Page 73 of Without You

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“I can leave and have you hire a repair man, Ma,” I huff.

“I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t get me groceries.”

“Do you not have money?”

She glares at me and snaps, “I have money, Brody, and it’d be good of you to respect your mama.”

“You’re the one who seemed incredibly concerned about me getting your groceries, Ma. I assumed that meant you couldn’t afford them.” She looks incredibly guilty and she looks away. “Ma? What is it?”

“It’s nothing. I just needed some staples and didn’t feel like going out, okay? I’ll go tomorrow. It’s no big deal.”

“Ma?” I ask again, adding an inflection into my voice so she knows I know something’s up. “Tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing. I just don’t want to go to the store is all.”

I look at her and see the way she won’t make eye contact and groan. Because I know this woman and her tells, I know exactly why she won’t go to the store. They’ve asked her not to return. “You’re not allowed in there, huh?”

“Of course I am. I’m a citizen of this town, aren’t I?”

“You’re also a thieving citizen and my guess is the manager asked you to politely get your groceries elsewhere.”

“He’s a jerk,” comes her reply.

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes, Ma!”

“Watch your mouth around your mama.”

“Really? You’re going to lecture me on morals right now? Do you have no willpower?”

Tears spring to her eyes and she crumbles, her face buried in her hands, butt planting on the floor in her laundry room. She cries for a few moments and sniffles then looks up at me from her place on the floor. “No. And I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

This makes me stagger a bit because it’s truly the first time I’ve ever heard her offer up some sort of remorse for her actions. I crouch down in front of her and place a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Ma. You have an addiction. It’s just like any other addiction.”

“I’m sick.”

“You are. And that’s why Dad and I had been trying to get you help.”

“I think… I think I’m ready.”

I sit down next to her and pull her in for a hug. In all my thirty-two years, she’s never asked for help. Never taken blame. Admittedly, I have a hard time believing it now, only because she’s been so hesitant to get help until now, however, I want her to get the help she needs. Until she doesn’t let me, or she refuses to get help, I’ll be there to support her.

“I’m here, Ma. Dad will be there, too.”

She cries on my shoulder for a few more minutes then sits back, wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Bet it’s pretty strange to have a mom like me, huh?”

“You certainly made life interesting, that’s for sure.”

“I’m embarrassed.”

She should be, actually, and maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t respond, rather I nod my understanding.

“And I’ve embarrassed my family. Brought shame upon you.”

“It used to bother me,” I admit.

“Not anymore?”

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