Page 44 of Need You to Choose Me

Blinking away the memory, I watch as the dark amber color washes away with the running water in the sink basin.

Mom had moments where she thought I was Dad a lot in the beginning. I’m not sure why, and thankfully, that faded with time. But it’s been hard. Him leaving is a betrayal that cut her deep. Deeper than I can heal, apparently.

Turning off the water, I clench my eyes closed and squeeze the bridge of my nose. “No,” I murmur. I won’t think about that.

She’s getting help.

She’s going to get better.

One day.

The second quiet settles into the space, the image of Olive with Bodhi Hoffman appears in the forefront of my mind.

I miss you too.

Evidently, not enough.

I spend the next hour and a half in the gym downstairs doing my absolute best to sweat it out of my thoughts for good.

*

The cloudy glazeover my mother’s eyes reminds me of the times she used to take NyQuil to help her sleep. When that stopped working, she’d take the leftover muscle relaxers my father had left behind from an old accident he’d gotten into. That supply quickly ended, and she depended on a mixture of melatonin and wine despite my protests over her combining the two.

Pam warned me that Mom was going to look a little off because she’s still adjusting to the new medication. I’m not sure what I expected, but it isn’tthis.

Sliding the book of crossword puzzles over to her, I try ignoring how…empty she appears. “I brought you something. You used to love doing these. Remember? You’d even create your own version using the spelling words I got every week at school to help me learn them.”

My mother’s creativity helped me get through a lot of my classes. English isn’t my strong suit. I hate reading, and I hate writing even more. At one point, my teacher called my parents in for a conference about the possibility of me having a reading disorder. Mom didn’t believe it for a second and found different ways to help me get into the material. Because of her, I became a better student. By the time I hit middle school, I’d been in an advanced English class.

Her eyes drop to the polished cover. “I don’t like these anymore. They’re boring.”

Lips twitching, I clear my throat. “Okay. Is there anything else you like to do? Pam said you do crafts. I can get you things from their approved list.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say based on the way her eyes narrow. “They won’t even let me use scissors, Alexander. I’m being treated like a child. I am yourmother.”

Her voice raises, making me eye the employee in the corner nervously. “I know you are. And I’m sorry you’re upset about that. But you know why they won’t let you have scissors.”

I’m not going to point out the very blunt reason those privileges were taken away. The scars on her arm are faint, but still there.

She scoffs. “That was an accident.”

Those are not accidental cuts, but I’m not about to argue with her and start something. “I found someone to fix the roof at home,” I tell her to change the subject. “Mr. Moore suggested him.”

Mom frowns. “When did you speak to Mr. Moore? He’s a gossip. I don’t like him.”

Whodoesshe like these days? “I saw him when I went to check on the house. Asked if he knew anyone who could do the job without breaking the bank. He told me he just got his redone a few years ago by the people he gave me a card to.”

She leans back in the chair. “When your father left, he and that nosey wife of his were practically plastered to the window watching him load up his truck. It was embarrassing.”

I’d like to think she’s exaggerating, but I doubt it. We did have neighbors that liked to know everything that was going on. They were always outside at convenient times. I’m pretty sure Mr. Moore was raking his driveway at one point when my parents were getting into it over an ugly ass lamp that my mom didn’t want Dad to have.

She broke it a month later.

“Well, we only talked about roofing. And our place needs it, Ma. There’s a huge leak that’s damaging the kitchen ceiling. I’m afraid they’re going to tell me that there’s water damage that willneed to get fixed, but it’s better than the ceiling caving in or mold growing.”

“We don’t have the money to fix the roof.”

My foot shakes under the table. “Yes, we do. I’ve got it covered. I just did a commercial shoot for Gilette. You know, the razor company? They paid me already. It’s plenty to cover a roof.”

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