Page 31 of The Choices I've Made
“Yellow room,” he said, finishing my sentence.
It had always been a favorite of his. Mine, too.
“Fine,” I replied, trying to seem unaffected by his demand. “I assume you still remember the way?”
He held up his palm in front of his face. “Like the back of my hand.”
“That’s the front, Doctor.”
He laughed, sounding drunker than I’d ever seen him. “Right.” Taking a few steps forward, his body brushed against mine. “I like it when you call me doctor.”
I took a deep breath, putting some much-needed space between us.
“You would. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have bread to bake.”
“Bread!” he nearly shouted before chuckling under his breath. He said in a hushed tone, “I love bread.”
“Go to bed, Jake.”
“You first.”
Those two words were like a cold bucket of water. His gaze suddenly sharpened as a tingle went down my spine. Both of us knew he wasn’t talking about sleeping, and for a moment, I let him know it.
No eye roll or quick-witted comeback. I just stood there, letting myself indulge in a single moment that signified a lifetime of memories.
And then the jerk threw up on my shoes.
The next morning, things only got worse.
After tossing my shoes in the garbage and cleaning up after my drunk ex, I’d helped him up the stairs to the yellow room. He’d fallen asleep before I could even flip on the lights.
Unfortunately, sleep had eluded me, and I’d watched the sun rise the next morning, already several cups of coffee deep into the day.
My head was pounding, which wasn’t fair because I hadn’t been the drunk one. But a week or more with little to no sleep had my body running on fumes, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
Especially when my mom breezed through the kitchen door as I was pulling out an assortment of jams.
“Good morning,” she said, placing a sweet kiss on my cheek. “I wanted to come over and see if you needed a hand with breakfast.”
I held back my sigh. Of course she’d chosen this morning to stop by.
“I’m fine, Ma,” I replied, watching as she inspected the bread I’d finished up earlier this morning.
She took a quick whiff, pride beaming on her face.
Her attention moved toward the fridge, and she opened it for inspection. “You might want to keep drinks better stocked. Guests like to—”
“Grab them before they head out to town,” I said, finishing her thought. “I know this, Mom. I did grow up here.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “I just don’t want you to forget anything with all you have going on.”
I sighed again, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “I’m fine, Mama. Really.”
“You’ve been through hell and back this week. And Dottie said he’s not talking? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I honestly didn’t want to worry you. I’m sure it’s nothing. Shock or something. He’ll be back to normal in no time.”
She gave me a sad sort of stare. Even she knew I was lying to myself.
