As I start to walk away, I hear her cell phone go off. Well, if she wasn't awake before, she will be now. Not ready to see her yet, I make my way to my room. Locking my door behind me, I screw around online, seriously consider jumping into my bed, but end up taking a shower instead, hoping the water will wash away my memories from last night.
Mom's slurred speech memories.
The drama with Mel.
Not the Kira and basketball ones. Those, I lock into that little box in my head where we keep important stuff that I have no plan of ever talking about.
Shower over, I get dressed, planning on doing whatever I want today. No girlfriend to check in with. No sober Mom to give a shit where I am. Today is just for me.
As soon as I hit the hall, I hear her cell phone again. I know it's by her bed. A day doesn't go by she doesn't charge it right there. Just as I'm about to knock, the home phone rings, making me more happy than it should, because bad as it is, I don't want to see her. The thought actually makes me want to hurl.
"Hello?" I'm out of breath after racing down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Hello. This is Barbara Conner from Ivy Springs Nursing Home. I'm looking for Delilah Baker."
Fuck. No, no, no. I so don't want to go there today. "She's not available right now. I'm Carter, though. I'm on the list of people you can talk to."
Papers shuffle on the other side of the phone. "Mr. Shaw, you're grandfather has had another bad day. He's refusing medication and yelling at employees and calling names. He's even taken a swing at one of them. We told Ms. Baker last time we can't continue to have this behavior. He's only in assisted living and we don't have the manpower nor should we have to deal with this. If it doesn't improve, he's not going to be able to continue staying here. I tried to call your mom at least four times this morning and she didn't answer. I need someone to come down and help us deal with him."
The ropes tying me to my life tighten. I hate the bastard. Hate him, but if I don't go down there, I'll not only have to wake up my hung over mom, but then she'll have to deal with him. Which kills her. Which makes the Vodka and Tequila call to her louder. Which triggers the gag reflex and nausea to attack me even fiercer.
"Mr. Shaw? Like I said, I know this is your grandfather. I'd much rather deal with your mother about it, but again, she hasn't answered my numerous phone calls. That's very unlike her, but regardless, we need someone to help settle him down."
Her words hit me. She's right. No matter how hung over Mom has been before, she's always answered the phone. Between Sara and Grandpa who might need her, it never leaves her side.
"I'll be right there."
Dropping the phone, I run for the stairs. My heart has never pounded so hard. It's like a whole basketball team running across the court, their feet slamming into the hardwood. Every stupid video, assignment and what Travis calls scare tactics from health class slam into me. Alcohol poisoning, choking on your own vomit, all hit me over and over. Nothing has ever kept her from a phone call with Grandpa's doctors or for Sara.
"Mom!" I stumble, running into her room. She's in bed, fully dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but it's the same ones she wore yesterday. "Mom." My voice is softer this time, scared, as my feet slow to a walk, carrying me closer to the bed.
"Hmm?" she mumbles, and then rolls over. Her eyes flutter, but then close again.
"Ma?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you okay?" Thump, thump, thump. My heart slams into my ribcage.
"Sick... Flu or something."
Or something. My heart is still hitting hard, but now for a different reason. I'm pissed. Pissed that she's so hung over she didn't hear the phone and I thought she could have been dead. What's wrong with her? Why does she have to be like this? How hard is it to just quit?
And then I'm scared. Scared because I think I could start to hate her. I always got it before, but it's getting harder and harder. What kind of son hates his mom? "Get some rest. I... I gotta go."
"Need anything?" One of her eyes opens. The look makes me want to throttle her. To yell at her at the top of my lungs because even though I don't think that's what it is this time, I've seen it before.
Double vision becomes single if you close one of your eyes.
"No." My voice is as tight as my fists.
"Carter... I'm really not feeling so hot. Can you open the store for me? I'll...I'll try to come in later." She doesn't even try to look at me now. Because she's really sick or is it shame?
"Yeah. I have to do something first and then I'll head over." That easily, my day is taken away from me by Grandpa and Mom.
"Thanks. I don't know what I'm going to do when you're gone..."
Ignoring her, I keep walking.
***
For five minutes I linger outside Grandpa's room. It shouldn't be this hard to control your own body, but no matter how much I try to force it, my legs just won't carry me inside. Which pisses me off. Grow a pair, I tell myself before finally pushing into the room.
"What the hell do you want?" he grunts when he sees me walk in.
"Hey, Gramps. Good to see you too." I can't help but be pretty proud that I don't add something else to that sentence.
"Ha! Good to see me? You're just like her. Selfish, the lot of you. Guess she was too busy to come down herself, huh? We gave her everything and she can't even be bothered with her own father. Ungrateful little—"
"I'd stop right there if I were you." The calm in my voice is gone. Rage pushes through my body, threatening to erupt. It's his fault. I know it. My life, Mom's problems. It all started with the angry asshole in front of me.
The asshole that’s room is decorated with Mom's stuff, some of the knickknacks, a bookshelf she painted. She did it for him, I know it because there's no way he'd care enough to do it. One of her paintings leans against the wall—not hanging though. My guess is it fell, but he didn't put it back up. There are no pictures: not me, Sara, Mom or even Grandma.
His shirt is dirty, his huge stomach pushing it out. He doesn't have a beard, but probably hasn't shaved in days. His hair is all white now and it wasn't the last time I saw him.
Grandpa throws his arms in the air. "It's true! Always been like that! Always wanting everything from Mary and me, and nothing was ever good enough. I worked damn hard for my family, but neither Delilah or her mother saw that. Complain, complain, complain. And then the second she could, she ran. Just abandoned her family and now she's stuffed me in this place to rot. What kind of daughter is she? She's an ungrateful, little witch!"
Mom's going to kill me, but I don't care. I'm quiet with her. Don't talk too badly about Grandpa. Don't tell her how angry she makes me, but him? I don't owe him anything. All my anger at Mom, Mel, myself—it gains strength inside me, pushing me until nothing can hold me back from saying what I want to say. "Maybe she complained because you were a drunk."
His whole face turns red. "What did you say to me, boy?" His voice shakes and I'm pretty sure it's because he's never had someone talk back to him before. Mom or Grandma didn't. The staff here only call Mom to deal with him. But this time—this time he has to deal with me.
"I said you're an asshole. The whole time she was growing up, you'd drink until you passed out every night and until then, you treated them like crap. You're so miserable you had to make their lives miserable, too."