Every Other Weekend(15)
I sighed and dropped my arms. Just once, I’d like her to wake me up because she actually missed me instead of for what this was: an attempted guilt-trip debrief. I was pretty sure Dad was putting money away somewhere in Shelly’s name. Mom thought so, too, but so far she hadn’t been able to prove it. Her attempts to get me to spy for her had failed. What did I care which one of them got to enjoy his money? As long as this charade went on, neither of them did.
It was the little things in life.
“I told you I don’t know about any money.”
Mom snorted and jerked back. “He’s hiding it somewhere. You know I’m right.” A finger waved in my face and I brushed it away. “Why else would that tart stay with him?”
I no longer thought that either of my parents was especially lovable, so I didn’t comment.
Mom rested her head on my shoulder. “Couldn’t you just—”
“No,” I said, tightening my grip on my pillow and hunching my shoulder to dislodge her. She was trying to play nice, play sweet, but my heart beat erratically from the falseness of it all. “I’m not going to riffle through his stuff. How many times do I have to say it?”
She abandoned my shoulder. “I guess you want me to be homeless.”
“You have a huge house.”
“What happens if he claims he needs to pay less? I could lose everything.”
“Mom, stop. You’re getting worked up over nothing.”
“Why, because I’m the only one who’ll be homeless?” She made a scoffing sound in the back of her throat. “You’ll go gallivanting off to your father’s like you do every other weekend—”
“I am known for my gallivanting.” I refrained from commenting on the visitation schedule, because she knew—at least, sober, she knew—that I’d had no say in that arrangement.
“—and I’ll be in an alley somewhere selling my body for drugs.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed at her. “You turned into a crack whore pretty quickly in that scenario.”
When she slapped me, my face flamed hot.
“Oh!” Both hands covered her mouth. “Jolene. Honey, I didn’t mean that. My Jolene.” Then she was hugging me again, rocking and shushing me as if I was the one crying. I wasn’t. I never did. My heart limped in my chest, and my face stung, but my eyes stayed dry. “You are the only good thing in my life, do you know that? I love you so much, so, so much...” Then she made me lie down, and she pulled up my sheet and tucked me in.
The last thing she did before leaving was kiss the cheek she’d slapped.
ADAM
I waited in the car while Jeremy and Dad hugged goodbye, opting out of any farewell beyond a single uttered word: bye. As a result, Jeremy and I didn’t talk on the way home. It was a thirty-minute drive, so the silence took considerable effort from both of us.
We turned off the main road, and even with my eyes shut, the crunching sound accompanied by the vibration of Jeremy’s car let me know I was almost home. The graveled road stretched for a half mile before our house came into view and Mom came dashing down the porch, her jaw-length auburn hair fluffing out around her fair-skinned face.
I let Mom hug me as tightly as she needed. Jeremy was next, obediently hugging her and then kissing her cheek as directed. She clung to both of our hands and drank us in with blue-green eyes that were a little too red-rimmed to completely sell the smile she wore.
“You’re taller. I swear both of you are taller.”
“Don’t go giving Jeremy ideas, Mom. Short people are just as good as the rest of us.”
Jeremy swore at me, right in front of Mom, but she didn’t reprimand him. That, more than anything, killed the fight always simmering between the two of us.
“Who’s hungry? I made fried chicken, and there’s apple pie for dessert.” We both responded eagerly and let her precede us into the house. We exchanged a glance. No smiles or mouthed words, but I knew that we’d both do everything we could to make her forget that she’d been alone all weekend. Jeremy wasn’t inclined to place blame on either of our parents, and right then, being half-right was all I needed from him.
An hour later, Mom pretended to be horrified when Jeremy and I polished off the entire pie.
“Got any more?” I asked. She really did look horrified then, but probably more out of self-recrimination that she should have made a second pie just in case. “Mom, I’m kidding. I’m seriously on the verge of throwing up.” No joke. I would have stopped after two pieces, but when Jeremy had gone back for thirds, my little-brother inferiority complex kicked in.
“I can make another one.” She started to push back from the table, but I stopped her with a hand on her wrist.
“Mom. Sit. It wasn’t even that good.”
Mom exhaled but it turned into a laugh. “I know you’re teasing me, because you ate the whole thing.”
“That last piece was pure pity. Awful pie. I mean, I feel bad for the apples.”
More laughter from Mom, and each sound was better than the last.
“I liked it,” Jeremy said, and Mom leaned over to pat his hand.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
She tried to shoo us to go unpack while she did the dishes, but I lingered until Jeremy left. “Mom?”