Page 15 of The Summer of ’98

“Oh.”

Mom closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and pointed at the staircase. “Upstairs. Water, bed. Both of you.”

Ellie stepped forward. “I’m so sorr—”

Her sentence was interrupted by an abrupt stream of projectile vomit that coated Mom’s slippers, the bottom of her robe, and the floor. My jaw dropped, Mom’s jaw dropped, and Ellie slapped a hand over her mouth, bursting into tears.

“Fuck me,” I mumbled so quietly that no one heard.

“Upstairs,” Mom ordered. There was no hesitation on my part. Ellie didn’t protest either when I grabbed her arm and dragged her up the staircase. As soon as we were out of earshot, I laughed—quietly, because if Mom heard me, I might as well ground myself.

“Stop laughing,” Ellie blubbered, tears streaming down her face. “What have I done? I’m horrible, Leroy, I’m horrible. I threw up on your mom. What the heck?”

I almost doubled over with another burst of laughter as I led her into the bathroom and closed the door behind us. She clearly wasn’t coping with the fact that she’d just humiliated herself, but she’d thrown up on my mom and that was not something that I was likely to see again in this lifetime. The situation was a mess, but I had to laugh—it was also hilarious.

She sat on the edge of the tub and sobbed while I wet a facecloth to clean her face. It was a team effort: she pulled her hair into a bun, I wiped her neck, and the mood was quiet while she brushed her teeth, elbows on the counter because she couldn’t stand upright. In her bedroom, she had laid out her little sleep set. Keeping herself organized was one of those little things that I loved so much about Ellie: everything in its place, and a place for everything. Somehow, it made how drunk she was even more amusing. There was nothing organized about someone who couldn’t dress themselves.

Kneeling in front of her, I pulled her dress over her head. It wasn’t until I pulled up the T-shirt underneath that I noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra. I inhaled and watched her face while I finished and carefully set her dress aside, never letting my eyes lower, her throat rolled, and her swollen lids fluttered slowly while she let her gaze move over my face. There was no chance that I was going to perv on her at a time like this, so I tugged her sleep shirt and shorts on and kissed her nose.

“Leroy!” Mom’s voice came from downstairs and Ellie watched the door, lips parted in concern. “Come here, please.”

“Lie down,” I told Ellie. She did and I pulled the sheets up and over her. “I’ll be right back.”

Downstairs, Mom was standing in the living room in a new robe, no slippers, though. It was too hot for slippers anyway—what was she thinking?

She said nothing, just stared, nostrils flared, arms folded. I couldn’t even look at her.

“Explain to me,” her voice broke the silence. “How did this happen? There were only a few rules, Leroy. Curfew, no sharing a bed, no sex, no drinking. She’s been here for about twelve hours. Did I mistake your character judgment?”

I groaned and ran a hand across my face. “No, Mom, no. It’s not like that.”

“There are different rules for you. I allow you more freedom because you’re an adult as far as I’m concerned, and you can make your own choices. But a mother has trusted me with her daughter, and I asked you to respect that.”

It was unfair to put her in a position where she had to go against Ellie’s mom. “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. She didn’t mean to end up like that. She got carried away. She’s straight edged, Mom, I swear. She doesn’t usually drink but I think it was just a new setting and it went too far. She’s a good person. I swear.”

It was quiet for a while again.

“Where’s Noah?” she asked.

“At Eric’s.”

“With Cass?”

I nodded and there was definite disappointment in her expression. As much as she loved her son, she knew that the situation between Cass and Noah wasn’t the healthiest thing for either of them, but less so for Cass. My mom really liked her. My dad too.

“I’m going to sleep with Els tonight,” I told her.

“I do not think so!”

“Mom, come on. She’s wrecked. She needs to be watched so that she doesn’t choke on her own vomit.”

“I told her mom tha—”

“You wanna tell her mom that she died in her sleep?” I challenged, a low blow perhaps but it worked because Mom pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Fine. But don’t—”

“She’s trashed, Mom. I’m not going to have sex with her. Have a little more faith in me.”