"Cool." I shovel a mouthful in.
"What about you? Anything new? How's Melanie doing? I don't see her much."
That's because I try to keep her away. Not that I can say that. For some reason, it just doesn't feel right having Mel around my mom. I'm freaked Mel will figure me out if she spends too much time with her. Plus, Sara doesn't really like Mel, which is crazy because Sara likes everyone. Not that Melanie's exactly kid-friendly, if you know what I mean.
My shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "She's busy. School, cheer's starting."
We're quiet for a few minutes, but it's the good quiet. One where I don't feel darkness tingeing the corners of it. Right now, I can just chill, none of the weight trying to crumble me.
"Speaking of cheer...I know that means basketball, too. I've been thinking; it's your senior year. I want you to enjoy it. With school, your friends, and basketball, working at the shop might be too much."
My eyes snap up to hers. "Huh?" I've always, always worked in the shop. Not every day. Usually we split the evenings. Mom will bring Sara with her or they'll spend the evening at home and I work. It's the way things have been for a few years.
"Carter." She grabs my hand, squeezing it tight. "You're a good kid. You work hard. You help at home. You deserve a little break. It's not fair all that you do. I just want you to be happy and enjoy your last year at home."
She doesn't let go and I don't either. There's something in the air between us, something that kind of makes the puking feeling return because I know exactly what's she's doing. I know what she's saying, even though she's not saying it. I take care of her. Take care of a lot. What she does hurts her. Hurting me hurts her.
I feel like someone's crushed my windpipe. "You...work hard, too. You deal with a lot. I don't mind helping."
Lie. I'm such a freaking liar because I do mind. I hate it. Hate it all so much I feel like I'm going insane sometimes.
"I mind. I'm going to try...try to not depend on you so much." Then she smiles and lets go of my hand. "Plus, you have to get those grades up, too." This makes me want to laugh. She doesn't know the half of it. "Do you have homework tonight?"
Automatically, my head shakes. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome Carter the Liar to the stage. In the corner is a whole backpack full of homework he can't stop himself from lying about.
"Good. I know it's not cool to hang out with your mom, but do you want to watch a movie or something? Your choice. I need to take advantage and spend as much time with you as I can, since it will be your last year at home."
I'm not sure whether my smile is for my own or her benefit. "How can I pass that up?"
Ignoring the bag sitting on the floor, I grab my plate and follow her to the living room. Even though I'm exhausted from last night, we watch two movies: a comedy and an action flick. I don't think about last night, homework, my grades, Mel, or anything else and it feels good. Everything about this night feels good. Spending time with Mom and not the helpless woman from the night before. Not taking off her shoes like we sometimes have to do for my six-year-old sister with Downs Syndrome. It's...normal.
"It's late and you have school tomorrow. Sara gets back, too," Mom says when the last movie ends. "Why don't you go up and get ready for bed? I'll turn everything off down here."
I run up the stairs, realizing I'm still in my sweaty clothes from earlier. After washing up a little, I throw on some clean boxers and a pair of basketball shorts. Then I remember my stupid backpack downstairs and figure I should get a little bit done, even though my eyes are scratchy and it's already after midnight.
When I jog back downstairs, Mom jumps a little, almost running into me.
"Oh! Carter, you scared me. I thought you were already in bed."
"Just gotta grab something."
"Okay, I'm heading up."
She leans forward to kiss my cheek and I freeze as the smell of alcohol fills my nostrils. Insta-nausea hits me. My hands are tied behind my back again. Did she grab the bottle as soon as I headed upstairs? And two days in a row...this makes two days. She doesn't work this way. Not usually. Why the hell is she drinking two nights in a row?
"Good night, Carter."
Good? How does she expect me to have a good night? I had a good night and she took it away from me. But I don't say that. I can't.
"Night."
Ignoring the whisper of my English homework, I turn and go back upstairs.
Chapter Three
My muscles are all jumpy when I run downstairs early the next morning. I'm jonesing for basketball practice this afternoon, but I know if I don't get some kind of work done for English, Mrs. Z is going to bench me. I have to keep that from happening. What's the point, anyway? It's not like I won't make it in life if I can't fully explain the theme behind Of Mice and Men.
"Carter! Carter!" Sara slams into me as I hit the bottom step. She wraps her pale, stick-like arms around me and buries her face in my stomach.
"Hey, Twig." I give her mud-brown hair a light tug. "Did you have fun?" Even though we have different dads, we have the same dark, wavy hair.
Sara looks up at me through thick glasses, yells, "Barney!" as the music from that psycho purple dinosaur starts in the background, and then runs away. She's obsessed with the show. Gets way more excited about him than she does the rest of us. It's actually pretty cool to watch. I don't know if all kids with Down Syndrome get as giddy about things as she does, but I'm pretty sure I've never been as pumped about something as she gets with that dinosaur.
It's my favorite thing about her: the way the house could be crumbling around us but it would still be so easy to make her smile. Not sure if that's a trait, either, or if my sister just kicks ass.
"Morning. You're up early." Mom kisses my cheek. Bill, Sara's dad, is standing next to her.
"I need to get to school and get some stuff done." So I don't fail English. And get kicked out of basketball.
"Hey, Carter. Want to run out to the car with me? Sara forgot her bag and I need to run to work before I'm late." Bill wears round glasses just like Sara, only his aren't as thick. He's so different from my biological dad. At least, from what little I remember or can tell from pictures. Dad played basketball, too. He was young, but had a heart attack playing ball. Mom says he loved it like I do. All my games are for him.
And Bill—well, he's a cool guy, but he's more of a paper-pusher than Dad was. He and Mom got along okay, but I always wonder what they had in common.
"Yep. Right behind you." Mom hands me a Pop Tart and I push a bite into my mouth as I follow Bill out. He stops me after handing me the bag and my stomach drops. I know what's next. We go through this every few months.
"How she's doing, Carter? Still not drinking?"
Liar. I'm such a liar. It makes me nauseous. Guilty. "No... I told you I'd tell you if she started again. We're all good, Bill." My sister's big grin pops into my head. For the millionth time, I wonder if I'm doing and saying the right thing. But those thoughts are shoved aside when I think of Mom with Sara. Mom loves Sara—maybe more than she loves me because she doesn't drink when Sara's home. Ever. It used to kind of piss me off, but now I'm relieved. Maybe Mom knows I can deal with it. Sara couldn't.