Chapter 8 - A Million Rainbows

“Hey, Mom.” I knocked on her door, nudging it open. Her room was dimly lit with just her TV on quietly playing an episode of Friends. “Charlie wanted to see if you wanted to come and watch a movie with us?”

Mom sat up in her bed, rubbing at her eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Oh, no … I was just taking a nap. What’s playing?”

“We’re rewatching Frozen since we didn’t make it to the library today.”

“Come watch it in here.” Mom scooted over, patting the bed beside her.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll tell Charlie.”

Charlie always had to have popcorn when we watched movies. We had an air popper, and we popped a big bowl, adding salt.

It was kind of late already, so I got her in her pj’s and had her brush her teeth. By the time we made it back to the room, Mom was dozing off again. I put the movie on, and Charlie snuggled into the bed with her. I sat on the other end and tucked my feet under the blankets.

“Come here,” said Mom. She was half asleep, but she reached her arm out to me, pulling me into the bed with her.

It was so cozy and warm in her arms, and even the smell of alcohol on her breath was okay with me.

I wasn’t alone when I woke up on Sunday morning.

I turned down the hall to the kitchen, jumping back because there was a man sitting at our messy table.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said, raising a mug to me.

He was all scruffy, with messy morning hair and wearing boxers; it was so gross.

I hugged my chest because I wasn’t wearing a bra. “Who the hell are you?”

He lifted from the chair, stretching out a hairy man’s arm to me. “I’m a friend of your mom’s. Tom. Nice to meet you.”

I refused his hand. He raised it to say never mind and sat back down.

I twisted on my heels, crossed the living room, and barged into Mom’s room. “What the hell, Mom? Why is there a guy here?”

It was only eight. She was passed out. Not asleep—passed out. I tried to nudge her awake, but she groaned and pushed me away.

She had gone to the bar last night. I was asleep by the time she’d come home and had been unaware of her new friend.

“Damn it, Mom. Wake up!” I tried one more time, but it was stupidly pointless—she wasn’t budging.

I exited the room. Tom was at the door. “I’ll be out of your hair before long,” he said and went back into Mom’s room, closing the door behind him.

“You said you wouldn’t bring them over again?”

“Brianna, Tom’s nice. You need to give him a chance. He might be good for us.”

“I don’t care. He can’t be here.”

Mom and I were in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, smoking a cigarette; she didn’t even really smoke. Tom had stepped out for another pack. It was past six, and he had been at our house all day.

“Brianna, you are overreacting. He’s a nice guy. Owns his own house and everything.”

“So why didn’t you guys go there?” It wasn’t like I expected Mom to be some celibate nun or anything, but she knew how much I hated this shit.

Mom puffed on her cigarette, exhaling smoke before speaking. “He lives down in Massachusetts.” She flicked the ash onto a plate. “He’s here visiting his brother for a few days. I told him he could stay with us.”

“For a few days? What the hell, Mom. He can’t stay here.”

I glanced into the living room where Charlie was watching TV, my head swimming with disgust. “Come on, Mom.” I was pleading. She wasn’t stupid. She wished she was, but she wasn’t. And this was one of the reasons she drank.

“Brianna, he has a house.” She said that like it was some selling point.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I doubt it. He’d say anything. You know that, right?”

“You think he’s lying?”

“I don’t know if he’s lying. It doesn’t matter. House or no house. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’s going to give you the damn house, Mom. And he’s not staying.”

Mom was quiet, fiddling with her cigarette. “I told him he could.” Her voice was weak. She didn’t want to argue with me, but she didn’t have the backbone to tell Mr. Gross to leave.

“No. Charlie and I don’t want him here.”

“I already told him he could. And this is my house, Brianna.”

“This isn’t your house, Mom. This is our fucking apartment. All of ours.”

“Brianna, watch your language!” She raised her voice that time.

I raised my shoulders. “No, Mom. You don’t respect me. I don’t respect you. Okay?”

I left Mom in the kitchen, finding Charlie in the living room. I got in front of her, unplugging the TV and DVD player.

“Breeee,” whined Charlie because I had shut off her movie.

“We’re gonna go watch it in our room, come on.”