Page 15 of Fight Or Flight

Brooklyn

The last twenty-four hours have been a complete clusterfuck. As if the dead dad thing wasn’t enough, I almost lost my mother too and though it was a false alarm, the doctors gave her two weeks to live and that was being generous.

Two weeks.

That’s it.

It didn’t faze me at the time because she was awake and talking. I could hold her hand and still hear her voice. I guess that’s why I was so quick to agree to us moving in with Riggs and Lauren. I mean, it’s not like there are any other options, but still, we could’ve had a discussion, maybe iron out some details. Instead, I hugged my mom and told her I’d do whatever she wanted me to do. I’d go live in a monastery if it gave her some peace.

To my surprise, that’s when she asked me to leave the room so she and only she could speak with Riggs and Lauren. When I was allowed back in the room, my mom—oxygen and all—started rattling off a list of things I needed to take from our house. Apparently, they had come up with a plan and the first part of it included me and Riggs taking a road trip to Connecticut. We left the hospital and he and Lauren took me back to their house so I could shower. By the time I came down the stairs, all the bikers that crowded the bar when we arrived at Kate’s were now in the Montgomery’s living room waiting to escort us to my childhood home. It’s like they were on speed-dial or something.

If you ever need a moving crew at short notice, call a biker—they got you. I think it took us longer to drive to and from Connecticut than it did to pack up our stuff. To be fair, there wasn’t much my mom wanted for herself other than some photo albums, a necklace, a lockbox that held some of her personal documents, and the fanciest dress in her closet. It was pale pink with lace trim around the neckline, and she wore it on my First Holy Communion. I knew why she wanted it, that it would be the dress she wore when I laid her to rest, and that knowledge broke me. I fell to the floor of my mom’s closet in a heap of tears, clutching the dress as if it were her frail body in my arms.

That’s when I learned the bikers excelled not only as movers, they also knew how to pick a girl up from the floor, dry her eyes, and make her smile and they did that by teasing Riggs.

Back in the day, before Lauren and Riggs were a thing, my mom’s friend had an altercation with Lauren’s mom. They were vague about the details, but it involved Riggs, Maria, and a frying pan. The woman clocked him with it and gave him a black eye! When he got back to the clubhouse, he started crying because he thought she ruined his face. I don’t know if it’s true or if it was just a fib they told me to take my mind off the dress in my hands, but I pictured Riggs with tears rolling down his cheeks, holding a bag of peas to his eye, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

If my mom was there, she would’ve scolded me for being rude and laughing at the man who was helping us, but oddly enough, he started laughing too. Then he took the dress from my hands and helped me to my feet.

In case you were wondering, bikers give good hugs too.

After the tears subsided, we moved to my bedroom where they helped me pack my things, or at least they started to. When it was time for me to tackle my underwear drawer, they all ran like they were on fire, and again, in the most hopeless situation, I laughed. It made me wonder if my dad was anything like the rest of them. Was he as kind? Did he have a sense of humor? Did he smell like gasoline and musky cologne too?

By the time we got back to Riggs’ house, I was exhausted. The guys unloaded the truck as Lauren gave me a tour of the house. She also revealed that while we were gone, she, her sister-in-law, and her mom—the frying pan lady, had converted little Bella’s playroom into a room for my mom. Lauren and I unpacked the few things I had taken from our house for Mom, and then she brought me upstairs to what would be my room. It was the same room I found Eric and Robert fighting in earlier.

Eric, the boy who spoke a total of maybe five sentences, had given up his room. I didn’t know what to make of that and I didn’t feel comfortable filling his barren drawers with my things, so you can imagine how I feel lying in his bed.

Unable to sleep, I stare up at the ceiling. My mind is in overdrive, trying to process everything.

Eric.

His parents.

Robert, Anthony, and Bella.

This house.

The bikers.

My mom’s health.

My dad’s death.

Just everything.

It’s all too much and I suddenly feel like I’m suffocating.

Pushing the blanket off me, I throw my legs over the edge of the full-size bed and start to pace. For a decent sized room, it feels like the walls are closing in on me. I pull at the neckline of my t-shirt, but it’s already hanging off my shoulder. I close my eyes and try to clear my head. I force myself to think of happier times…simpler times. Nothing works.

My mother’s face flashes before my eyes and I start gasping for breath.

What’s wrong with me?

Am I dying?

Water.

I need water.

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