Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
She’s right.
I turn back to the house and pull my door open. With a deep breath, I step out of the car and into the cool autumn air.
“Yep. I’m ready.”
The walk from the car to the door isn’t a long one, but it sure feels like it as I kick aside wet leaves and sticks. The lawn hasn’t been tended to in a long time, let alone mowed. I feel partially like that’s my fault, but how much responsibility for this place can I take? I can’t do everything, can I?
My heartbeat increases with every step that takes me closer to the door, and as I make my way up the steps, I can feel every single pulse throughout my body.
Jameson must be able to see my nervousness, because just as I’m about to reach out and grab the door handle, he takes me by the hand and pulls me to him.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’ll be okay.”
Just his touch is like a drug, soaking up so much tension within me. I open my mouth and drink a deep gulp of air before finally opening the door and stepping inside.
I find my mom where I thought I’d find her: on the couch, a glass of some kind of drink beside her, probably vodka mixed with something. She’s got the TV on with a trashy reality show playing. She turns as I come in and gives me a look that’s not particularly friendly.
“Well, look who it is. You know I had to go to the store myself?” she asks. “We’re out of paper towels and soap, just so you know.”
I glance over my shoulder at Jameson and Eliza, who urge me on with their eyes.
I move forward and go over to the TV and turn it off, causing my mom to sit up and curse at me. “The hell are you doing?”
Everything about the room has me feeling claustrophobic. The blinds are down, the air is thick and stale. The whole place feels like a prison cell.
When I walked in here, I thought I was going to feel afraid of my mom, but when I look at her now and see her sitting there, so clearly intoxicated, clearly out of control, I feel something different: I feel bad for her.
And that’s when I realize that I’m not afraid anymore. That’s when I realize that with Jameson and Eliza here by my side, I’ll be able to do this.
“Mom,” I say, summoning up my courage and something I have been wanting to say for so long now. “There’s something we need to talk about.”
Epilogue
IRIS
Four years later…
Graduation day.
I thought it would never happen. But here I am with all the other graduates, smiling out at a sea of happy families, our diplomas in our hands, seconds away from throwing our caps in the air.
I honestly can’t believe it. Who would have thought I’d make it all this way? Boston College pre-med, and with a husband and a little baby boy too? It seems almost impossible.
I look out into the audience and see Jameson sitting there, smiling and looking so handsome and proud, holding our little Charlie in his arms, bouncing him up and down as he waves his little pinwheel in the air. We named him after Jameson’s dad. It was the only thing to do.
Beside him is Eliza, looking so proud and swanky in her nice black and white dress. And beside her, making me want to burst into tears, is my mom.
She’s almost two years sober now. She’s worked so hard, and I’m so proud of her.
It took a lot to get her to go to rehab. She even told me I was being dramatic being dramatic bringing Jameson and Eliza in with me that day I first told her we needed to talk, and that I needed to go take some time on my own to cool off and leave her alone.
So what did I do?
I cut her off.
I stopped giving her money, I stopped taking care of things, and Jameson and I started going over to the house to snatch up any alcohol we could find that she would somehow get her hands on. Jameson even paid off everyone in town to stop selling to her. Then one night when she was having pretty heavy withdrawals, the police caught her trying to break into the local liquor store, and that was it.
Thankfully, they called Jameson and me before dragging her off to the station and we were able to come get her before any formal charges were pressed. Jameson paid the shop owner for the damage she had caused to the front door and window, and we took her back to the manor. The next morning when she woke up, I had a long talk with her, and she agreed to let us take her to rehab.