Page 77 of Life of the Party

“You can come home, you know, if you change your mind.”

“Mom, I’m only ten minutes away.” It was hard not to roll my eyes.

“I know, but it’s not the same.” She shook her head, her dark curls bouncing, and then pulled me into a sudden, fierce hug. “I can’t believe I’m an empty-nester. It’ll be so lonely at home without you there.”

I grimaced. Welcome to the last two years of my life, I wanted to say. But when Mom pulled away from me, tears were swimming in her sad brown eyes, so I bit my tongue and smiled sympathetically instead.

“You remember the deal. Come home on Sunday, for dinner?”

I sighed. How I’d ever agreed to it was unbelievable. Mom must have cornered me at an especially weak moment, and when she asked me to come home every Sunday for supper, I just…gave in. I still don’t know why. I’d rather clean the men’s bathroom at the Red Wheat than sit across the table from Marcy and Blake, but from the look on Mom’s face, she’d be crushed if I didn’t show.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll be there.” I was getting impatient. All I wanted to do was get high, but my parents had stayed for hours, sharpening my craving for cocaine with the long, drawn-out anticipation.

“Come on, Deb.” Dad nearly growled. “I’ve got to pack for tomorrow.”

“Okay, Mitch. Okay.” Mom sighed and nodded. “Goodbye, Mackenzie.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t be a stranger.”

I managed a tight smile. “I’ll see you in two days, Mom.”

Eagerly, I shut the door behind them, leaning against it, sighing in relief. “Finally. I didn’t think they’d ever leave.”

“You’re so dramatic. They’re not that bad and they didn’t stay that long.” Charlie argued. She was already cutting up coke for us.

I listened as my parents’ car started, as they pulled away from the curb and drove off down the street. My parents were gone. Finally, we were alone. I was free.

I felt so light-hearted I was nearly giddy. I could do anything, everything I’d ever wanted to do. I could go anywhere. I could stay up as late as I wanted. I could smoke in my house. I could do copious amounts of totally illegal drugs, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

I giggled and lit a cigarette, then sniffed back a hard line, just to prove my point.

Charlie and I hung out by ourselves for a while, celebrating the start of our new beginning. We got majorly high on cocaine. I loved that I didn’t have to worry about trying to find a ride home and pretending I was sober when I got there. I was home. I could get as wrecked as I possibly wanted and just head down the hallway to bed.

This was freedom—sheer, complete, irresponsibility.

The guys came over after to help us celebrate. We drank and got high and partied late into the night. When I finally went to bed, drunk and sleepy, I stared out my bedroom window at the night beyond—grinning at the moon, white amidst the silver clouds. The stars twinkling, the country lights bright and pretty on the horizon.

My life was really beginning; I could feel it. The whole world spread out in front of me, and I could experience all its secrets now, everything it had been hiding, all the wonder it was keeping. No longer would I be sheltered from what was out there.

I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

PART 2

CHAPTER 31

I could hear them giggling on the other side of the door. Quickly and as silently as I could, I sniffed the coke up my nose and pinched my nostrils together. I stood a minute, motionless as the drugs hit my veins and spread through my system.

Relief hit me and I let out a heavy, shaky breath.

“Mackenzie, I need the bathroom.” Marcy knocked curtly on the door.

“Yep. Be right out.” I shoved the drugs back into my purse and wiped at my nose, checking quickly in the mirror to hide the evidence. I opened the door and smiled at my sister as I passed by—much calmer now, much more in control of myself.

She didn’t look my way even once.

I could not imagine a more vivid portrayal of my personal hell on earth. Marcy’s wedding was in three weeks and we were at the dress shop for the final fittings of her wedding gown and our bridesmaid dresses. Whitney, Marcy’s maid of honour, and Marie, the other bridesmaid, were sipping champagne from their flutes, whispering with their arms crossed, glancing my way as I came back to sit. They were obviously talking about me, but I didn’t care.

Of the two, I liked Marie best. Whitney was the prettier one, tall with long blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a beautiful face. She’d been popular in high school and still acted like a prom queen, despite gaining noticeable weight over the years.

Marie was plainer, but she had a better personality, more humour. She would have been really pretty if she tried a bit more, like if she dyed her mousy brown hair and maybe waxed her uni-brow. She was thinner than Whitney, though shorter, and this seemed to put the two girls on even turf.

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