“She does, actually. She used to cook before you were born. Some anyway.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She lifted a spoon from the pot and held it out for me to taste.
I eyed the soup. Like my mother, the alien, it looked completely harmless on the outside, but I knew better.
Her hand shook when I didn’t respond. “It’s minestrone soup. I made it for you.”
“You first.”
The spoon slammed down on the counter, and boiling orange liquid splattered everywhere. “Dammit,” she whispered. There were tears then. “Why can’t you be good and easy? Why can’t you smile and eat a bowl of soup? Dammit.”
My whole body trembled as I watched her. I didn’t know for sure what she’d put in the soup, but something between too-sick-to-go-to-Dad’s and not-sick-enough-to-warrant-a-hospital-visit was a fair assumption. She’d done it before—not often, but enough that I no longer ate anything she’d had prior access to on these weekends. “You burned your hand.”
“I know I burned my hand.” Red welts were rising along the backs of her knuckles and down her wrist. “It was just soup, Jolene.”
It was never just anything.
“It’s ruined now.” She lifted the massive pot—which held enough soup to feed a dozen people—and dumped the whole thing down the sink. Tiny vegetables and little half macaronis clogged the drain, preventing the orange liquid from disappearing fast enough. She turned and slid to the floor. “Why wouldn’t you eat it?”
Watching her, my stomach was churning like I already had. “You’ve never made me soup. You’ve never made me anything.”
“I’m not an alien.”
But she had to be; a real mother wouldn’t do this. “That’s what an alien would say.”
Still teary, she smiled at me. “Good girl.”
Several minutes later, nothing had burst out of my chest. Or hers. The soup was still swimming in the sink. She was still on the floor, or rather, back on the floor, this time accompanied by a glass of amber-colored liquid that she tipped to her lips.
I hugged my arms around my chest. “You’re supposed to drop me off at Dad’s.”
A healthy swallow was her response.
“I won’t get into a car with you and I don’t have time to walk.” Dad’s apartment was only a ten-minute drive from here, but considerably longer by foot.
She toasted that comment.
I sank down opposite her and my voice broke when I spoke. “Why are you doing this?”
That open-ended question earned me a blank stare until the glass was emptied and refilled. Halfway through her second drink, she paused to trace the welts on her hand with gentle fingers. “I wonder sometimes... Would I still be married if I never had you?”
If my mother had said that, I might have done more than flinch. I looked at the alien. “Was Dad cheating before you had me?”
The alien stared off at nothing. “He was always cheating.” Then her gaze shifted to me and the overnight bag still hanging from my shoulder. “Go put that away.”
My eyes shut slowly before opening. “You know I can’t.”
“Jolene. Don’t argue with me today.”
“I have to be at Dad’s apartment by six.”
“It’s my weekend.”
Even if she’d somehow forgotten, which she never did, Dad’s lawyer had taken to calling and reminding her, which had no doubt prompted the display of horror-tinged domesticity with the soup that I’d walked in on. The welts on her wrist and hand were bright red and painful looking. Even sober, she’d have a hard time driving. I had a suspicion she knew that, maybe had intentionally burned herself for that sole purpose.
I drew my knees up. “It’s always worse when you fight it.”
My phone rang before she could reply. We both knew it was Dad’s lawyer before I saw the screen.
“Hello, Mr. Kantos. Yes, I know it’s my father’s weekend... She’s here...” I glanced at the alien, who stared straight ahead and drained her glass. “Unfortunately, she won’t be able to drop me off.”
A small smile played at her lips.
“I’ll call an Uber but I might be a little late... No, that’s not necessary...” Dread raised my voice an octave. “I really don’t think... Mr. Kantos—” I turned away and tried to whisper, for all the good it would do to keep the alien from hearing me “—we all know that very bad things happen when they get near each other.” I bit the inside of my cheek and concentrated on not saying something that would get me into trouble later. “I’m sure you are.” I ended the call and stared straight ahead like my mother, the alien.
Shelly was coming to pick me up.
ADAM
It wasn’t possible that Dad’s apartment looked worse the second time I saw it. Objectively, I knew he’d been working on it since I’d been there, but I could still feel Mom’s fingers tight on my shirt when she hugged me and the tremor that transferred from her body to mine as she forced herself to let go.
So, yeah. It looked worse.
“Come on, man.” There wasn’t a thread of irritation in Jeremy’s voice. Mom had clung to him, too. “We can call her after dinner. Tomorrow and Sunday, too.” And then he added my bag to his before shutting the trunk. That was the Everest of goodwill as far as Jeremy was concerned.
Two years ago, I’d have appreciated the gesture.
Two years ago, Greg would have not only smoothed out our rough edges but made us forget they’d been there in the first place.
Two years ago, Dad hadn’t moved out and I wasn’t standing in a pothole-ridden parking lot while my mom spent yet another weekend bereft of her sons. I was a second away from slamming the car door hard enough to royally piss off Jeremy when another slamming car door beat me to the punch.
“Jolene! I’m not done talking to you!”
I looked and saw Jolene walking away from a red sports car with her bag over one shoulder and her braid dangling over the other. She turned, walking backward so that she could respond to Shelly, who was standing by the open driver’s-side door.
“But you really, really should be.”
Shelly’s door slammed shut just as hard as Jolene’s had. “It’s not my fault that your mother threw a glass at my head.”
I felt my eyes widen and glanced over to see Jeremy’s do the same.