I woke early the next morning, and I was telling myself it was because I needed to check on my mom and not because I wanted to avoid Kelly. Like I’d avoided her last night. I’d taken off, sending her a text that she’d need to get a ride from one of our bowling friends.
I’d been in bed by the time she’d rolled in, which was late because I knew they liked to have a couple extra beers after, sometimes going out dancing too.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fill Kelly in on this guy, whose name I still didn’t know, but it was that if I forgot about him, didn’t talk about him, I wouldn’t remember how he made me feel. Or how my body reacted to him, because it was too much and it was out of control, and in all of my life, I’d never felt that.
I was twenty-nine. I didn’t know if I should be sad about that or pissed off that it took this long.
Either way, it didn’t matter. Whoever he was, he was bad news.
I needed to forget him, forget the whole thing. The two meetings. The constant thinking about him. Now the continuous remembering how he felt, his kisses, his touches, how he felt pressed up and into me—on a constant loop. I needed to forget that too.
I groaned, shaking my head, because the only thing that would dash all my dreams and hopes—a visit to my mother. That’s not why I was going to see her. It was just time to check on her. I didn’t like to go longer than a couple weeks if I didn’t hear from her, and the two weeks was up. I was planning on dropping by an hour before work. That gave me time to grab coffee and also time to handle whatever needed to be handled at the house, because with my mom, there was usually something that needed to be handled.
I stopped before heading to Mom’s and got coffee from Marco’s Corner Stand, which was the most divine Cuban coffee I’d ever had in my life. Knowing Chelsea would grumble if I didn’t bring her some, I grabbed one for her as well.
We were in the same brownstone we’d been all our life. It was inherited from our grandfather’s grandfather. Since my dad died, since my brother, Isaac, went to prison, the place wasn’t being kept up. My mom lived here, but she didn’t handle any of the maintenance. I grimaced, coming to the front steps and seeing two of them cracked down the middle. The frames needed a new paint job, but that was cosmetic. I knocked, rang the doorbell, because Chelsea Montell didn’t like me walking in and scaring her. I was more under the impression she wanted a few minutes to stash her stuff, whatever it was that she knew I wouldn’t want her having. So I did it, because I’m a good daughter, despite her complaints.
I waited a little before I used my key to go inside. “Ma!”
“Oh gawd, shut up.” A stair creaked upstairs. She was coming from the bathroom. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
I did a full scan as she came around the stairs corner, tugging her robe closed in front of her. Chelsea Montell was a spitfire sixty-four-year-old. Dark hair that had only a few grays in it and a naturally beautiful face that had aged well so she looked in her older forties instead. She was rail thin. What calories didn’t fill her body, her spirit did instead. A crass mouth at times, a penchant for cursing like a trucker, she really enjoyed her booze. I got a strong whiff and guessed that she’d stuffed a bottle of vodka away before coming down here.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Mom.” She made a face, the makeup from last night still caked all over her, but she wasn’t looking me in the eye. Her free hand was holding tight to the railing. “I was just ‘Ma’ a second ago. Now I’m ‘Mom.’ What happened to the ‘Ma’ greeting?” She came to the bottom step and paused a second to get her bearings. Her body was unsteady before she turned, still not looking at me, and headed for the kitchen.
I went around through the living room and the dining room and used the second entrance to the kitchen. She was just making her way past the fridge. I put her coffee on the middle island. “I got you Marco’s.”
She raised her head a little, making a show of taking a whiff. A genuine smile pulled at her mouth, but she didn’t look at me. Still focusing on the steps in front of her. “Smells delicious, honey. Thank you.”
Honey. I was a “honey” now that I got Marco’s for her.
I coughed, clearing my throat. “Is the bathroom still not working down here?” I didn’t wait, heading for the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait. No!”
I ignored her, hurrying up the stairs. “Hold on, Mom! I’ve got the flow. You have any old tampons up here?”
She yelled something back, but I went into her bathroom and shut the door.
Then I went to town, but she always hid the booze in the same places. It just changed rooms. This time, I opened the bathroom closet door and took a breath before reaching back behind the pile of towels reserved for guests. My hand found something round and solid, and I pulled it out.
Vodka. I’d been right.
It was a new bottle too.
I reached back, seeing if there was more. There wasn’t, not in this room, and she wouldn’t let me check the other rooms. She’d be hammering up at me, so I unscrewed it, poured 80 percent of it down the toilet, flushed, and refilled it with water from the tap. I wiped it off, screwed the cap on, and put it back.
I hated this, whatever this was. A game? What we both knew, what we’d had so many fights over, all the insults, the ultimatums, the tears. All of it reduced to this game now where we both knew, but we both didn’t speak up. Losing Dad, and then Isaac, had taken its toll on both of us.
I said a prayer under my breath that she wouldn’t realize the vodka was watered down for a while. Was I even right to do what I just did? I had no idea, but it was what it was.
I hurried back down the stairs and smiled. “False emergency. I found one in my purse.”
She was at the end of the stairs, suspicion on her face. One of her hands was propped on her waist, and she’d forgotten her robe wasn’t tied closed. There was a small opening now, and I saw she was dressed in black leggings and a sweater that she usually reserved for bingo down the block. She hadn’t changed clothes.
She’d slept in those clothes. Or passed out in those clothes.
I blinked, pretending I didn’t see them, and sailed past her to the kitchen. After grabbing my coffee, I went back out and stepped to her. “I gotta go, Mom. Love you. Let me know when you want me to bring dinner, yeah?”
She didn’t say a word but moved in when I kissed her on the cheek.
I moved back, going for the door. “Love you again.”
The door closed behind me, and I took a breath, one, before resolving that I needed to get those steps fixed.
