Page 77 of The Probability of Us

Thirty

AUGUST 5 YEARS AGO

Ifrown at the fully stocked pantry.

I’ve stopped by to check on my dad every day since mom died but I haven’t seen any signs that he’s eaten—only new, empty bottles of bourbon that join the ones already by the sink. I don’t know where he keeps getting them from because he didn’t drink much before, and I didn’t buy them. I took his car keys when I noticed how much he was drinking too. So how the hell do they keep showing up?

Mom went so quick—she was seemingly healthy one minute, and the next she was being taken away in an ambulance after collapsing while we were all out at lunch. The next time I saw her she was being kept alive with machines.

It was so fast I didn’t have time to process what happened. She was there, and then suddenly she was gone. I still feel like she’ll walk through the front door at any moment.

It’s been hard since she died, but I thought I’d at least have my dad. Someone who could support me, who could understand what I was going through. But instead, I’m watching him drink himself into a grave—I’m watching him kill himself slowly. And I can’t stand to watch it anymore. My attempts to talk to him this week, to get him to stop drinking, ended with him yelling at me and me in tears. I’ve never heard my dad raise his voice like that before.

I want to talk to someone. Ineedto talk. I’ve tried talking to Ali, but I don’t just need someone to listen—I need someone to help.

I want to talk to Warren.

I’ve missed him more this past week than the whole year and a half since he’s been gone—and that’s saying a lot because I miss him every damn day. He would know what to say, what to do, to help.

I pull out the loaf of bread from the pantry and make a ham and cheese sandwich, then bring that and a glass of water over to where my dad is sitting on the couch, watching the TV with a blank expression.

“You should eat something,” I say as I set down the plate.

He doesn’t move or give any indication that he heard me. He’s lifeless, no spark left in his eyes, and I have to look away. That person is not the dad I knew.

I move to grab the half-full glass of liquor so I can dump it, and I almost spill it when an angry grunt sounds from behind me. I can’t stand to look at him as a tear drops down my face.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I say, leaving the glass and grabbing my jacket and purse.

As I’m heading toward the door, I think I hear a low grumble say, “Don’t bother,” and I feel like my heart is giving out too. I get in the car and start driving. I don’t have a destination in mind, I’m just aimlessly driving—wanting to be anywhere but here. It’s not until I turn onto I-84 E that I realize Idohave a destination in mind.

I can’t talk to Warren, but this is the next best thing. I just hope it’s okay that I’m showing up unannounced.

* * *

My hands shake as I walk up to the charming, brick house. I pause in front of the door. What if she’s not home? What if she doesn’t want to see me? I shouldn’t have come here.

But my fist still knocks on the door, because if I don’t, I’d have driven almost two hours for nothing. And this is my last resort.

My breathing gets heavier the longer I wait. Just as I think she’s not going to answer at all, there’s a soft click and the door opens. Her bright, cheery smile falls into confusion when she realizes it’s me.

“Analise?”

My lower lip starts shaking and her confusion fades into concern.

“I’m sorry,” I squeak, and all the tears that have been building up over the past week finally make their way to the surface. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, honey.” Her voice is calming like ocean waves. Her hands are on my shoulders leading me through the door and to the living room couch. As soon as we sit, she pulls me into her arms and holds me as I cry and cry and cry.

When I finally start to calm down, she pulls back to look at me. “Would you like some tea?”

I nod. While she’s gone, I take deep breaths and try to stop my body from shaking. When she comes back with the tea, I take a sip and close my eyes as the warmth seeps through me from the inside out. My shaking slows and I take a normal breath.

“Thanks,” I say, opening my eyes to find soft, kind eyes staring back at me.

“Is everything okay?”

I shake my head. “My mom died last week.”

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