Page 57 of The Spider & the Storm

I doubted anyone would sing “Happy Birthday” to me.

There were bigger things to deal with. Like Melanie once again threatening to leave and Luke trying to convince her that what he’d done wasn’t a big deal.

I wished she’d go. I wished she’d get herself a new, better life.

I wished he’d get his head out of his ass. I wished he’d realize he had won the lottery when she agreed to stick around—over and over and over again.

I wish Mom and Dad were here.

I sighed and breathed through a wave of emotion that threatened to pour into my mashed potatoes and beef.

“God, you really don’t fucking get it, do you?” Melanie cried, desperate and exasperated.

“No! No, I don’t. So, why don’t you explain it to me, huh? Explain to me why it’s a big fucking deal that I had a drink with my brother on his—”

“You and I both know this has nothing to do with Charlie. So, keep him the hell out of it, okay? Don’t even go there. You used his birthday as a fucking excuse to get your drink on with your loser buddies, and you know it.”

“I had no fucking idea that Rob and Tommy would be there!”

“Luke! Oh my God!” Melanie exclaimed. “They’re there every single fucking night!”

God, she was right. I knew it, and I’d bet anything that Luke knew it, too, judging by the momentary pause in their heated fight right above my head.

I poked my fork around the plate, rolling a single pea around the edge. Just waiting for them to continue while praying Melanie didn’t leave, but also hoping she’d finally let this be the straw to break the proverbial camel’s back.

It was strange to be so simultaneously selfish and selfless. My heart and mind were in constant war, and I wished I could turn back the clock to this morning. Things hadn’t been perfect for the year Luke was sober, but it sure as hell had been better than this.

“I thought we were done with this shit,” Melanie finally said, her voice quiet but still loud enough for me to hear through the ceiling. “I thought … I thought you were doing better.”

“Babe, Iamdoing better,” Luke replied, gentler than before.

I at least had to give him credit for that. His anger was quicker to dissipate now, and that was somewhat of an improvement. Maybe he was growing up after all.

“Luke, you drank when you were supposed to stay sober.”

“I’m not drunk though. I stayed sober.” He paused, then said, “Well, kind of.”

“But youdrank! God, the definition of staying sober, Luke, is that youdon’t drink. Period. End of conversation. Do you not understand that?”

“I just had a couple of beers, Melanie. That’s all.”

Six, but who’s counting?

“And you would’ve continued if your brother hadn’t called me.”

Right again.

I shook my head, finally done with the game of tag between the pea and my fork. I dropped the utensil to the side of my plate and held my head in my hands. A nauseating rush of trepidation speared my gut as that old feeling of knowing something bad was about to happen made itself at home, and all I wanted was to kick it out, knowing damn well that would be impossible.

She’s going to leave.

“I’ll go back to AA tomorrow,” Luke said, determination in his voice. “Okay? I’m done. No more.”

“I’ve heard that before, Luke.” God, she sounded so weak, so tired.

“No,” he nearly shouted as footsteps crossed the floor above. “Babe, I’m serious. I won’t ever have another drink. That’s it. I swear to fuckin’ God. I love you, okay? And if giving up booze is what it takes to keep you around, then …”

His voice drifted off and the conversation died. Before I could hurry and get my dish washed and put away, they began to fuck—and I was all too aware of it, thanks to the telltale signs of the mattress springs singing their favorite song. I guessed she’d forgiven him, and I was both happy and disappointed—as usual.

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