One of them makes my day hell because it calls for a whole lot of caffeine and video games all night to stay awake. How late does the light slide out from the under the other door at night? Does the TV stay on all night or go off at some time? In other words, do they pass out or actually go to bed. This is a pretty good indicator, but let me tell ya, sucks for the school day. Staying up at night, watching someone's door, isn't high on my list of things I like to do. Been there, done that, had the messy-morning hair to piss Mel off to show for it.
The other one is how early do they wake up? Late? The last minute before they're going to be late, or bright and early, whistling at the coffee pot and setting out the Cookie Crunch?
The TV went out last night...the light only on for a couple hours after we parted, but this morning—this morning she's up late. Hangover or guilt? I'm not sure. I'll have to wait until I see her to know.
You can always tell how much someone drank the night before by how they wake up. Out of it? Eyes kind of swollen? Sluggish like they didn't get any sleep or they're sick? There are even those times where you can tell the difference in speech. There's still that slight slur that says it hasn't even worn off yet.
I'm still waiting to see Mom firsthand to know how today is. Sara's been in and out of Mom's room a couple times. She's dressed and all that so I'm hoping it's guilt that keeps her behind her bedroom door. That she just doesn't want to see me because she knows how wrong she is. Knows she needs help, and is thinking about how to come down and tell me she's getting it.
Okay, so lack of sleep made me delusional, but a guy can hope.
Pushing away what should be my chocolate chip reward for keeping my eyes open all night, I lean my head into my hands.
Maybe she should feel guilty, but I should too.
For the ten thousandth time since last night I wonder, am I doing the right thing? I can deal with it. When it just affects me, who cares? I can take care of myself, but Sara? I won't let her see it. There's no way I can risk her. That never became a possibility until last night.
Guilt slams into those thoughts. This is Mom. Didn't I just tell Bill she'd never let anything happen to Sara? That she'd always take care of her and that she'd never get hurt? Is it that easy for me to turn my back on Mom? Maybe it wasn't what I thought. Maybe she realizes how wrong she was and it will never happen again. What kind of son jumps to conclusions like this the first time?
"Barney! Barney!" Sara slides into the kitchen, her sock-covered feet skidding on the floor. She's out the other side before I have the chance to say anything to her and the TV is on. She can work a TV and DVD player like nobody's business.
A second later Mom walks into the kitchen. I try to ignore her, not sure what to say, but I keep seeing that glass. Her stepping out of the closet, knowing Sara's asleep in the next room.
I'm not sad anymore. The guilt is gone, replaced by heat. Anger. How could she pick that bottle over Sara?
Suddenly, I don't want to study her. Don't want to see her eyes, or hear her speak. I just want out. To escape it and pretend everything is okay.
Done with my soggy cookies, I push to my feet and head for the kitchen door. Little mini-eruptions go off inside me, readying me for the big one I know is coming.
"I'm sorry."
Her words make me freeze in the kitchen door. We've never talked about it this way before. She didn't even mention what she's sorry for, but I know and there have never been apologies before. Usually it's something we pretend doesn't exist.
"It was a hard day. Your grandpa was angry...and..."
My hands clench. I hate him. Hate him for what he's done to her.
"But that's not an excuse. I'm sorry, Carter. It won't happen again."
I don't turn around to look at her. The sigh that comes from her tells me she's glad I didn't walk out. I'm glad too because I hear it in her voice. The hurt and fear would break me if I saw it in her eyes.
I'm sorry...
It won't happen again...
Those words wipe out the explosions inside me. Sober apologies are real. I know it. They have to be. She wouldn't lie about something like this. Would she? No...No, this is Mom and she wouldn't lie about something this important. Not to me.
Suddenly, I can breathe. I didn't even know I couldn't before. But it's going to be okay now because she said it won't happen again. "It's okay, Ma... It's okay."
I risk a quick glance at Mom before I walk out, feeling lighter than I have with her in a while.
My truck purrs to life when I start it. I have a ton of finished homework in my bag, and practice tonight. I'm determined today's going to be a kickass day. Okay, maybe that's stretching it, but a good day. A normal day.
I need normal, no drama.
Mel pops into my head, our arguments and what I'd decided to do last night.
Or what I think I'd decided. But were things really as bad as I was thinking last night? I mean, thirty minutes ago I was freaking out about Mom and now I'm suddenly sunshine and rainbows or something. Maybe things with Mel will get better too.
Or maybe I'm being too weak to risk the wrath of ending it. Is it wrong trying to hang on to the calm—the hope that for once everything really might be okay?
It's not until I get to school that I start to wonder... Did Mom mean it will never happen again, or just not when Sara's home?
***
We decide to go out to lunch today. Mel's driving with me in the passenger seat. Trina and Travis are in the back, sitting way too far apart from each other. Well, as far away as you can get in a Bug, that is. Her arms are crossed, obviously mad about something while Trav drums on his legs to non-existent music.
"What's with everyone today? Someone kick your puppy?" I reach over and put my hand on Mel's leg. It feels different. I've been touching this girl's leg for a year. Makes no sense that it would somehow feel different now. And not in a good way either.
"I'm in a good mood," I say, squeezing her leg. "You are too, aren't you, baby?" Liar, liar pants on fire. For a second I wonder if Mel will pick up on it the way Kira did. If suddenly I'm not a good liar anymore and she's going to call me on it. Tell me I'm fake, but she only looks over and smiles.
"I'm always in a good mood. I have a notebook in the glove box. Can you grab it?" she asks. I put it on her lap, but don't put my hand back, feeling wrong all of a sudden.
Lunch isn't long enough to eat there, so we grab our food to go. I drive Mel's car back so she can eat easier, picking at my own fries as we go. The car is way more silent than it should be, which gives thoughts and memories time to jump around in my head. So don't feel like going there. I'm determined to make this day, hell, all the days after it too, into something better than they've been.
"So, you guys want to do something this weekend? Maybe for the night? I'm sure I can pull the staying-at Travis's-card." It's then the genius of my mind strikes me. This is the perfect plan. I'm feeling a little weird about what happened with Mom anyway. Sara's going to be with Bill. Maybe it will help me and Mel, and Travis and Trina at the same time.