Page 128 of Give Me Love

“No,” she says firmly. “And don’t speak to me like I’m not your mother.”

I laugh once. “My mother? A mother doesn’t leave her kids to go get high. A mother stays!” I yell before turning. My feet hit the hardwood, and I yank open the kitchen cabinet for a bottle and a glass. I twist it open, my body shaking, and my mind wired. I throw the drink back, sucking my teeth and gripping the countertop.

“Bryce.” My head turns to the stairs, and I see Mom standing there with her robe on.

I look down in front of me before pouring another drink. I hold on to the glass and stare at it.

“You know, I still dream about that day? It still haunts me, waking up from flipping and seeing my father’s dead body all contorted hanging out the window.” I put the glass to my lips, needing to feel the burn. I look over at her. “I remember,” I say. “I remember you grabbing ahold of that steering wheel. You tried to kill us all.”

“Bryce, I was a different person then.”

“Bullshit!” I yell. “You’re the same goddamn person you’ve always been! Selfish and chasing. Chasing a different life, a different kind of high, a different family, because you sure as hell didn’t like the one you had.”

“I’ve always loved you, son.”

“Love?” I shake my head, and my eyes burn into her. “You loved yourself,” I spit.

She steps down from the bottom step. Walking into the kitchen, she reaches into the cabinet and gets herself a glass. Her hand wraps around the bottle, and she slides it to herself before filling her glass.

I watch as she takes a seat, holding on to the crystal like it’s keeping her grounded. Her eyes are cold. She’s switched off.

Is that where I get it from?

“Get it out,” she says to me. “Get it all out, right now and right here.”

I shake my head as some fierce kind of pain slices through my chest. My eyes water, and I swallow, trying to keep the pain down. But this is too much.

I’ve had this wall up for so many years that I don’t know who I am without it. And when was the last time I cried?

As a boy?

When Pops showed me another way to release my anger.

I stick my fingers over my lids, keeping the tears at bay. I step back from the island and rest my bare back against the counter behind me.

“Why did you quit?”

“Quit what?” she asks, taking a swallow of her drink.

“Us?”

She sighs and fidgets with her robe. “I had a great childhood.” She tightens the straps around her waist. “My dad had money. We were a happy family, until I turned eighteen. I met a poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Your father,” she says. “We fell in love, and we fell hard, but you see, my parents didn’t approve, so we snuck around.

“I became distant from them because all I cared about was being with him. Every minute of every day. We consumed each other. My parents weren’t stupid. They knew I was going behind their backs. They’d called our relationship unhealthy.” She shrugs. “Maybe it was.

They thought he was vile just because he had no money. I’d never realized how snooty they were until then. To me, they were the disgusting ones.

“One night we had a big blowout. There was shouting, and tears, and things being thrown. They told me to choose. To choose them or your father.” She swallows, and her eyes fill. “I chose him.”

She wipes a stray tear and sniffs before clearing her throat and having another drink. “Life became very real the moment I did that. I left, and we got a little apartment together. He had a small-time job building barns. I got one at a convenience store down the road from where we lived. Everything was okay for a while. We were happy. Struggling, but happy.

“And then I got pregnant. With you,” she says, nodding toward me. “I was scared. Scared of how we were going to take care of you, but he assured me it would be fine.

“Life went on. We had our lights cut off a few times, but we made the best of it. We didn’t have a lot of food, but we made the best of it,” she says. “And then I got pregnant again. This time with twins.

“I stressed, and I stressed hard. I didn’t have any idea how we would take care of two babies and you. Your dad wasn’t making much money, and the store I worked at got robbed so he didn’t want me working there anymore. I tried to find work somewhere else, but no one wanted to hire a pregnant woman.

“So, I sucked it up and called my dad. I told him our situation, and he told me that if I came back home alone, I wouldn’t have a situation.” She chuckles, but it’s sad and laced with bitterness. “Around that time, your father started drinking. He didn’t go to bars and come home late at night or anything; he brought the whiskey home, sat on the couch, loved me, and that was our life.

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