Chapter 14 - A Million Rainbows

Charlie and I came through the door. The smell of coffee telling us Mom was up, wasn’t a surprise, but the smell of bleach was.

And the kitchen table was clean. So clean to the point that it was wiped down with just a small bowl of Dunkin’ Donuts sugar packets in the center.

“What’s going on, Mom?”

She was at the sink doing dishes. “Hey,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel and twisting around to us.

Charlie ran over to her, pulling on her blue robe. “Mom, I got a cupcake for Mia’s birthday! And Mrs. Donavan said for Halloween we can …”—she was getting overly excited and took a second to catch her breath—“we can dress up in costumes!”

Mom’s uneasy smile mirrored mine when Charlie first told me this exciting news. Because, yay, now we had to find a costume that was good enough for school. A task that would undoubtedly fall on me.

“So who are you cleaning for?” I asked because Mom didn’t clean unless someone was coming over.

“No one. I thought I’d pick up,” she said with a shrug like it was so normal.

“Really?”

Charlie pounced on Mom, slamming her with more cupcake and Halloween talk.

“Mom?” I needed the truth. I needed to know if I would have to spend the night hiding in my room.

Mom shook her head to answer me, keeping her attention on Charlie.

I relaxed my shoulders and scanned the kitchen. Most of the dishes were washed, and the counter was clean. Even the floor was swept. Maybe she was on new meds.

“I started a new book,” said Mom when Charlie released her, running off into the living room. She poured a cup of coffee and moved to the table and sat down.

“You did?” I slid into the seat beside her, rubbing my hand across the clean tabletop, kind of in awe of it.

Mom rose from her chair, going to the stove to put a pot of water on. She took a mug out of the cabinet and placed a tea bag inside. “Do you still like cream?”

“Yeah.”

She opened the fridge to get the milk because in our house cream just meant milk. “It’s another murder mystery,” she said. “It takes place at a wintery lakeside cabin. It’s much darker than anything I’ve written. You might like it.” Mom knew I was into the Creepy Hollow stuff. The darker, the more unsettling, the better.

“I’d love to read it,” I said. I did want to read it. But I also wanted to encourage Mom to keep writing if it meant we could keep a clean kitchen like this.

“Yeah, once it’s done. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. I’m a little rusty.”

“Bree!” Charlie cried from the living room. “The TV’s not working!”

“Just a second,” I grouched. I got up and helped her put her movie on.

“Here,” said Mom, handing me my tea when I came back into the kitchen.

Mom sat down and sipped her coffee. “So, who’s the boy?” she asked.

That question came at me smooth and cool, but I wasn’t expecting it, and it hit like a blazing cannonball.

I tentatively placed my mug on the table and sat down. “What are you talking about?” I said, feigning ignorance.

Mom and I didn’t usually have heart-to-hearts, and talking about Kyle, with Mom, was going to ruin something; I wanted to keep him to myself.

“Brianna,” she said with an indignant stretch of my name like I had offended her and those keen maternal instincts of hers. She eyed me over the brim of her mug, giving me a knowing look. “What’s his name?”

I reached for a sugar packet, tearing the paper, and letting the small granules fall into my tea. “There’s no boy, Mom. I was talking to Emily.”

She shrugged. “Ah well,” she said, dropping the interrogation. “You know, my first love was in high school.”

“It was?”

That statement, coming from my mom, made me realize, with unsettling guilt, that I knew nothing about her or her life. The woman in front of me was as good as a stranger.

She leaned back in her chair, wrapping both hands around her coffee mug.

Mom always wore the same three rings. She wore a silver one with a little blue butterfly on her right pinky: Charlie had given it to her from a cheap quarter vending machine a few years ago. She wore a band of silver hearts on her right thumb: that one I didn’t know the story behind. And she wore a simple gold wedding band on her left ring finger, from when she married my father many years ago. I always assumed the ring meant she still loved him.

“Derek James,” she said with a wistful sigh. “Oh, I loved that boy. We dated for … gosh … it must have been close to a year.” She stopped to think. “Yeah, because it was right after Christmas. And then right before Christmas the following year when we broke up. I was head over heels for him.”

“So what happened?”

“Oh, you know. We were young. Too young to handle that much unbridled love.” A small smile lifted on her face before fading back into her memories. “I got jealous and accused him of cheating. Pushed him away. He broke my heart when he left me.”

Mom sipped her coffee. “That’s the funny thing about love … when you’re too young for it, that’s when it’s easiest to fall and get broken by it.” She paused, getting lost in her thoughts. “Anyway, all that feels like a whole other lifetime ago.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding absentmindedly. I was staring at Mom’s hands. They were just starting to show signs of aging. The skin at her knuckles bunched and wrinkled a little, her rings making it worse.

“Did you love my dad?” I asked, the question escaping my brain, my lips before I realized it was on either one of them.

Mom sighed, a deep regretful sigh that lingered like a plume of smoke around us. “Yeah, I loved him. I did. I don’t know if he ever loved me, but …” She twisted the gold wedding band on her finger. “Brianna, I was hard to love back then,” she said, a stale laugh quiet in her throat. “I guess not too much has changed, huh?”

My lungs emptied. A hollowness, filling me.

I couldn’t handle that. It made me so sad. And so angry.

I sucked in a breath. “Well, I should probably go get started on my homework,” I said, reaching for my mug.

“All right,” said Mom, her voice small with disappointment.

She wanted to keep talking. That was because there was no alcohol in her mug today. It was a good day for her, a confusing as hell day for me.

I stalled, holding my tea in my lap. “Hey, Mom.”

“Yeah,” she said, looking up from her hands, still twisting her ring.

“His name is Kyle. The boy on the phone.”

“Kyle,” she repeated. “How long have you two been seeing each other?”

“Oh, we’re not really. Just talking.”

She nodded. “Is he nice?”

“Yeah, he’s nice.”

“That’s good. It’s not worth it if they’re not nice.” She laughed. “I would know, right?”

“Yeah,” I said because most of the jerks Mom brought home were exactly that—complete jerks. I didn’t understand why she didn’t take her own advice.

“Hey,” said Mom. “If you and Kyle ever want to go out, you can leave Charlie with me.”

It was a nice gesture, but it came with one frightening stipulation—trusting her to watch over Charlie. And I couldn’t do that.

“No, that’s okay.”

“I put off drinking for a while,” she said, addressing the elephant that was trampling on the table in front of us. “I’ve been busy writing. I haven’t had a drink in two days.”

Two days was good for Mom. It meant she was trying. She could usually hold off for two weeks if she was really motivated. A few more days—while she was in the middle of a story—it might be doable for her.

“So this weekend would be okay? Friday or Saturday, maybe?”

“Yeah, either one or both. Go be a reckless teenager for once in your life.”

“What about the bar?”

“I’m not going to the bar this weekend. I’ll be working.”

“Yeah, okay. Maybe. But, Mom, you would have to promise. I mean, you know Charlie. I still have to remind her to brush her teeth every night. She’s helpless.”

“Brianna, you are overreacting. We’ll make some popcorn. Have a movie night. It’ll be fun.”

I probably was overreacting. If Mom wasn’t drinking, if she wasn’t at the bar, then it would be fine.

And Charlie would love it.

And I really wanted to hang out with Kyle without her.

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll let you know.”