asking her to call Mom. I wondered if Mom had anything hidden away in her room. When I was younger I knew all her hiding places, but I’d given up dumping everything I could find. Now, I didn’t know. What if…?
Before I could decide on anything, Mom stalked into the kitchen. She attacked the poinsettias as though she were into mercy killing, breaking stems and slamming squishy root packets into the pots.
I edged past her and rinsed my hands. “I’m sorry, Mom. I never said anything to her. Never.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Maybe it would have been better if you had.”
I stared at her, perplexed.
Mom shook her head. “Aidyn, did the whole world know what I was doing to you? She did—a little kid! Everyone knew but me, and no one bothered to tell me.” She rubbed her face, leaving chunks of mud and tendrils of root across her cheeks. “Listen to me. Putting all the responsibility on everyone else.”
She grabbed a paper towel and scrubbed her face.
I let warm water flow over my hands, sure that when I turned off the tap I’d say the wrong thing again.
“Aidyn, I wish I could tell you that if only someone had told me how much harm I was doing to you, I would have quit right then. But that’s not true.” She slumped against the counter. “I hate being an alcoholic.”
I turned off the faucet and stared at my water-wrinkled hands, then looked over at Mom. She’d stopped working again and stood with her arms crossed, her shoulders thin and shaking under her sweater.
“But you quit.”
“Finally.”
I wiped my hands over and over on my jeans. “I heard you talking on the phone. Maybe to Elaine. Sunday.”
She looked up.
“You said you quit for”—I could only mouth the word—”me.”
She nodded.
I looked up at her. “That’s the truth?”
“The absolute truth, baby. Who else do I love as much as I love you?”
I tried to find something to say and couldn’t. Mom wrapped her arms around me and leaned her face against the top of my head.
“I’m sorry Shannon embarrassed you. She didn’t mean to. She thought you’d…I don’t know. I guess she thought you’d like to know you’d done some good.”
Mom snorted. “And I used to dream what a great role model I’d be.”
“She thinks you’re cool. She told me to say so.”
Mom backed away. “Well, you know better, don’t you?”
“Mom, sometimes you’re cool. Yeah, lately…Mom?” A tear trickling down her cheek cut my heart. “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said you were going to quit. I’m sorry I didn’t think you could.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been very good at keeping that promise, have I?”
“But you are,” I said. “You’re keeping it.”
“For today.” Again she leaned into me, and I hugged her back. She didn’t smell like booze or even Elaine’s putrid perfume, but like potting soil and laundry detergent and something else I couldn’t name but took me back to the days when we’d been friends—days when I lived in a safe world.
I started to cry. “I used to pray so hard you’d quit, and it never did any good. So I just gave up. I mean, if God couldn’t make you, who could?”
“Oh, baby,” Mom choked.
“And then, when you did, and you didn’t start again, I started asking Him to keep everything good.”
“So have I, baby. So have I.”
For two weeks I lived my life like a fairytale. As if I’d just noticed how perfect life could be without a drunk in it, I floated into friendships with Mom, with Shannon, with Miguel. I could even tolerate Elaine, and she seemed to hate me a bit less, too. I bounced around my world like a child delighted in life. For the first time I felt free.
On Friday evening, Jackson picked up the three of us early. I gave Mom a quick hug, reminded her to call Elaine if she needed to, and raced down the stairs. This would be the first time Miguel and I went out together, and even though he hadn’t said it was a date, I knew it
Before I could decide on anything, Mom stalked into the kitchen. She attacked the poinsettias as though she were into mercy killing, breaking stems and slamming squishy root packets into the pots.
I edged past her and rinsed my hands. “I’m sorry, Mom. I never said anything to her. Never.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Maybe it would have been better if you had.”
I stared at her, perplexed.
Mom shook her head. “Aidyn, did the whole world know what I was doing to you? She did—a little kid! Everyone knew but me, and no one bothered to tell me.” She rubbed her face, leaving chunks of mud and tendrils of root across her cheeks. “Listen to me. Putting all the responsibility on everyone else.”
She grabbed a paper towel and scrubbed her face.
I let warm water flow over my hands, sure that when I turned off the tap I’d say the wrong thing again.
“Aidyn, I wish I could tell you that if only someone had told me how much harm I was doing to you, I would have quit right then. But that’s not true.” She slumped against the counter. “I hate being an alcoholic.”
I turned off the faucet and stared at my water-wrinkled hands, then looked over at Mom. She’d stopped working again and stood with her arms crossed, her shoulders thin and shaking under her sweater.
“But you quit.”
“Finally.”
I wiped my hands over and over on my jeans. “I heard you talking on the phone. Maybe to Elaine. Sunday.”
She looked up.
“You said you quit for”—I could only mouth the word—”me.”
She nodded.
I looked up at her. “That’s the truth?”
“The absolute truth, baby. Who else do I love as much as I love you?”
I tried to find something to say and couldn’t. Mom wrapped her arms around me and leaned her face against the top of my head.
“I’m sorry Shannon embarrassed you. She didn’t mean to. She thought you’d…I don’t know. I guess she thought you’d like to know you’d done some good.”
Mom snorted. “And I used to dream what a great role model I’d be.”
“She thinks you’re cool. She told me to say so.”
Mom backed away. “Well, you know better, don’t you?”
“Mom, sometimes you’re cool. Yeah, lately…Mom?” A tear trickling down her cheek cut my heart. “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said you were going to quit. I’m sorry I didn’t think you could.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been very good at keeping that promise, have I?”
“But you are,” I said. “You’re keeping it.”
“For today.” Again she leaned into me, and I hugged her back. She didn’t smell like booze or even Elaine’s putrid perfume, but like potting soil and laundry detergent and something else I couldn’t name but took me back to the days when we’d been friends—days when I lived in a safe world.
I started to cry. “I used to pray so hard you’d quit, and it never did any good. So I just gave up. I mean, if God couldn’t make you, who could?”
“Oh, baby,” Mom choked.
“And then, when you did, and you didn’t start again, I started asking Him to keep everything good.”
“So have I, baby. So have I.”
For two weeks I lived my life like a fairytale. As if I’d just noticed how perfect life could be without a drunk in it, I floated into friendships with Mom, with Shannon, with Miguel. I could even tolerate Elaine, and she seemed to hate me a bit less, too. I bounced around my world like a child delighted in life. For the first time I felt free.
On Friday evening, Jackson picked up the three of us early. I gave Mom a quick hug, reminded her to call Elaine if she needed to, and raced down the stairs. This would be the first time Miguel and I went out together, and even though he hadn’t said it was a date, I knew it
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