Mom picks up her glass and takes a healthy sip before setting it down. “This is quite good,” she marvels. “Would you like one?”
Day drinking?
I shake my head. “No, I have a class in two hours.” Not that people don’t show up after having a few drinks, but still. It’s never been my thing.
“Tell me what’s going on in your life.” She pauses before adding, “Sometimes it feels like all we do is talk about your father. I’m tired of it.”
For a moment, I consider spilling the beans about Beck, but then I realize she didn’t know we were seeing each other in the first place, so what would be the point?
“There’s nothing new to report.” It’s probably for the best I never got around to telling her. Our relationship lasted a hot minute before it crashed and burned spectacularly.
I should have trusted my instincts instead of believing Beck was capable of change. It’s disheartening to realize Dad was right.
Mom purses her lips and searches my eyes. “Hmm, now why don’t I believe you?”
I’m saved from further questions when our waitress arrives on the scene. Since I already know what I want to order, I don’t bother perusing the menu. It’s what I get every time I’m here. Chicken enchiladas with beans and rice.
Yum.
Their mole sauce is freaking delicious. I could eat it by the spoonful. All right…so maybe I’ve done that once or twice.
Mom orders a chicken burrito and finishes her margarita before requesting another.
I’m a little surprised by how quickly she sucked the sugary drink down.
After Brianna died, Mom was no stranger to having a few glasses of wine in the evening. During particularly rough patches, she’d polish off a bottle on her own. Numbing the pain with alcohol was one way she coped with her grief. I don’t want her using it as a crutch to deal with the implosion of her marriage.
Once again, it makes me furious with Dad for yanking the rug out from under her feet.
The waitress leaves and I nudge Mom’s glass of water toward her.
When I can’t stand another moment, I say, “I know you didn’t come here to talk about everything that’s going on, but are you doing okay?”
She hoists a fake smile. “Of course, honey. I already told you there’s nothing to be concerned about. It’ll all get sorted out.”
“I can’t help but worry.” I reach across the table and lay my hand over hers. “I want to help you through this, but I’m not sure how.”
“I’m sorry.” She stares at our clasped hands and tears fill her eyes. “You should be worrying about senior year, not me.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I say, startled by her outburst of emotion. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” My voice grows steely. “Dad is the one who left without attempting to work through your issues.” It’s as if he struck a match, threw it in a puddle of gasoline, and then walked away when it turned into a raging inferno. It still blows me away that he could do this.
“It’s my fault.” When a tear slides down her cheek, she quickly swipes it away. “After your sister died, I checked out. I’ve spent the last couple of days going over everything in my head and what bothers me most is that I wasn’t a better mother to you.”
Her words leave me feeling as if there’s a vise constricting my chest so tightly it’s impossible to suck in full breaths.
“Don’t say that, Mom. You did the best you could.”
“It’s the truth.” She releases a sigh and stares out the picture window we’re parked in front of. It’s a gorgeous day. The sun is shining brightly, and the sky is a deep cornflower blue filled with puffy white clouds that drift lazily by. It feels like the kind of day where nothing could be wrong in the world and yet, my mother’s life lay in tatters.
Not just hers. Mine, as well.
Even though I’ve tried to push all thoughts of Beck from my mind, I can’t help but dwell on the scene I walked in on. For a moment, I’d wondered if I’d stumbled into the wrong office. It didn’t seem possible that Beck would be sitting on the couch, legs outstretched while Dr. Hayes knelt between them.
It was pretty damn obvious what was about to go down.
Her.
Ugh. I just puked in my mouth.
Even though I told Beck we were done, he’s been calling and texting non-stop. I finally blocked his number. There’s nothing he can say to make this right. The thought of them fooling around behind my back makes me sick to my stomach.
Mexican for lunch no longer seems like such a good idea.
I blink back to the present when Mom says, “I fell apart after Brianna died and I never recovered.”
None of us did.