A Mother Would Know (12)
Prior to that, I’d always thought I wanted to be a singer in theory. Fantasizing about it while dancing around my room with my hairbrush in hand, boom box blaring behind me. I’d gone to a few open call Music Circus auditions, but never got a role. But the connections I made in lessons helped me book a few gigs, playing at weddings and parties. The more I performed, the more I loved it. And the better I got.
Perhaps Hudson needs that same motivation.
The ringing of a phone cuts through my thoughts.
“Oh.” Hudson hurriedly wipes his fingers on his napkin again before shoving his hand down into his jeans pocket. The ringing increases in volume as he tugs it out, bringing it to his ear. “Hey, dude, what’s up?” Scooping up his wrappers, he bunches them in his free hand and carries them to the garbage can. He laughs heartily. “Cool. Sounds legit.” After tossing in his trash, he draws the phone from his ear. “Sorry,” he whispers to me. “Thanks for dinner.”
I nod in response.
“Yeah. Of course I’m in,” he says into the phone as he swaggers out of the kitchen.
I stop him before he can fully walk away. “Hey, Hudson.”
When he turns in the doorway, eyebrows raised slightly, holding the phone away from his ear, I say, “Kendra and Theo are coming for dinner Friday night. They really want to see you, so don’t make plans, okay?”
“Okay.” It’s not quite the enthusiastic response I was hoping for. Then again, I’m not really surprised.
From the day Darren and I found out I was pregnant with Kendra, we argued about having more children. I’d been happy being an only child, but Darren had hated it, always dreaming of having a sibling, preferably a brother he could hang out with.
Eventually, he got his way, and we gave Kendra a sibling. Not that it made her happy at all. The two of them fought incessantly while they were growing up. It would be so nice if they could become close now.
I finish off the last bite of my burger, then stand and collect the remaining wrappers. The sun is starting to go down outside, the sky becoming hazy, bright pink around the edges.
Leslie’s windows are bright and open. I catch her silhouette in the kitchen, standing over the counter, pouring something, it appears. Tea, probably. It’s always been her drink of choice. Back when we were friends, her idea of a fun evening was to sip tea on the couch and watch TV. I think it’s part of why I liked her so much. We balanced each other out. She grounded me. With her, I could unwind, let my hair down. I didn’t need to be on—the life of the party. Likewise, she could explore a more edgy side of herself on the evenings when I coerced her into a girl’s night out.
Darren thought she was the ideal woman. I know because he used to throw her lifestyle in my face when we fought about how much I went out at night.
“Leslie’s always home with her family in the evenings,” he’d say like that was a life to be envied.
It’s not like he had any right to get on me about how I chose to live my life, anyway. He might have been home with the kids, but lord knows he wasn’t sitting on the couch drinking tea like Leslie.
He hid his drinking problem from all of us for a while. But I often smelled alcohol on his breath when I came in late from a gig to find him asleep in our bed, faceup, snoring loudly. It didn’t worry me, though. I assumed he’d had just a drink or two. I would never begrudge him that. I liked to drink as much as the next person. I knew Darren enjoyed drinking when I married him. We always drank on our dates—cocktails before dinner, wine during, port after. When we planned our reception, Darren was way more interested in the wine list than the food choices. But I never thought it was concerning. My parents also enjoyed drinks in the evening and frequently had cocktails or wine with dinner.
But when I began regularly finding empty whiskey bottles hidden in the garbage can outside, I realized Darren had a problem.
The severity of it hit me one night when a gig got canceled at the last minute. I headed home, thinking Darren and the kids would be glad to see me. Excited, even. I stopped on the way home, picking up a carton of Rocky Road, which was Darren’s favorite. I was certain it was something Leslie would’ve done. She always had James’s and Heather’s favorites in her fridge. And for once, I wanted to be that kind of wife. The one who doted on her husband. Had his favorite ice cream in the freezer.
I bounded up the front steps, grocery bag in hand.
“Hey, guys, I’m home!” I called from the door.
To the right, the television blared. When I turned, Darren hopped up off the couch as if he’d been caught red-handed doing something seedy. My gaze snapped up to the TV thinking maybe he’d been watching porn or something. I heard movement upstairs, so I figured at least one of the kids was up there. But a rerun of I Love Lucy played, not exactly something to be embarrassed about.
“Hey, what are you doing home?” he asked. That was not the welcome I’d been hoping for.
“Gig got canceled.” I stepped in further, taking in his flushed face and glassy eyes. My chest pinched as I held up the grocery bag. “I brought home Rocky Road.”
“Thanks, babe,” he said, which was uncharacteristic in so many ways. He rarely called me “babe.”
Peering over his shoulder I spotted the bottle of Macallan on the coffee table, an empty glass beside it, amber-colored liquid coating the bottom. I frowned.