Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Some kind of trashy reality show is playing with the volume cranked. I find the remote and turn it down. Ironically, this wakes her up.
She rubs her eyes and glances up at me. “Daisy? What are you doing here?”
“Came to check on you, Mom.” I smile. “How are you feeling? Kind of hot in here, don’t you think?”
“Eh, you know how cold it gets this time of year,” she grumbles. “All that snow, all that ice. If I don’t keep the heat on, all that cold will get in here and turn me into a popsicle.”
I have to laugh a little, but it’s sad the way Mom thinks sometimes. She’s not making a joke; she truly believes what she’s saying.
I point to the empty alcohol bottle in front of her. “Been drinking a bit tonight, Ma?”
She waves a dismissive hand, takes the remote, and turns the TV back up to an intolerable volume. “Do you watch this show? It’s great. So much drama. See, that guy, Jeff, was dating her, but now they broke up because she slept with his best friend–”
“Mom!” I snap, snatching the remote away from her. Calm down, Daisy. Don’t get angry. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, then open them again. “I don’t want to hear about your show, I want you to answer my question. Did you drink all that tonight?”
Again, she waves her hand dismissively, then puffs air through her cheeks. “Oh, who can remember? All of it? Most of it? It’s the holidays, right? We’re supposed to be celebrating!”
I can hear the sarcasm in her voice. She’s screwing around with me. If I don’t like Christmas, my mom really doesn’t like it.
“It’s not good for you, Momma. You know that. You’ve got to cut back–”
“Wait a minute,” she says as she sits up. “Who’s the older woman here? Me or you?”
I see her reach for the space where her bottle of gin was, but it’s gone now, and she’s not sure exactly how she should react to that.
“You’re my mom, sure. But I’m also the one sending you money to keep your heat on–”
“Did you take my gin?” she interrupts, glaring at me, her eyes glazed and angry. “I had a bottle of it sitting right here.”
For a second, I think about just lying and telling her I don’t know what she’s talking about. But then something inside me flares up and tells me not to accept that – tells me not to back down. I don’t know why, but I know Craig has something to do with it. Maybe it was having to justify myself to Marissa earlier. I really don’t know what it is, but I do know that I’m not going to just hide from her on this one.
“That’s right, Mom,” I reply, folding my arms over my chest. “I did. You’ve had enough alcohol, and you don’t need any more. Your drinking has gotten way out of control.”
A shocked look comes over her face. She was not expecting that response.
“Who are you to say whether or not I am in control or out of control? You’re barely even here to notice!”
“I’m working, Mom,” I reply, doing my best not to shout. “Working so I can keep sending you money! And when I do come by, you’re either watching TV, moping around and don’t want to talk, or you’re passed out on the couch like when I came in just now!”
She shakes her head like she always does when she knows deep down, I’ve got her and she has nothing to say. Her next move will be to try and make me feel like I’m just a kid again and I have to listen to her because she’s older than I am and she’s my mom.
“You’re going to give me my bottle back, Daisy. It’s mine, and you don’t take things from other people.”
But it’s not going to work on me. Not tonight.
“Am not.”
Quickly, I turn my back on her and walk out of the living room and over to the front door where I’ve left the bottle by my shoes. I know she’s too drunk to follow me, so I simply slide into my shoes and step outside with the gin in my hand – but not before turning the heat down a few degrees on the thermostat.
“I’ll see you later, Mom!” I call out, trying not to sound too combative, despite her mood and behavior. “I’ll come check on you again in a couple days.”
I can hear her shouting something at me as I close the door behind me and walk to my car, but I honestly don’t even want to hear it. It’s probably not that kind, considering the state she’s in right now, and she’ll probably be apologizing to me for whatever it is the next time she sees me. If she remembers, of course.