Page 25 of Dirty Roulette
“Cool. Look, on Monday your classes will be short. It’s mostly the syllabus and guideline bull, so they can give you time to settle in the dorms. Come over afterward... yeah?” He asks.
“Are you still going to be living in the dorms?”
“No, I’m rooming with Jared and Nick in a three-bedroom house. We’re five minutes off campus. I’m still unpacking, so I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Yeah... yeah, okay, umm, bye.”
“Bye, cutie.” He hangs up, and I lay there with timefighting against me.
***
The rest of the weekend was uneventful. It’s Sunday, hitting noon, and Mum drives me and two fat totes to the dorms at GCU. Curses fly out of her mouth every five seconds at everyone’s erratic driving on the freeway.
Any time a massive semi truck passes, it rattles her Mustang. Something about the hiss of its breaks and diesel fumes sends her spiraling thinking we are in the next Final Destinationmovie.
Parking was a bitch, but carrying the hundred-pound tote of music up three flights of stairs is a million times worse. Doors open and close. Footsteps echo down the hallway as we search for my room number. By the time we found my dorm, the weight of the totes broke the bones in my fingers and seared the skin off.
Sunlight streams through the blinds swaying on the window. The room is empty besides the two twin size beds sitting on opposite sides. There are two small desks at the corner of each bed and a closet for Charlie and I to share.
“I wish I went to college.” Mum circles with her arms folded along her chest.
“Why didn’t you?” I peel off the lid of one tote and pull out the one set of bedsheets I own. The embarrassing worn-in princess sheets screamingvirgin.
“Your father never really supported me with it. So I didn’t try. I doubt you really remember – he was a fisherman. We were living on the east coast and that’s how men make money over there.”
“Oh...” I bite my bottom lip. She’s right, I don’t remember. All I know is that she passed down her New York State accent to me, and Ialways called her Mum. We really don’t talk much about dad. He used to call once a month, but then Mum made some remarks after I turned eighteen about him not calling anymore because he was finally free from her clutches and child support. “What would you have done?” I ask.
“Forensics. I always thought that was interesting.”
“It’s never too late to start.”
“I’m over fifty. That’s not something I can do now.” Mum spins in a circle like she’s not impressed with the dorm. “Well, call me if you need anything, yeah?” She checks the gold watch on her wrist.
“Yeah, I’ll call.”
She comes over, wraps her arms around my neck, and pecks me on the cheek. “Have fun. I’ll see you later.” She grips her purse and heads out of the room.
Chapter eight
Ryder
Iwipe the mud off my shoes on the mat outside before swinging the screen door open. It squeaks, and I massage my ear as I step inside. There should be a WD-40 can stashed somewhere in the garage, and I make a mental note to spray the hinges down before I leave.
The house is still, with the blinds swaying from the fan blowing in the living room. My mouth dries and my feet are lead as I walk along the tile floor. It’s covered with dirty footprints from Charlie and Payton, running in and out of the house. I peek out the patio door and spot the pool cover ripped off. The water is quiet and neither of them are here.
Their towels hang on the wooden chairs by the dining table, littered with chip bags and empty soda cans. A pot with macaroni scraps sits on the stovetop, and two bowls coated with dried cheese pile up in the sink with a mountain of other dishes. Who knows where those two went now, but I’m a little bummed I didn’t catch Payton. I’m still notsure what to do with her black undies that I shoved in my dresser at the house.
Aplopbreaks the silence in the kitchen. The huge stack of mail on the kitchen counter tumbles like an avalanche, scattering across the floor. Weeks’ worth of newspaper flyers and bills slide off each other, flipping and flopping one by one. Then a fat yellow envelope catches my eye. Kneeling, I grasp the envelope and open it. The wordDIVORCEwas emblazoned across the top in bold letters.
Call a surgeon, because my stomach did a 180 – twisting itself into a knot. What a way to end the summer with a bang. I stand up, my knees popping. I chuck the papers to the counter with my lungs burning and run a hand along the crease of my neck. The thought that I once admired my parents’ relationship before this is an absolute slap right across the face.
I only came here to gather the rest of my things, but trying to tiptoe around and pretend I saw nothing wouldn’t sit well with me. Mom hasn’t been herself. The gambling and random men she brings home... It’s filling some sort of void, and I guess I can’t blame her.
Grandpa passed from congestive heart failure, and Grandma died only days later from a sudden stroke. While my aunt drove four hundred miles to comfort her, a drunk driver ran a red light doing over seventy. She died on impact. My mom is the only one left on her side of the family.
They say death comes in threes, but their marriage decided to be the fourth. I never took him as the type of man to abandon a marriage of twenty-five years to find someone who isn’t damaged, but here we are.
The dull hallway is filled with crooked pictures of Charlie and me growing up. I reach the door to the master bedroom and crack it open. It’s pitch black inside the room, but the hallway light flows in to showMom sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying.
