Page 69 of From Asher, With Love

Three dollars and thirty-six cents.

I finish counting the change the clerk handed me after buying my mother a pack of cigarettes and stuff the money into my pocket. I haven’t been to Charleigh’s since she handed me her box of paper hearts and told me about her father’s ultimatum. I stuffed the box into my closet, hoping it’s safer there than at Charleigh’s.

But I can’t stop staring at her most recent text, begging me to come over tonight after her parents go to sleep. Part of me is afraid of the risks, but the other part of me wants to see her. By the time I make it to my street and my trailer comes into view, I decide the benefits far outweigh the risks. They always do when it comes to Charleigh.

I slowly open the metal screen door, unsure whether my mom is still awake or if she’s passed out somewhere in our trailer.

I walk through the living room carefully. After turning down the hallway, I peek through the bathroom door. My mother isn’t in there, either. There’s no sign of her anywhere.Perhaps she left while I was out. At least that’s what I think until I make it to my bedroom door, which is swung wide open. A deep, intense smell of cigarette smoke hits me.

My mother is standing in the middle of my room, a cigarette hanging from her dry lips. Smoke circles in front of her face. Her hair is tangled and teased. It looks like she hasn’t brushed it in days.

“Mom.” I instinctively search my room, wondering why she is in here. She’s never in my room. Most of her days are spent either on the couch or sitting at our small kitchen table. The only rational reasoning I can think of is that she was looking for money. “What are you doing in my room?”

“What the fuck is this?” Her words come out muffled as her lips try to work around her cigarette. Ash falls to the carpet, dissolving into the gray fabric. A wrinkled, white paper envelope is crumpled in the firm grip of her clenched fingers.

It’s my NYU acceptance letter.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to remain calm, hoping to say the right thing not to send her over the edge. “Mom, it’s not what you think.”

When I look at my mother, her eyes are spread wide open. Black makeup is smudged around her bloodshot eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” she screams, repeating her same question. My breath catches in my throat, and I lean back when she charges toward me, slamming her fists against my chest. Her breath reeks of alcohol.

I scrunch my nose and press my lips together. The stench is enough to make me want to vomit. I’m shocked she’s reacting this way. My mother may be an alcoholic, but she’s never laid a hand on me.

“Mom,” I grunt, her fists pounding against my chest. She’s pushing me backward down the hall. The floor is littered with empty beer bottles, clothes, and trash. I try not to trip as sheforces me out of my room. I grip her wrists when she continues to push me until we’re in the middle of the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“You ungrateful son of a bitch.” She’s screaming in my face. Her cigarette has fallen out her mouth, and now she’s spitting all over my face. Beer-scented saliva flies from her mouth as she continues to yell. I’m finally able to push her off me, and she stumbles backward, clearly drunk.

It takes her a second before she’s able to correct her footing. She grips the edge of the kitchen table, her body swaying as she straightens her back. My acceptance letter is still clenched in the palm of her other hand. The tips of her fingers are white with how much pressure she’s applying.

“Was this your plan all along? To leave me?” She stands up, rolling her head back. Her chin is tipped up, her top lip curling in anger. She charges toward me again, grabbing a half-empty bottle of vodka from the kitchen counter. She wraps her free hand around the neck of the bottle, using all her strength to throw it in my direction. The bottle flies from her hand, rocketing straight at me. I quickly duck, the bottle narrowly missing me before it crashes behind me and shatters against the old wooden cabinets, causing the liquor to splash to the floor. A puddle of clear liquid pools around us, with shards of glass scattered across the linoleum.

“What the fuck, Mom? Are you crazy?” Blood rushes from my body as I stand, looking at a version of my mother I’ve never seen before. I knew she had issues, but I’ve never seen her like this. “You don’t understand. I’m doing this for us.”

Maybe we’re past the point of reason, but I don’t want to give up trying to reach the better part of her if it is still inside her, buried beneath all the hurt and pain she’s feeling.

She laughs hysterically, grabbing another open bottle of liquor from the counter. This time, she doesn’t throw it at me.She lifts it to her mouth, taking a giant gulp. She keeps her eyes pinned on me, a flurry of anger building inside her. The mouth of the bottle suctions to her lips, making a loud pop before she drops it at her feet. The glass doesn’t break, but the liquid pours out of the bottle slowly, flowing like a river. The entire kitchen floor is covered, and the heavy scent of alcohol fills our trailer.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Right. For us.” The corner of her mouth draws up into a slant, and she continues to laugh sarcastically. “That’s what your father said. And Trevor.”

“Trevor?” I jerk my head back, shocked. My jaw drops.

“Trevor fucking Keeler.” She sneers.

“You mean Charleigh’s dad?”

She laughs again, revealing more of her yellow-stained teeth. “They’re all the fucking same. It’s always the ones who have all the money. They treat you like trash, ready to toss you out like a whore whenever it suits them. They treat you like you’re nothing.” She steps closer to me, her feet tripping along the way, and points a lazy finger, leaning slightly forward. “Nothing.”

I place both of my hands against my head, tugging on the ends of my hair as I digest my mother’s confession. The need to vomit rises in my throat.

Did my mom have an affair with Trevor Keeler?

“What does this have to do with Trevor?” I stare at my mom, scared of her answer. I’m not sure I can handle her admitting to me she’s had an affair with Charleigh’s dad.

“Trevor Keeler is nothing but a liar. Your father lied to me, too. When I told him I was pregnant with you, he said he wasn’t cut out to be a father. Said it wasn’t what he wanted for himself.” Her red eyes line with tears as her chin quivers over her clenched teeth. “He took everything from me. The apartmentdown by Wall Street, the money—everything he promised me, he took.”

My eyes follow my mother’s theatrical hands. She’s waving them around as if she’s reliving the time she was with him. Each movement she makes is dramatic, and what she’s saying isn’t making sense. I have no idea the kind of man my father is. She’s never given me the chance to know him, and as far as I knew, he didn’t desire to know me. This is the most she’s ever spoken of him.

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