Page 25 of Renegade

The waitress came back with a large tray of food. Monica had ordered the smothered burrito with a side of fries, while I’d gone with sausage, scrambled eggs, and a large stack of pancakes. I took a big bite of sausage and talked around it. “So, you got clean? Just like that?”

She paused with her fork midair. “Well, not just like that. I went to a meeting with a friend and I think I ended up getting more out of it than he did. You know, I hadn’t prayed the entire time I was fighting my battle. I just didn’t see the point. When they talked about how important prayer was, it really stuck with me. I guess it’s human nature to try and do it all on our own.”

I talked through a full mouth of food again, having completely given up on manners. “So, you just prayed your way out of addiction? Doesn’t that seem—I don’t know, a little strange?”

It was more than strange. It was borderline infuriating.The cure to her madness was Jesus?I could’ve had a normal upbringing if only we’d recited the Lord’s Prayer enough times.

Monica laughed, as if the entire thing were one big joke, and maybe it was. To her. “Oh, Lauren. You know the Father works in mysterious ways. It seemed too simple for me too…at first. Over time though, I noticed my addiction shifted away from drugs. I became addicted to God and the high that He gives, doesn’t fade away.”

I choked on the egg that was in my mouth and tried to wash it down with coffee while she continued rambling. When she paused to take a breath, I cut in, “That’s why you’re here now. Making amends is not just part of your twelve steps, but it’s part of being a Christian too, right?”

She gave me a smug smile and I struggled to recall the point where the conversation had shifted over into religion. “Lauren, I don’t prefer the term ‘Christian.’ It’s overused. I’m a Jesus addict, plain and simple. And I’m here for much more than just making amends. God sent me to save your soul. He knows that you’ve been struggling and after seeing you, I agree. You’ve bowed down to a false idol.”

I looked down into my almost empty coffee mug, half expecting to see a bottle of Jim Beam nestled down inside. Somewhere in the last hour, Monica had gone from down-on-her-luck recovering addict to friggin’ Joel Osteen and I was really struggling to keep up. “I’m sorry?” I managed to croak out and the patient smile reappeared on her face.

“You’ve made money your god and now your every waking thought is dominated by how to keep what you have or how to make more of it. I’m right, aren’t I?”

She was right, but the same could be said for over half the twenty-somethings in the world. I should’ve been outraged; my own mother thought I needed saving. Monica, the woman whose first love had been cocaine, with meth coming in a close second, was worried about how I was living my life. Where did I even begin to point out the flaws in her argument?

I stood up. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

She gave me a puzzled look and went back to her plate of food.

Instead of actually going to the bathroom, I spent the next ten minutes pacing in front of the mirror, trying to come up with a rebuttal. My body was hot with indignation.How dare she worry about how I was choosing to live my life?I wasn’t a single parent and I had a steady job—most parents would be thrilled.

She should’ve been proud. I managed to get this far in spite of my circumstances. Circumstances she caused. I put up with a lot at my job so that I’d never have to worry where rent money was going to come from. I was very choosy about the men I went on dates with because I never wanted to end up parenting a child all alone. But she wasn’t proud—she was concerned that I wasn’t—what?Attending church? Giving all my money to the homeless?

What the fuck did she want from me?

I grabbed my purse from the edge of the sink and marched out. I was going to just come right out and ask her. And then, when she spouted off whatever spiritual BS they’d been feeding her, I’d tell her to fuck off and walk out of here with my head held high.

The booth was empty when I got back, but I forced myself to sit and get my thoughts in order. When she got back, she was going to get an earful. Maybe then, she’d think twice the next time she decided to judge someone.

It took me a good five minutes before I realized that I would’ve passed her if she’d gone to the bathroom and another ten before I realized that she wasn’t outside smoking.

The waitress asked if I wanted more coffee before dropping the check and I mumbled, “No,” as I continually scanned the restaurant for her face. When I reached into my purse for my wallet to pay our bill, I discovered that my car keys were missing. I jumped up, but I knew before I even hit the parking lot. Monica and my car were long gone.

Chapter Four

2009, Age 26

“C’mon Junior, up and at ‘em.” The comforter was yanked back and I bolted upright.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Who let you in—David?”

My father rolled his eyes. “Junior, you wanna tell me what you did last night?”

I groaned and fell back against my pillow. “Do you mean before or after the fifth of El Toro? If it’s after, I gotta be honest, things are still a little fuzzy.”

He sneered. “El Toro? You might as well have had a New Jersey Turnpike. Jesus Christ.”

I blinked blearily, and smacked my lips. Yep, it still tasted like something died a violent death in my mouth. “Is that the one with butterscotch schnapps?”

“You’re thinking of somethin’ else. A New Jersey Turnpike is when you take the bar mat and bar rag and make a shot at the end of the night. You look like you’ve been licking a bar floor—but that’s not the reason I’m in your motherfucking house at seven o’clock in the morning. You decide to play cop after the bar last night?”

I took a deep breath to keep from hurling.People actually drank the contents from a bar mat as a shot?God, that sounded like a bacterial infection just waiting to happen.

“Junior, answer me.”

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