Page 87 of Bad & Bossy

“I wish I knew the answer,” Lottie said, her gaze breaking from the phone and turning to me. “But you know me, Dana. I lost my mom way too young. I would have taken an alive and present mom, even if she was a drunk, over a dead mom any day.”

The backs of my eyes burned the longer I watched Cole and Drew together. He fit so perfectly with Drew, as if by instinct. “What if I have it wrong? What if I tell him I can’t do it anymore, but he’s fine, no relapse? What if I make the wrong choice?”

“Drew’s still young. He won’t start remembering things until he’s four, five maybe.”

“But Cole won’t get that time back,” I rasped. The back of my throat stung from the days of waterworks. “And neither will I.”

Lottie took another bite as she mulled it over. “You know, it’s estimated that about fifty percent of recovering alcoholics relapse in their first year,” she said, her hand reaching out to squeeze my free one. “And half of them return to sobriety afterward. They told us that when we contacted the rehab facility for him.”

“But half of them don’t.”

“Glass half full.”

“Glass half empty,” I retorted. “I can’t look at it like that when I know my mother.”

As if conjured by the fucking devil, the doors of the hospital slid open, and there she was in all her horrible glory, looking almost as much of a mess as me. Behind her, my sister followed closely, her arms over her chest and a sour expression coating her face.

Of course, they clocked me.

I made a move to get up, but Lottie’s hand kept me down.

With every step Mom took, the wind blew against her gray, thinning hair, sending it flying in the breeze. Her pudgy form seemed shorter, weaker, than the last time I’d seen her about six years ago. Her face had barely changed, just a few new wrinkles that didn’t make her any less of the monster she was.

“Can we talk?” she asked, her voice as small as a fucking rodent’s as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Absolutely fucking not,” I snapped. I grabbed Lottie’s phone from the table, taking one last passing glance as Cole closed the book and snuggled up to my son among the wires, before shoving it into her purse.

“Honey,” Mom said, causing a snort to escape out of me. “Please. I’m better now.”

“She’s been sober for six fucking years,” Vee barked from behind her.

“Is that supposed to erase the twenty-two years before it?” I pushed myself up from the bench, shoving the last bite of my bagel into my mouth as I motioned for Lottie to join me. Without a question, she did.

“No, but I want to help, Dana,” Mom bleated.

I almost had the balls to throw a punch when she took a step toward me. Almost.

The emotions took back over, running through my body like the IV drip Drew was surviving on, and before I could do anything drastic, Lottie stepped between us. “You’re okay,” she said to me, her wide eyes getting wider as she took me in.

I had no idea what I looked like. Didn’t know if the burn behind my eyes and the well of tears was visible, didn’t know if the stress and anger I was carrying on my shoulders could be seen by the naked eye. But just Mom’s presence, her pushiness, her assumption that she could waltz back into my life without even an apology, was enough to spring it all back to life inside of me.

“Let’s go back,” Lottie said. “Let’s go see Drew.”

————

I scrubbed my eyes with the base of my palms as I walked the corridors of the top floor alone. Lottie had received some kind of business call, and although she’d insisted she could let it be, I’d lied and said I’d be fine.

I felt anything but fine.

I tried to catch my breath as I approached our room, but each one was shaky at best, the tears coating my cheeks and demanding to be present. I just wanted to be able to calm down. I wanted to rewind back to relaxing on the beach in Costa Rica, wanted to watch Cole panic as Drew shoved sand in his mouth. I wanted it more than just about anything.

When I reached the doorway, I stopped. Cole was still lying beside Drew, his fingers walking up the length of his little body before stopping on the top of his head, making him giggle that sickly, snotty laugh of his since he’d gotten sick. The smile on Cole’s face was the brightest I’d seen in weeks.

I had half a mind to ask him to leave, to take my son into my arms and tell him that I wouldn’t accept his money and he needed to go. But the other half, the weaker half, the one that was tired and angry and missed him, wanted nothing more than to join him and Drew on the bed, to laugh and joke together. I wanted to snuggle into him. I wanted his comfort, his presence.

I couldn’t choose.

I stayed there in the doorway, watching him from across the room, standing on my metaphorical fence, wishing I had a hammer to beat it to the ground.

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