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)
By the time the work end of the workday rolls around, I’m practically ready to break out of the office like a prisoner busting out of jail. I wave to Marissa, and she joins me in the elevator on the way down.
“So going over to Craig’s for a little red wine and dick?”
“Would you shut up?” I ask, doing my best not to laugh as she smirks back at me. “I’m going to check up on Mom.”
Marissa is basically the only person who knows about Mom, so she understands immediately what I mean when I say that and backs off.
“How do you think she’ll be?”
I shrug. “Good, hopefully. But you never know with her, ya know?”
Marissa nods in a commiserating fashion. I’ve always gone to check up on Mom by myself, except for one time when I had to get a ride from Marissa because my car needed its oil changed or something – or maybe it was its oil filter, I can’t remember – but that was the time my mom went off on me for taking away one of her vodka bottles, and Marissa could see her screaming at me from the driveway. So although she hasn’t been through the whole experience of dealing with my mom with me, she’s got a pretty good idea of what it’s like.
“I could come if you want,” she suggests.
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s okay. It’s actually easier if I go on my own. I don’t know why.”
“Okay.” She nods as the elevator stops in the lobby and the doors open. “I understand. But we can always meet up after, so let me know.”
“Yeah, I will. Let’s just see how this all goes,” I say, letting out the most pathetic laugh in the universe.
I can’t help but think how strange and almost cruel the world is as I make my way to my car. I may hate the holidays and do everything I can to avoid Christmas, but there’s no denying that the snow falling lightly around me, the decorations in the shop windows and the sparkling lights hanging everywhere make for a beautiful setting.
It’s almost like a postcard. I should be out taking photos and enjoying myself, but here I am, emotionally scarred by the loss of my father, going to check in on my equally emotionally scarred drunk mother to make sure she hasn’t drunk herself to death.
Normally, I’m okay checking in on her. It’s always awkward and never something I want to do, but I’ve gotten used to it, and I treat it like just another one of those things you have to do now that you’re an adult. But today, as I drive over to her house, I feel off balance. I feel anxious. And I know exactly why that is.
Craig.
All those things he said last night about his parents looking down on her – on me – are running around in my mind like rabid little mice, chewing away at my brain. I feel judged, but judged by people who aren’t even here. People I haven’t seen in years. I feel like my mom is being judged, while at the same time, I’m on my way to go check on her and probably end up judging her a bit myself.
Were Craig’s parents right to force him to break up with me?
“Oh, come on, Daisy,” I groan at myself as I pull into Mom’s driveway. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Of course they weren’t. What kind of parent would do something like that to their son or daughter? It’s not like Craig was dating the son of a drug kingpin or a mafia boss or something. The just didn’t like my mom, and so they forced him to break up with me and cut me out of his life completely. And I think that makes them a couple of jerks!
It’s a very cold evening, and I wrap my jacket tighter around myself as I walk through the snow up to mom’s steps. She hasn’t done a bit of shoveling, which isn’t a good sign. I don’t even bother knocking; I just use my key and open the door and let myself in.
It’s warm inside – too warm for the amount of money she brings in working part-time at the grocery store and the subsidies she gets from the state. That means I’m going to have to lend her more money just to keep the heat on. It’s things like this that cause me to be behind in my own rent at my apartment.
“Mom, it’s me!” I call out, kicking off my shoes. There’s no answer, but I can hear the television in the living room, so I go in and find her sleeping on the couch, an empty bottle of peach schnapps on the coffee table in front of her. There’s another bottle of gin beside it. I take it and set it by my shoes to take out to the car later.