Page 117 of The Other Brother
Not this time, though.
“Mum, you need to let go of that shit and go help your daughter.” Anger pulses in my voice.
Mum turns to me, her eyes widening in surprise.
“I might drop by there tomorrow,” she says noncommittally.
Something insides me snaps. I’m so, so sick of all this shit.
I grab the keys from where I’ve just hung them up and thrust them at her. “No, Mum. Right now. We’re going right now. We’re going there, and you will help Kate. You need to put all that other crap aside.”
Mum doesn’t reply, just stares at me, her lips pinching together.
Dad wanders in, stopping still when he sees Mum and I in a standoff. “What’s going on?”
“We’re going to Kate’s.” I don’t break eye contact with my mother. “Because Kate really needs her mum right now.”
“I think that’s a good idea, Julia,” Dad says in a low voice.
“Fine. Let’s go.” Mum jerks her gaze away from mine.
Mum doesn’t speak on the ride over to Kate’s apartment. But that’s okay, because I’m freaking out.
Shit. What if they have another fight? Will this make everything worse? Maybe I shouldn’t have forced Mum to go.
She follows me wordlessly up the stairs, and I knock on the door.
Kate answers. She takes one look at Mum and bursts into tears.
Which causes Mum to burst into tears too.
Mum wraps Kate up in an enormous hug, rocking her slightly. It reminds me of the way Kate swayed when she was trying to settle Ethan this afternoon.
I try to keep up my supportive brother act, I really do. But when we get inside, Chris greets us with a wide smile and immediately retreats to the kitchen to make cups of coffee, leaving me to the mercy of Mum and Kate’s conversation. They talk about the consistency of baby poop and cracked nipples, and I realize I’ve reached the limits of the good brother thing.
“I’ve got homework I’ve got to do,” I say, standing up and edging toward the door.
“But we came together,” Mum says.
“I can drop you home if you want,” Chris says to me.
“I’ll get an Uber.” I’m sure ride sharing was invented so you could escape these types of conversations. I grab my phone out of my pocket to order my ride.
“Are you sure?” Mum asks.
“Yeah.” I hit confirm.
“Are we grossing you out?” Kate asks with a glint in her eye that screamspayback time. “Surely you, who introduced our family to the surprise apple burp, can handle a brief discussion on baby poop.”
I scoff. “Like you could ever gross me out.”
Kate turns to Mum. “Anyway, so can you remember how long it took for the post-partum bleeding to stop for you?”
“I’ll wait on the sidewalk,” I choke out as I make a mad dash down the hallway to the front door, ignoring the sound of Kate’s laughter floating after me.
I’m watchingTV with Dad when Mum comes home. I’ve managed to get him addicted toRagnarok. He seems to feel that somehow binge watching a Norwegian teenager trying to thwart the end of the world provides good father-son bonding.
I seize up at the noise of the front door opening. Hopefully, things ended up okay between them. Hopefully I’m not going to get a parental lecture about interfering.
