Page 37 of The Breaking Point

Betty—she was still around? Mom and Betty had been drinking buddies back in the day. Last I’d heard, though, Betty had been on the streets.

“Is Betty living with you?” I asked.

“Just for a little bit. She’s getting back onto her feet.”

Great. Two alcoholics living together. I gritted my teeth, trying not to get angry.

“Marty also told me about your liver,” I said quietly.

Mom inhaled a breath. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“Well, he did. He said you have six months to live. So are you going to stop drinking now, or what?”

She was quiet for a long moment, so long that I wondered whether she was still on the line.

“If you just called to make me feel bad, then I don’t see the point of talking to you,” she said.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but I’m trying to make you see how serious this is.” I rose from my bed and started pacing. “Mom, you’re dying. Your liver isn’t going to last much longer. Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Doctors are always saying shit like that. I feel fine.”

“Marty said that you’re jaundiced. Yellow eyes and everything. Come on, be honest here—”

“You always do this. You always act like you know better, but I’m your mother. Stop trying to make me into someone I’m not.”

“I want you to fucking live!” I nearly roared the words.

No response.

“I’ll talk to you later when you’re going to be nice,” she said.

I stared at my phone. Then I hurled it across the room, not caring whether the screen shattered.

Why did I keep fucking trying?I thought wildly.She’s never going to change. She’s going to die, and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. The pain, the anger, the confusion. It all mixed until it felt like jagged glass inside my lungs.

I needed to forget. Not caring about the hypocrisy, I drove to the nearest bar. I needed to numb myself.

Mom thought she was the only one who got to numb her pain? Fuck no. I ordered the largest beer I could and knocked it back, the warm buzz of the alcohol hitting me quickly since I hadn’t eaten anything that day.

And then I proceeded to get drunker and drunker because it was the only thing that stopped the endless hurting.

I sat in a dark corner of a dirty dive bar, and nobody recognized me. The last thing I needed was more bad press.

The only smart thing I did before I left was grab a cap to cover my face. And given the pissed-off aura I was putting out, nobody bothered me once I started drinking.

I knew there was irony that I was drinking when Mom couldn’t stop drinking. But I couldn’t bring myself to care, either.

I drank one beer. Then another. Then liquor, then whiskey. I didn’t give a fuck what I drank as long as it didn’t stop.

where are u,I texted Grace when I was too drunk to think about what I was doing.

Where are you?she replied.

I laughed darkly.who knows

She just texted me a bunch of question marks.

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