Page 67 of Notes About Vodka

The doctor walks in, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a serious expression. She doesn’t sugarcoat things. "She's lost a significant amount of weight," she explains, glancing at the clipboard in her hand. "And her mental health has deteriorated rapidly. With your stepfather not answering phone calls, we need to consider that he is missing in action. Your mother needs constant supervision. She’s in a very fragile state right now."

A lump forms in my throat, and I struggle to swallow it. "What are our options?" I manage to ask, though my voice isbarely a whisper.

The doctor gives me a sympathetic look, her expression softening. "For now, she needs to stay here until we can find a suitable care facility or arrange for home care. She’s not in a position to be on her own, not even for a moment."

I nod, feeling overwhelmed and helpless. The words wash over me, each one heavier than the last, and I feel the weight of the situation pressing down on me. I step out of the room, needing some air, and pull out my phone to call my cousin James in Philadelphia. He picks up on the second ring, his voice warm and familiar. "Hey, Laura. What's up?"

"James," I say, my voice trembling with emotion. "I need your help. Mom's in the hospital here in New Haven. Nick isn’t helping, and the episode I was texting you about is actually much worse than I realized. She needs 24-hour supervision, and I don’t know what to do."

There’s a pause on the other end, and then James speaks, his tone firm and reassuring. "I'm on my way. It’ll take me a few hours by train, but I’ll get there. Just hang tight, kid. We'll figure this out together."

As I wait for James, I reflect on how all of us Southerners ended up moving North. The only Yankee in our family is my granddaddy, but for some reason, the Northern states have always called to us.

James, my mom’s sister’s son and my favorite cousin, has been in Philly for several years now. Mom’s been in New Haven for the past five, and I’m living in New York City. I wonder if any of my other cousins will move or if they’ll stay dedicated to southern living and life in the family trailer-hood. I think about the life I’ve built in the Big Apple—the friends I’ve made, the struggles I’ve faced—and it all feels so far away in this moment, like another world. It’s strange how quickly everything can change, how the past can come crashing back into the present without warning.

When I return to my mom’s room, I take her hand again, feeling the bones beneath her thin skin. The sight of her frailtytugs at something deep inside me, a painful reminder of how much she’s been through—how much we’ve both been through. I don't think anyone could ever understand the decision it takes for a new mother to leave her six week old daughter with an addict for a father in order to try and save her own life.

She turns to look at me, tears welling up in her eyes, and for a moment, I see the woman she used to be, the one who held our chaotic little family together before it all started to unravel. "I'm sorry, Laura," she whispers, her voice shaky and full of regret. "I'm so sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted when you left Alabama. I know you were trying to get away from your father and those crazy women of his. I don’t mean to be another burden on you, my sweet little girl."

Her words hit me hard because they’re true in ways I don’t want to admit. Moving up north had been an attempt to create distance—not just physically but emotionally. Somewhere along the way, I had started pulling away from her, from my family, letting the weight of my own struggles push me further. Yet now, seeing mom like this, I realize I’ve been moving closer all along, even if it didn’t feel that way at first. And now, after our last conversation, it seems like she’s finally finding her way back to herself, clawing her way out of the fog that’s clouded her mind for so long.

It gives me too much hope.

Cycles, they are funny things.

We have been down this road before. Mom has an attack, I panic and try to save the day, she apologizes when she gets better, I forgive her. We keep in touch for a while, then we drift apart.

Only for the cycle to begin when the phones unexpectedly rings.

I squeeze her hand gently, trying to keep my own tears at bay. "Mom, it's not your fault," I whisper back, my heartbreaking for her. "We’re going to get through this. I promise. And you can’t control Daddy… He’s a grown man who makes his own decisions. Same as you, because Mama, we have to start doing better."

The words feel hollow, but I cling to them, hoping that somehow, if I say them enough, they’ll come true. I wish I could take away her pain, make everything okay again, but I know that’s not possible. All I can do is be here, hold her hand, and try to keep her grounded in the present.

A few hours later, James arrives, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside me. He pulls me into a hug, holding me tightly. "We’ll take turns," he says firmly, looking me in the eye. "We’ll find a way to take care of her."

With James here, a plan starts to form. We spend the rest of the day talking with the doctors, discussing options, and making arrangements. By the time we leave the hospital, I feel a little more in control, even though the road ahead is still uncertain.

We were even able to get Nick on the phone to agree to let James park an RV at their home so he can stay when needed.

The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the hospital parking lot, and I take a deep breath, letting the cool evening air fill my lungs. It’s not much, but it’s something—a small reminder that even in the midst of all this chaos, there are still moments of beauty, still reasons to keep going.

James gives me another hug before he leaves, promising to come back in the morning. I watch him walk away, his figure disappearing into the fading light, and I feel a small spark of hope. Maybe we can do this. Maybe, with James by my side, I can figure out a way to take care of my mom without losing myself in the process.

As I get into Skipper's car, I take one last look at the hospital, the windows glowing softly against the darkening sky. Iknow there’s still so much to do, so many decisions to make, but for now, I allow myself a moment of quiet. I let the exhaustion wash over me, sinking into the driver’s seat, and close my eyes for a second, feeling the weight of the day finally catching up with me.

Back at the apartment, the sun has already gone down for the evening, yet the scent of fresh coffee greets me. I find Rhea in the kitchen, her back to me as she pours herself a cup. She turns when she hears me come in, concern etched on her face.

"How's your mom?" she asks gently, setting the coffee pot down.

"Not great," I admit, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. "But James is going to help. We're figuring it out."

Rhea sits down beside me, taking my hand in hers. "I'm here for you, Laura. Skipper summarized what's going on. I know dealing with your mom isn't my specialty, but whatever you need, you know that. Best friends for life, no matter what."

"I know, Rhea," I say, feeling a fresh wave of exhaustion wash over me. "I just don’t know how I can handle all of this and try to divorce Sam at the same time."

"I get it," she nods, squeezing my hand. "But what about Val? I like him for you, but what’s actually up with you two? Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t move on, but Laura, you’re still technically married to Sam. Even if he’s out there sticking his dick in anything that moves. By the way, speaking of your Russian, Val says he’ll see you at work tonight. He couldn’t stay but told me to tell you that he wishes you would have woken him up. He looked really upset Laura."

Work, fuck, I forgot to call Dante and let him know I wouldn’t be there tonight either. I’m too exhausted.

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