Page 29 of The Surprise

So why did he text me to tell me I had to go on a date with him? Does he pity me now? Or does he want to laugh at me? It makes no sense. If I were him, I’d want to forget that I even know Beth Ellingson. Or at least, once I found out her dad and aunt were trying to kick me off of my family ranch, I definitely would. Clearly he has no idea about any of that yet.

I spare him any of the stress or awkwardness that would surely follow any future interactions we would have, and I don’t text or call. In fact, I plug my phone in and walk away, determined to put a nice, healthy breakfast between last night and this shining, bright Saturday in early fall.

Only, my stomach has other plans.

Apparently it hates food and wants to see me die.

Also, I hate the bright Saturday morning. It’s also evil. I should name it Patrick.

“Drink this.” My mom plonks a weird-looking shake in front of me. “I made it for myself, but it’s also good for colds, and you look pretty sick, hon.” She drops her head against the cool countertop and groans.

I realize that I look just like her, but since she has no idea I stole her hidden beer, she doesn’t realize I’m suffering from a hangover, not a cold.

“It’s okay,” I say, shoving her shake thing back toward her. “You drink it.”

She grimaces and shakes her head tightly. “I did something bad last night.” Her whispered words still sting.

“I know.” My voice is small—embarrassingly small. I clear my throat. “I saw you.”

A single tear rolls down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I had to go over there—a nurse had to leave early and your aunt wasn’t back yet. I sat with your grandfather for a few moments, and I saw them, and. . .”

I know this story.

Mom does alright when she has no temptation, but we live in a world full of pills and alcohol. It’s literally everywhere, so when she’s feeling vulnerable and it’s justthere. . .

“What will you do when Aunt Donna notices—”

“Your dad already put the bottle back, and he left it open and next to the toilet. I’m sure she’ll think he dumped it out or flushed them.”

Great. Another thing for my Aunt Donna to fight with doctors about or beat herself up over. At least we know Grandpa’s going to be fine, but Aunt Donna doesn’t.

And that’s the worst part of all this—the cost to the people around an addict is steep. Their behavior is so compulsive and so damaging that it inevitably falls out on everyone else to deal with the consequences.

But it’s my mom.

I can hardly lecture her about how horrible she is, so I say nothing. It’s become a habit after all these years. I wish I had the guts to tell Dad that Mom will never hit bottom with him always cleaning up after her like this. She’s an addict with her own personal cleaning crew.

“Listen,” Mom says.

But then the doorbell rings.

Mom looks down at her fuzzy pink bathrobe and fluffy slippers and her lip curls. “Um.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get it.”

Mom shuffles away as quickly as she can, but she does pause to point. “Drink that before it gets warm.”

I nod as if I’m going to listen, and then I jog to the front door, each step sending a pounding pain through my skull.Why do people drink if it wrecks your body so badly?I swing the door open. “Hello?”

I amnotexpecting Ethan’s gorgeous, smiling face.

It hits me like an open-handed slap.

“Hey. Just wanted to make sure you were alive.”

I shush him as quietly as I can. “Did you really think that coming here at the crack of—”

“It’s ten-twenty-six,” he says. “I’ve been up for almost five hours.”

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