Page 26 of Taking Care of You
“So, I’m riding with you.”
“Yeah, creep. You can either stay the night after the game or I can pick you up on Saturday from your place.”
“No!” I practically yell. Ethan shoots me a look. “No,” I say in a lower voice. “I’ll stay with you. I’ll pack enough today to last through the weekend. Is that cool?”
I don’t want to get ready for Homecoming at my house. It’ll take me too long and my mom will probably find a way to ruin my suit or my night. I’d rather stay with him so we can go together.
“Fine with me. I like having you around.”
“Why?” I ask, still not sure. I mean, I enjoy his company, too. I like talking to him and hanging out with him. Watching movies, and even dancing in his living room with him, was more fun than I’d had in ages. But what am I offering him? I barely speak louder than a whisper half the time, and he carries the conversations the other half.
He shrugs, turning into the mall parking lot. “You make me feel like I have a real friend.” Before I can ask him to elaborate, he turns the engine off and gets out.
Like he has a real friend?He has plenty of friends. He’s the most popular guy in school. Everyone likes him.
I get out as well and follow behind him. To my surprise, he reaches out and clasps my hand in his. I don’t try to pull away because I know he’ll just grab it again.
Todd greets us warmly as we step inside the shop, and hands the suit over. He opens the garment bag and shows us the final product, making sure we’re okay with it. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, so I leave it up to Ethan.
When we leave the mall, he drives me to my house and idles on the curb. “Want me to come in with you?” he asks. “I can help you grab the stuff you need.”
I shake my head quickly and climb out of the car. I barely know what I’m going to encounter when I walk in my house. It could be filthy, my mom drinking on the couch, food everywhere. No, I’d rather he didn’t see any of that.
I’m glad I didn’t invite Ethan in. My mother is sprawled in the middle of the living room floor in just her bra and panties, an empty gin bottle beside her.
I hate days like this. Days when she’s so drunk she sleeps where she lands, and I have to clean her up because she might have thrown up, spilled alcohol on herself, or both. On these days especially, her filter is gone and she says even more hurtful things than she usually does.
Sighing, I consider leaving her there. Just walking to my room, grabbing my shit and taking off. But I don’t. I can’t leave her like this.
After I drop my backpack in my room, I drag myself back to the living room.
I nudge her with my foot, wanting to see how bad off she is. “Mom. Come on. Get up.” She doesn’t budge. Again, I sigh and bend down to her. “Mom. Wake up.”
She stirs, curling into a ball and waving me off. “Go away, Leonard.” Leonard is my father. He’s always at work, so I don’t know why she thinks he would be the one helping her up off the floor.
“Come on, Mom. It’s time for bed.” I get my hands under her arms and drag her up. While my mom is small, I’m not very strong, so it’s not easy to pull her upright.
Her head lolls to the side, leaning on my shoulder. I slide my arms around her back and work to get her standing. Once on her feet, she pushes me away and staggers down the hall. “Get your hands off me. I can walk.”
Still, I follow behind her, making sure she doesn’t fall down on her way to bed. She didn’t throw up and only her breath smells like gin, so she didn’t spill it on herself either.
She collapses on the bed and I pull the blanket over her. “You’re sweet,” she slurs, reaching a hand out to me. I grasp her hand, thinking this is one of the moments where she actually loves me, even though she’s pissy drunk.
I don’t get so lucky. “Probably why you’re a sissy. No real man is this sweet.”
I drop her hand like it burns and turn to leave.
Unfortunately, she’s not done.
Before I can shut her bedroom door, she says, “We’ll never be grandparents, Leonard.”
Against my better judgement, I stop, wanting to know what else she’ll say. I want to know what she says when she’s talking to my father. “Homos can’t have kids. I’ll only ever be a mother. What did I do so wrong that I was cursed with a gay son?”
Holding back tears, I go into my room and pack a bag. I’m not really paying attention to what I’m throwing in, but I know it’s more than what I’ll need for the weekend. I just keep stuffing it with whatever my hands touch.
When I’m done, I race outside, stumbling when I hop down from the porch. I slide into the passenger seat, holding my bag to my chest.
“You okay?” Ethan asks, concern lacing his tone.
