“Do you dump it down the drain?” I question sarcastically and then immediately shake my head. “Of course you don’t.” Spite coats my conclusion before he even has a chance to respond.
Taking one step forward Miss Jean asks, “You okay, Asher?”
My father tries to answer her, motioning in the air, but my next step gets his attention before he can say a damn thing.
“Are you drinking?”
My father just looks at me, his face hard and ashamed. He licks his lips and his gaze drops to the floor before coming back up. He’s silent. He’s not going to answer. I caught him red-handed, and he won’t answer.
The clerk looks between the two of us, obviously uncomfortable.
“How long?” I keep my voice even and low, but she doesn’t answer. Probably because I’m still looking at my father. I have to force myself to face Miss Jean. “How long has he been picking up weekly beer?” I do my damnedest to be polite, to keep my tone as friendly as I can. But I don’t know how successful I am.
My hands are shaking so fucking bad, I struggle to ball them into fists. I’m far too aware I’m hardly contained.
I keep myself in check, barely, because I’m a good guy, a good person, and I won’t do what I want to do. Because what I want is to knock down all the alcohol in this place. Smash every bottle on the floor until no one else can drink it. Miss Jean doesn’t deserve that. No one does. Not when all of this rage is only for my father.
“You lied. How could you do this to us?” My voice cracks and it only makes me clench my fists tighter.
“Asher,” my dad warns.
“Is everything okay?” Miss Jean reaches toward the phone on her counter, probably wanting to call someone for help, finally putting the pieces together.
“Everything’s fine.” My dad gives her a smile. “It’s fine.”
Judging from the sadness and regret in her gaze, she doesn’t believe my father. Thank God for that, because it’s not fine. Nothing is okay right now.
“You’re an alcoholic who doesn’t work. Where are you even getting the money for this?”
My dad puts his hands around the bag on the counter. “We can talk about this later.”
My control slips, my voice getting louder by the second.
“I took over the bills. I took over everything.” I practically yell and I wish I could stop. “Every damn thing at home. I tried to make it okay.” I can’t shut up. I know better than to do this. I know better than to tell the whole town our business. Airing out our dirty laundry and embarrassing my mother.
I just tried so hard.
“You don’t have any bills.” My voice cracks on a shout. The stress of the last two years comes over me like a block of concrete. Like a broken sign snapping off a pole. This isn’t fixable. What he’s doing isn’t fixable. “All you had to do was take care of Ma. That’s all you had to do. And really? All you had to do was take care of yourself. She was fine. She’s good. She wanted you to get better.”
I have to stop, but I can’t.
“This was supposed to be your retirement!” My voice echoes in the store. I hope to God nobody else is in here. I can’t keep these feelings bottled up for one more second. “All you had to do was stop fucking drinking.”
As I heave in a breath, trying to steady myself, trying to stop from falling into that dark place again, Miss Jean tells me it’s okay. She says, “It’s okay, son. It’s going to be okay.” But she doesn’t know the half of it and I’m not her son.
I can barely look up at her to tell her, “It’s not okay. He’s an alcoholic and an angry drunk.”
Miss Jean freezes, her face going white. She has no idea what to do. Neither do I. What’s a person supposed to do in this situation? My dad’s an alcoholic, but he’s a grown man. It’s not illegal for him to walk into a liquor store and buy whatever he wants.
I want to drag him out of here, shove him into his car, and take him home so I can repeat all this until he gets it through his head. But some part of me knows that it won’t. It can’t. If he hasn’t figured this out by now, he’s not going to. I don’t know how else to explain it to him.
In all of this, watching me break down, my father reaches up for the six-pack.
All I can see is red as he does it. What was the point of covering for him? What was the point of breaking up with Bri? I gave her up because I thought there would be light at the end of the tunnel. I thought my dad would end up okay. I thought I might have another chance at the life I had to put on pause.
“What are you doing?” I question him as the bottles clink together in the cardboard carrier. “You don’t give a shit, do you?”
What the hell do I do? Cut him off? Never speak to him again? I don’t know. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to leave the situation at the store. All I know is that I’m not okay.