Page 106 of Just This Once

With a wince, I admitted, “It’s probably different for everyone, but I try to convince my brain to believe that my mom and dad wouldn’t want me to be miserable. They wouldlikefor me to be happy. They wouldwantgood things to happen to me. And if I tried to squander the good fortune that does come my way and feel bad about getting it because I know I don’t deserve it… Well, then, that would just piss them off more.”

His eyes widened at the wordpiss, and I almost dropped the f-bomb in apology.

But he nodded slowly, already past it. “That makes sense. Because, you know, maybe they’re the ones who sent the good stuff down to us in the first place.”

I used to believe shit like that too, so I didn’t counter his suggestion. Whatever the kid needed to think to get through the day was fine by me.

So I told him, “There you go. That’s the way to see it.” And I nudged his shoulder encouragingly.

He used to try to hide his half arm from me, ashamed to let anyone see it, so it felt like a testament to our friendship that he let me touch the shoulder connected to it now.

Apparently reassured by our little talk, he brightened suddenly and asked, “Want to play some Super Mario Kart now?”

I shrugged loosely, figuring that if I could carry out an intelligible heart-to-heart being as half-blitzed as I was, then I could probably play a video game too. “Sure.”

We both pushed our way to our feet, and I followed him out the door of the pool house, across the back patio, and around the pool to the back door of the main house.

I really only came over when I was invited, so Sharon looked up in surprise from the cookie batter she was mixing whenI stepped inside after her grandson. Her eyes widened with concern until Lawson happily announced, “Parker and I are going to play Mario Kart.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, relaxing. “But make sure you’ve showered and finished your homework by nine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he reported, already heading into the attached den where the big screen was.

I saluted her and echoed, “Yes, ma’am,” only to realize how drunk that must look when she narrowed her eyes in disapproval.

I cleared my throat and straightened, only to blow my sober act again when Lawson made fun of me for shedding my shoes and pulling on my lucky socks as he booted up the game.

They were blue polyester and cotton stockings with multiple pictures of my face on them, featuring a graduation cap resting on my head. I wore them every time Lawson challenged me to a match off, warning him that he better watch out because I was putting on my lucky Langston socks.

He usually laughed and called me crazy, but today, he snorted and sent them a distrustful side-eye.

“Man, you need to wash those things already,” he warned. “They’re starting to smell rank.”

“What?” I exclaimed in mock horror. “And wipe away all the good luck? Never.”

I lifted my foot and shoved it in his face to give him a big whiff, something I probably wouldn’t have done sober either.

But thankfully, he saw it as me being silly. With a disgusted laugh, he blocked me with his stub and pretended to choke and sputter past the smell before he tossed me my remote and told me to prepare for a stinky loss.

I’m not sure how long we played, but Sharon kept a constant vigil over us as she finished her cookies, looking concerned as if she thought I was going to start beating on the kid or something.

But I always behaved around him. Even when drunk, apparently. I was the last person she had to worry about. He was family to me.

She was polite enough to offer me a cookie when she finished them and brought a plate over for Lawson to snack on, but when it was time to announce supper, I was not included in the summons.

I ruffled the kid’s hair in farewell, peeled my lucky socks back off—tryingnotto think about the woman who’d gifted them to me in the first place—then I grabbed my shoes and walked back across the patio to my pool house. Alone.

Dusk had fallen, and the place was dark.

I didn’t bother to turn the light on. I just felt my way to the liquor cabinet in the dimness and poured myself a new drink.

I emerged a few days later,feeling like absolute shit.

For the longest time, I thought it was early the next morning, but nope. That couldn’t be right.

When I realized it was four in the afternoon, and I wasn’t exactly sure which day it was, I decided to pick my ass up and carry on.

I’d mourned the loss of my perfect weekend enough.

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