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Days passed without news of the paternity test. Michael watched his phone, called the clinic, and anxiously awaited news about whether Jace was his or not. Who was he kidding? He knew that boy was his. There was no denying it once he saw the child in person. If he had compared a childhood picture of himself to the kid, it would be like looking at twins. Only there were no childhood pictures of him – his mother didn’t care. That’s what happened when he was conceived without it being planned. And she made sure to never allow him to forget it.
And now he was parked outside the complex where she lived in a town down the road from where he lived. The drive was short, and he was glad Mitch had decided to come with him. He had no idea why he had finally decided to do it – digging up old memories and demons was going to put him on edge with the desire to drink and get high to finally push him off the wagon.
“You gonna get out?” Mitch’s voice pulled him back to reality, and Michael gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles ached.
“I don’t know.” His own voice was foreign to him.
“We drove all this way. She lives in 102.”
Michael glanced at his younger brother. “How often do you come?”
“Used to come once a week. Now it’s about once a month. Maybe twice if I’m up for it.”
“Up for it.” Michael scoffed. “What made you stop coming so often?”
“You know why, Mikey.”
“So, why are we here?”
Mitch exhaled a long line of cigarette smoke and tossed the butt out the window. “Good question. Maybe it’ll do you some good.”
“Or maybe it’ll make me relapse.”
“You got that hottie sponsor you can call up. Let her lick your wounds. Let her lick some other stuff, too.” Mitch laughed and Michael punched him in the arm.
“I told you to stop saying shit like that about Haize.”
Mitch rubbed his bicep and stopped laughing. “I’m kidding. But I’m not. That girl can fix a whole lotta your problems if you let her. Did you let her know you were coming to do this?”
“I don’t tell her every little thing I’m doing. That’s not what a sponsor does. She talks me off the ledge if I get a craving. So, the less I have to call her, the better.”
Mitch nodded and tapped the package of cigarettes on his thigh. “Well, we gonna sit out here like a couple of dumbasses or are we gonna go in there?”
Michael grabbed the door handle and opened it, feeling the cool mountain air on his skin. He wondered how he had stayed sober as long as he had, with so many crazy things going on in his life.
Mitch followed him up the sidewalk and they stopped in front of her door. Balling his fists, Michael hesitated to knock, but Mitch did it for him, rapping his hand on the wood beside the numbers displaying 102. Footsteps accompanied by the clank of glass bottles got louder as she neared the entrance, and the door swung open to reveal a thin older woman with graying brown hair, wrinkled skin, and a cough that revealed years of smoking.
She made eye contact with Mitch and nodded – it wasn’t strange for him to be on her doorstep, but then her green eyes met Michael’s – the same green eyes as his, and she let out a short gasp.
“Hello, Mom. Surprised to see me?”
She opened the door wider, revealing an apartment that could use a deep cleaning. Stale cigarettes and alcohol hit him like a cloud of dust, and he almost called it off right then and there. She motioned for them to come in and Mitch didn’t hesitate, crossing the threshold without a second thought.
Michael stayed on the porch, considering his choices. Why was he here? What good would it do? If anything, at least his mother could see how well he was doing. Maybe that could be a slap in the face to her since she never thought he’d amount to much. His going to prison was likely satisfying to her.
“Hurry up and come in. You’re letting the flies in.” Her voice was raspy, and she coughed to clear her throat.
Michael crossed over into the living room, taking a deep breath as his mother followed him to the kitchen table where Mitch waited. A stranger in his own mother’s home. Being in her presence stirred up all his demons, and he’d definitely have to call Haize when this was over.
“What brings you here, Michael?”
“Where do I even begin?”
Chapter Eleven
Michael didn’t want to sit at the table with his brother and mom. He didn’t want to stay long. He already wanted to leave, and he hadn’t even told her why he was there. Did he want to be hostile and tell her how he really felt, or brush it all under the rug and pretend they were a big, happy family? What would be the best for his mental health? What would Haize do?
“Sit down. You’re making me nervous.” His mother motioned toward the empty chair at the head of the table as she scooted a cigarette from the package. “Want one?” She offered them to Mitch, but not to Michael, and though a cigarette would calm his nerves, he didn’t want to take one from her and was glad he wasn’t even offered one.
