Page 24 of Limbo

I read the same words as last night and the one before, the consistency oddly comforting. Unfortunately, the phone call I need to make will reverse the effect.

When Lauren answers, I jerk the phone away from my ear to save myself from the noise. I can’t understand a word she attempts to say as she laughs and slurs. She’s trashed, and from the sounds of it, she’s at a rager. The most responsible place for a mother of three to be on a Sunday night while her teenage son waits for her, worries about her. I hate her so much.

“Are you going home soon?” I ask.

More incoherent babble.

“Who is it, babe?” Tyler asks in the background.

“My daughter,” she mumbles. “The cockblock.”

Nothing but class from my mother.

I take a deep breath and am about to repeat the question when Tyler says, “Tell her to come party with us. I have a buddy or two who would love to take a ride on an ass like that.”

“No, babe. She pretends to be a prude now.”

“Yeah, right. She still wants it. They’d get her drunk enough she—”

I end the call, never wanting to know the rest of his sentence. I don’t know why I even listened that long—other than maybe a small part of me wanted her to stand up for me or at least care that her boyfriend wanted to pass me around his fucking frat house.

A sting hits my eyes, but nothing follows. Even if I could summon the tears, they’re not worth them.

I set a reminder to call Connor’s school when I wake up. He’ll watch a movie or read to stay awake until she stumbles in the door. In the morning, he’ll help Cate get ready and walk her to school, but after, he needs to go home and get some sleep.

I text back Jordan, telling him goodnight, and get ready for bed. But then I just lie there, not falling asleep. The heaviness from home still clings on, relentless. For the first time in a long time, I can’t bury the feelings deep enough to forget. And I really fucking need to.

The time it takes for all hell to break loose in The House of Henders: less than one minute.

Around nine, Lauren falls through the door. Some random dude scurries in after her. The third one in a month maybe? But why the hell would she bring him home with her?

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I say.

I grab Connor’s arm and drag him out of the room. No way will I wait around for Graham’s reaction to this disaster in the making.

I push Connor into my room before ducking into Cate’s. She sleeps soundly. So, hoping to avoid a screaming baby in addition to the screaming parents, I snag the baby monitor and shut her door. The first crash of an unidentified object being thrown and a slur of insults sound as I return to my room.

I kick off my flip-flops. “You good, Con?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice muffled through the blanket fort.

Given the time, he’ll end up sleeping in there. I need to get him ready for bed before they start chasing each other around the house.

“I’ll be back with your toothbrush.”

“Cal…” His voice shakes.

I drop down on the floor and move a blanket to the side so I can see him. “You’re safe, Con.”

His eyebrows pull together, concerned.

I engage my fake smile, not wanting him to work himself up. “Promise.”

Once he nods, I let the blanket fall. I slide back on my sandals, not wanting to chance a piece of glass in my foot again. The last one took weeks to heal.

Anyone who questions my colorful vocabulary only needs to overhear about five seconds of the argument in the kitchen. Then they would praise me for having such a clean fucking mouth.

I slip down the hall to the bathroom and fill a cup of water and apply toothpaste to his toothbrush. Next stop is his room for his flashlight, a book, and pajamas. When I come through the door, he pops his head out. No prompt needed, he reaches for the cup and toothbrush to brush, sip, and spit. We trade for his pajamas. He tosses out the dirty clothes after he changes, and I throw them in the hamper. I lift the flap and hand him the flashlight and book.

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