Life's Too Short (The Friend Zone #3)(25)

I figured I had about a year. One more year if my hand meant what I thought it meant. And then I’d be gone and buried, and this shit show would continue without me with no one to curb it and they would all suffer horribly until the day they died.

A sob burst from my mouth and I turned and slid down the dishwasher until I was sitting on the filthy floor, crying into my hands. And the worst part of all was I couldn’t feel the tips of my fingers as I was doing it.

I could hear Dad coming to console me because the linoleum was so sticky his shoes were making Scotch tape noises as he stepped, and it just made me cry harder.

It was like the whole Price family was headed for extinction. Faulty genes, predisposed conditions, and Murphy’s fucking Law.

And poor Grace. An addict mother, a narcissistic granddad, a deluded uncle, and a dying guardian.

I wailed, completely losing it, and Dad put an arm around me. “Why are you crying, pumpkin? Life is good! Annabel will be fine, and Grace has you to take care of her.”

I wailed louder.

I couldn’t tell him about my hand. I couldn’t tell any of them. Dad would completely unravel—if only to make it about himself. Brent would go full drama mode and who knows what it would do to my sister.

God. Somebody should just adopt Grace. Closed adoption and run away with her. A nice couple who would spoil her silly, put her in fun sleepaway camps, and buy her a pony, and she’d grow up never knowing the dumpster fire of a family that she sprang from because none of this was ever going to change.

Brent stage-whispered over from where he still stood by the garage door. “Okay, so, like, you know I want to comfort you, right? But I am not sitting on that floor.”

I did a laugh-cry.

I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt, drawing in a shuddering breath, willing myself to calm down. As usual I couldn’t afford the luxury of a proper breakdown.

I would probably benefit from some therapy. Maybe another online support group at the very least. But what was the point in trying to fix myself when I probably wouldn’t even exist in twelve months?

“So where do you think she is?” I muttered, putting my palms to my eyelids.

“She texted me this morning,” Brent said like it annoyed him. “She’s fine.”

“You know Annabel,” Dad said dismissively. “She always lands on her feet.”

Brent scoffed. “She’s more like a cockroach than a cat,” he mumbled.

I felt Dad turn to look at him. “That is your sister, young man.”

“What? I’m not being mean! I’m just saying she’s indestructible. A nuclear bomb could go off and there’d be Annabel, scurrying around in the ruins unscathed, still wearing the Burberry scarf she stole from me, while insisting that she hasn’t seen it.” He crossed his arms. “I miss that scarf,” he added.

I let out a long, tired sigh. “I reported the car stolen. Lucky for me, I happened to be hanging out with a criminal defense attorney when the cops showed up.” I wiped at my eyes with my palm. “You know, this stuff is public record, Dad. It can hurt my image. You have to be more careful.”

“Is that the hot guy from the hallway?” Brent asked.

I nodded wearily.

“Good-looking guy,” Dad said. “Good job too. Lawyers make money,” he added. “It would be nice to have a lawyer in the family.”

I snorted quietly. How convenient.

Dad and I didn’t have the kind of relationship where his opinion of the men I dated mattered one ounce to me. Not that I was dating Adrian or ever would. That man wanted nothing to do with my hot mess. And that just made me want to cry too.

I liked him. He was sooo my type. If things were different, if he was even remotely interested and I wasn’t staring down my expiration date, I’d jump on that body like a trampoline.

The very idea of what Adrian probably thought of all this made me cringe. It was like every single day something humiliating had to happen to me in front of him, just because the universe needed a good chuckle. I did another choking laugh-cry and put my forehead to my knees.

I had to get this family independent. I had to. I couldn’t enable any more of this irresponsibility. Soon I wouldn’t be here to help them clean it up. But I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t help Annabel unless she wanted to help herself. Brent was dead set on chasing rainbows. And Dad…

I’d hoped the city’s intervention would have been a wake-up call. He was fined and placed on six months’ probation for the cluttered state of the yard. I know he was humiliated by it. But he wouldn’t stop collecting things. It had moved on from some sort of deep frugality to something else. He was saving trash. Some of the stuff he hung on to was literally garbage. And he was bringing it in faster than I could take it out.

I sniffed and put my forehead into my hand. “Go take a shower. We’re going to a Nar-Anon meeting. Brent, you too.”

They didn’t argue. Probably because they knew if they wanted me to keep paying for things they’d have to at least appear to be cooperating.

I followed Dad to the living room and gave him two Aleve from my purse. We’d have to get another prescription—and a safe to put it in. He’d need a new phone too.

When the water in the shower started, I did a quick clean of the house. Made Brent run the vacuum while I mopped. Threw a load of laundry into the washer. It wasn’t even one-hundredth of what needed to be done, but it was a start.