Page 61 of Highball Rush
The hitch in her voice got my attention. She sounded upset. And she hadn’t called mesugarin years. “What’s up?”
“Can your brothers and sister come stay with you tonight?”
“I s’pose. Why?”
“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “It would just help me out.”
I rolled my eyes. My mom upset, asking for a favor, trying to get my siblings out of the house? She and Dad were fighting again. I didn’t bother asking what it was about. It wasn’t like it mattered; they were always fighting about something.
“Sure. You need me to come pick ’em up?”
“No, Bowie’s gonna drive ’em over,” she said. “Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.”
I hung up and put my phone down.Damn it, Dad, what did you do this time?He’d probably come home drunk again and Mom didn’t want Scarlett to see. As if we all didn’t know. I hoped there hadn’t been too much yelling. It was like they didn’t realize half the town could hear them.
Even though it was late, I wondered if they’d eaten any dinner. I got up and checked the kitchen cupboards. I kept a few things on hand—easy stuff—for times like this. Tonight was going to be boxed mac and cheese, unless Mom had already fed everybody before Dad fucked up everyone’s night.
Not more than five minutes later there was a knock on my door. My feet hurt and I wanted to sit and stare at the TV, doing nothing. But instead, I had to play fucking babysitter to a bunch of teenagers.
“It’s open,” I said.
Bowie came in first, wearing a baseball cap and a Bootleg Springs High School t-shirt. Scarlett was right behind him, her long hair in a ponytail. Her freckled nose was scrunched up, like she was annoyed about something. Growing up with three older brothers, she was probably annoyed more often than not.
Behind her was Jameson. His hat was pulled low over his forehead, as if he was trying to hide under it. He towered over Scarlett, and I realized he’d somehow gotten to be almost as tall as me and Bow. Made sense. He was sixteen, now.
Jameson shut the door with his foot, then he and Scarlett put their fingers on their noses and simultaneously said, “Not it.”
“Dang it, you guys,” Bowie said.
“Bowie gets the floor,” Scarlett said. “Jame, you wanna flip a coin for the couch?”
“I got it.” I pulled a quarter out of the change jar I kept on the counter. “Heads or tails, Scar?”
“Tails.”
I tossed the coin in the air, caught it, and flipped it onto my forearm. Removing my hand, I let them both look.
Scarlett did a fist pump. “Yes. Tails.”
Jameson just shrugged, like he didn’t care either way.
“Y’all hungry?” I asked, dropping the coin back in the jar.
“Starving,” Scarlett said.
No dinner, then. I met Bowie’s eyes and he raised his eyebrows. He followed me into the tiny kitchen, and I got out a pan.
“What happened?” I asked, keeping my voice low. None of us liked talking about it when they fought. What was the point? And it just upset Scarlett more.
“I’m not sure,” Bowie said. “Dad got home real late and then they went upstairs for a long time. I heard raised voices, but not like they were yelling. I don’t know what’s going on.”
I filled the pan with water, put it on the burner, and turned on the heat. “Whatever. Y’all can crash here. It’s quieter at least.”
He got the milk and butter out of the fridge and set them on the counter. “Yeah, thanks.”
Anger at my dad ran hot through my veins. Why did he have to make things so goddamn difficult? Why couldn’t we just be a normal family?
