Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
We order Edward’s coffee and my caramel latte, and the Frappuccino that my mom requested before heading back to the car. He didn’t even let me pay.
“I have to tell you,” I say as we’re pulling into his driveway again. “I wasn’t expecting that, but that was a great end to the day.”
“I’m glad. I wish you could just come in and spend the evening with me.”
I wish that too. “I know. Will you text me later?”
He waggles his eyebrows, overacting his lewdness. “Bet your ass I will.”
My cheeks flame with a blush. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Anytime.”
I head inside, and I immediately sense that the atmosphere in the house is different. “Mom?”
There’s a shuffling noise in the living room, and I walk in to see my mom sitting oddly on the couch. “Where have you been?” she asks, voice harsh.
I hesitate. “I went for coffee.”
“It takes you an hour to get coffee? What were you really doing? Were you out being a slut? I thought I taught you better than that. I thought I told you to learn from my mistakes.”
What the fuck? Did she see Edward and me in the car together? “I told you I ran into a friend,” I say, sticking to my story. “I brought you your drink.” She grabs the cup from my hand so hard that it hurts.
“Why did you bring me this? You know I don’t eat this sugary crap.”
“Mom, you asked for it.” I take it from her hands and walk it to the kitchen to put it in the fridge for later. And suddenly everything makes sense. An open bottle of bourbon is on the kitchen island. Along with an empty glass. I don’t know how much she’s had, but the fuzzy words earlier, and now this erratic mood swing makes a lot more sense now.
I put the Frappuccino in the fridge and go back to the living room. My mom has flopped back onto the cushion on the couch. “Are you drunk?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. Because the world is shit, Julia. And everything sucks. And men are idiots so I’m drunk.”
“What the hell is happening? What happened while I was gone to make you act like this? And I don’t mean just to get coffee. Dad left when I was a baby, there’s no way that you’re still this bitter twenty years later. So what happened?”
“It’s none of your business, Julia,” she says, standing and swaying on her feet.
“Oh?” I know she’s drunk and it’s not worth arguing with her about it, but the frustration I have at the entire situation is bubbling up. “It seemed like my business when you told me you didn’t want me dating while I’m living here. Despite you asking me to move home. Despite me coming back specifically to help you. And I’m happy to do it, because I love you and you’ve done a lot for me my whole life. But I feel like I deserve some answers, and when you’re sober we’re going to talk about it.”
She rolls her eyes and stumbles to the kitchen. “You can try.”
“No, we are going to.”
I should have put the bourbon away when I was in the kitchen, and she goes straight for it, pouring a shot and throwing it back. I hear her muttering under her breath. Something about mistakes coming back to haunt her, but I can’t quite make it out. Grabbing the bottle, I seal it. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“Who’s the mother here.”
“Right now it’s going to be me,” I say, putting the bourbon in the cupboard. “You need to sleep this off. You can barely stand up.” She’s entirely leaning her weight on the island, and it’s only a matter of minutes until she won’t even be able to do that. “How much have you had?”
“Not enough, clearly,” she mutters.
I wrap my arm around her back and sling hers around my shoulder. “Okay let’s go.”
Thankfully she doesn’t resist. Because I am very much not ready to physically wrestle my own mother into bed. “Where are we going?”
“To bed.”
“I can take care of myself you know. Always have, always will.”
I sigh. “Yes, and you’ve done a pretty good job of that up till now. But I don’t want to find you passed out in vomit. So I’m putting you to bed.”
It’s easier than I thought it would be. When I help her collapse onto the bed, she melts into it like that’s where she wanted to be all along. She’s already in comfortable clothes, so I don’t have to worry about that. I don’t think she’s going to throw up, but I make sure that the trash can is right by the bed and within reach. But I don’t see her waking up anytime soon either.
I get some pain relievers from her bathroom and leave them on the nightstand with a glass of water. Lord knows she’s going to need that whenever she does wake up. And I’m done. I can’t just sit in this house doing nothing after this. Not knowing is killing me.