. “I’m fine.”
“No, I should’ve asked you first. We did it because it’s one of the bonding activities the counselor suggested for Dad and me.”
I kick off my shoes, scooting them closer to the wall with my foot. “Where’s Dad?”
She daps her eye with the tissue. “He left.”
A surge of guilt pulses through me. Did he leave because I yelled at him? “What? Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.” Her back tenses up. “If he doesn’t come home soon, I’ll call the bar he’s been going to.”
This isn’t what I wanted. I need him to be more present, not give up.
“I thought he was done drinking,” I say.
She rests her head on the wall next to the stairs. “Addictions are hard to break.”
I step back. Addiction? Dad’s never had a problem controlling himself. I know he’s been drinking more lately, but I didn’t realize it had gone that far. “He’s not addicted.”
“I wish that were true,” she whispers. “But he needs to get it under control—”
“Or what? You’ll kick him out? You’ll leave him? Is losing two people better than losing one?”
“No, calm down,” she says, eyebrows furrowing. “I never said that. I just need this place to be a safe place for you, and if he keeps this up, we might need to take some time—”
“Since when do you know what’s best for me?”
She lets out a rushed breath. “I don’t, but I’m trying here.”
I wave my hands in front of me. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
She may be giving up on Dad, but I’m not going to. I won’t let her take him away from me. I push past her, marching up to my room, trying my best to ignore the way her shoulders tremor as she starts to cry again.
Plopping down on my bed, I stare at my empty easel. Part of me wishes I didn’t throw away my art supplies because I could use a good painting session to distract me right now.
I need an escape.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I smile.
He’s my new distraction.
Caleb:
So? How’s it going?
