Page 63 of The Wrong Costar

I shook my head, knowing I was just being silly, and pushed the front door open to walk inside. I jerked to a stop in the entranceway, my blood freezing me to the spot, as I saw a set of bags by the door. My stomach sank to the floor. They were my mom’s bags, and I couldn’t help but jump to the conclusion that she was finally abandoning me. Was she done with me because I’d been so brutally honest with her the other night?

Footsteps echoed across the hardwood floors, and my head whipped up as my mom entered the hallway. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, and her eyes seemed to immediately dart toward the bags sitting near my feet.

“Yes, Mom, I saw the bags.”

She started twisting her hands together, like she was unsure how to explain, and I wished she’d just hurry up and be honest with me.

“Are you going somewhere?” I could barely get the words out of my mouth.

Mom nodded, unable to meet my gaze. When she finally lifted her eyes, I was surprised to find they weren’t bloodshot or bleary for once. She wasn’t swaying on her feet either. “What you said to me the other night,” she started. “About getting help. I decided that maybe you were right.”

I frowned, not certain what to say, and waited for her to continue.

“I’m going to a rehab facility,” she finally admitted.

I wanted to feel relieved, but instead, I only felt the weight of another burden. “We can’t afford that.”

“Actually, we can. I sold my car.”

“You sold your car?”

She nodded. Mom loved her car more than anything. It was one of her last remaining status symbols, and parting with it clearly meant she was serious.

“Your grandma is going to come stay with you while I’m gone,” she continued, her words spilling out like she couldn’t wait to be rid of them. I hadn’t seen Grandma Carol in years and could barely remember her. She lived on the other side of the country and was always traveling. Mom never talked about her, so it was easy to forget my grandma even existed sometimes.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I replied.

Mom stood up a little taller, her shoulders squaring as she looked at me. “You’re seventeen years old, so, yes, you do. Your grandma is staying here, and that’s final.”

I nodded, for once feeling a fleeting sense of respect for my mom. “How long will you be gone?”

“Thirty days, but we’ll see how it goes.”

I swallowed as I tried to picture the next month of my life without her. I couldn’t quite visualize it though. She wouldn’t be here to see my school play, but she probably wouldn’t have turned up anyway. I kept waiting for a barrage of emotions to hit me, but instead, I just felt empty. Mom was finally getting the help she needed, and I should be happy or relieved. It was hard to feel any of that when I’d been taken completely unawares though. My mind was still trying to play catch up, while Mom’s bags were already packed.

I glanced at the bags again. “When are you leaving?”

A car honked out front, and Mom’s eyes flickered toward the door. “That’s my ride now,” she said. She didn’t immediately move to leave though, and I got the feeling she had something more to say. I wasn’t sure I could handle another bomb dropped on me right now, but her eyes flicked toward the wall. As I followed her gaze, I saw the painting she’d sold had been returned and was hanging in its rightful spot.

“My painting…” I whispered. For a moment, I was so happy to see it there, but the emotion was quickly replaced by the feeling of my chest constricting. Mom was really leaving me. I wanted to feel relieved that she was finally making the right choice, but a selfish part of me was afraid of being left alone. She wasn’t the best parent, but she was the only one I really had.

“I never should have sold it,” Mom said. “I never should have let things get so out of hand, but I’m hoping that going away for a little while will help.”

I swallowed down the thick lump in my throat as I nodded. I couldn’t get any words out, and a barrage of feelings was quickly overwhelming the numbness I’d felt only moments ago. Mom had really been listening to me the other night, and the longer we stood opposite each other in the corridor, the more I struggled with seeing her leave.

The car out front honked again, and Mom looked toward the door. “I should really get going. Your grandma will arrive in the morning,” she said. “I’ve left her number on the kitchen table. If you need anything before she gets here, you can call her.”

My heart started racing as Mom moved toward her bags. This was all happening far too quickly, and unwelcome tears welled in the corners of my eyes. I wanted her to get help more than anything, but I didn’t know how to be without her.

Mom hesitated when she caught sight of my expression. “It’s going to be okay,” she said before gathering me up in a hug. I couldn’t remember the last time Mom had hugged me, but I was surprised by how good it felt. She smelled of the perfume she used to wear when I was little, and as I breathed her in, I felt a small wave of calm wash over me.

“I can’t make any promises,” she murmured. “But I’m going to try and be better.”

She stepped out of the hug and picked up her bags. “Just remember that I love you, sweetie.” She was out the door and gone.

I wrapped my arms around my body as I watched her leave. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Mom had finally done the right thing by herself and by me, but it left me feeling very alone. I’d been strong and self-sufficient for so long, but right now, I really wished I didn’t have to be.

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