Bound Together (3 page)

I swallowed down the pretzel.
“
Yeah, s
orry, I didn’t
get to eat
during
lunch
.
”

“
It’s your responsibility to
plan your time better so you can eat during
your
lunch period. Put it away,” she said with no sympathy in her voice.

I kne
w it
was
no use explaining why I couldn’t eat
during
lunch
, so
I shoved one last pretzel in my mouth
then
folded the bag up and
stuck
it in my backpack.

*****

After school I
had an hour before the kids got out of school. This was usually the time I went to my mom’s room to get her up. My dad
worked
two to midni
ght at the sheet metal factory, s
o it pretty much meant we didn’t see him during the week.
And depending on the kind of day my mom was having determined
if
she’d be up and around,
wandering
around the house without a purpose, or if she’d be a zombie, barely getting out of bed to eat or shower.
After these
last few
years of
watching her pull away from us
, I would have
preferred to
just le
ave
her alone in her room, but the kids got worried if she wasn’t
out of bed
by the time they got home.

I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my Converse. It was eerily silent in the house, and
I dreaded going into her room
. I
didn’t like
the
feel
ing
of
coming home
and
not knowing what I’d find
.
A
t this point
though
,
I’d
pretty much
given up hope for her getting better and was no longer going to be the one to try and single
-
handedly pull her out of this. She needed to want to get help and my dad needed to care enough to get involved
too;
I’d been through this too many times before and did my best
now
to act like I didn’t care at all.

I
could hear her TV was on
through the closed door
. I
put my hand on the knob. “Mom?”
I open
ed
the door slowly.
She was sitting up in bed.
The
air in the
room
smelled
stale and
it was
dim with the dusty curtains pulled shut.

“Hi, baby,” she said. Her hair was stringy and tried to remember if she’d showered yesterday.

I went to
the window and pulled apart
t
he curtains, securing them in the tie
-
backs
. “The kids are going to be home soon
. C
ome on and get up.
I’ll make you some coffee.”

“What would I do without you?” she asked
as I was leaving the room.

“Um, raise your own kids?” I uttered under my breath
so low she couldn’t hear me.
I hated being in there.

I went to the kitchen and went through my routine without thinking. I rinsed the day
-
old coffee from the pot and started a fresh pot, then got the kids
’
after school snack ready, celery and peanut butter today, even though they’d complain. And soon the house was filled the sounds of the kids again and I relaxed a little. I busied myself sorting Ty’s soccer gear and piles of laundry
for the
Laundromat
tomorrow
, I help
ed Cora search for her missing h
amster until she realized that she’d left him in his plastic ball all night a
nd we put him back in his cage.

And then it was time to start dinner.
It was Friday, which
I’d dubbed
Spaghetti Spectacular night.
It was easier to have set days for dinner, cutting down on time spent meal planning.
I dumped the box of pasta into boiling water and buttered six slices of white bread. 
W
hen it was ready, w
e ate without Charlie, though I wasn’t surprised he’d ignored my six o’clock curfew –he’d reminded me many times these past few months that I wasn’t his mom. Around seven when he still wasn’t home, I sent Ty out to look for him at the arcade.
They showed up a little while later, after sneaking in a few more games I’m sure.

I collapsed on the couch to watch a Disney princess movie with Cora before it was time for bed. She took a bath around eight, then cuddled with Mom in her room before I went in to reinforce lights out at nine. Why was it that I got all the shit work while Mom picked and chose when she wanted to parent
?

I went to my room and fell back onto the bed.
I normally kept my room pretty neat, but piles of clothes and books were invading what little floor space I had. I folded the flattened pillow in half rather than trying to fluff it up and closed my eyes.
My cell phone buzzed on my night stand and I picked it up. It was Morgan.

“Hello?”

“Hey
Zoey
–w
e’re just leaving the game for
Brandon’s
.
Are you ready or what?
”

“
Uhh
,” I tried to stall for more time.

“We’ll swing by and get you. Right, Brian?” I heard
him groan
on the other end.

I’d completely spaced on the party tonight. I tried to remember if I’d actually agreed to go. I knew I could probably
go if I wanted to…I don’t know
—
it just didn’t sound fun. I had nothing in common with the kids that would be there. They wouldn’t understand my life, so I figured it was better not
to
get involved. That way I’d never have to explain away my family, I’d never have to be ashamed over this. This didn’t define me. It wasn’t who I was. I’d never even let Morgan come inside before.
I didn’t want her to see my messy house, me in ‘Mom
-
mode’
,
and risk
her seeing what my
Mom
was really like
. It was better this way. I’d be gone from all this next year.

I heard
yelling
coming
from down the hall. “Hang on, Morgan.” I headed for Charlie and Pete’s room where they were most likely in another fight about whose
turn it was on the Nintendo DS. I found
Pete
curled up in the fetal position on the lower bunk, struggling to breathe. “
Gotta
go!” I called before hanging up on Morgan. 

“Where’s his inhaler?” I yelled to Charlie.

“He said he left it at school,” Charlie
said, his voice high, his eyes pleading with me to do something, to
fix it
.

“Okay
–
it’s okay,” I said to reassure them as much as myself.
Pete’s
breathing was loud, labored and I pulled him up to sitting.  I tried
to calm him, smoothing my hand
up and down his back
but he was really struggling
.
I held my hands in an imaginary cup under his nose
, remembering the game I’d made up last year when we ran out of his inhaler medication
. “Smell the hot chocolate,” I told him. He breathed in through his nose. “And blow on it cause it’s hot.” He blew a little puff of air at my hands. “Good. Smell the hot chocolate.” He breathed
in
again, less strained this time.

My phone was buzzing again at my feet. I kicked it over to Charlie.
“
Answer it for me and hold it up to my ear.
”
Charlie did as he was told.
I kept my hands
formed into a cup
in front of Pete.
“Hey Morgan
—
sorry, Pete had an asthma attack. I’m not going to be able to go out tonight.”

She was disappointed, but didn’t sound mad. I’m sure the promise of
hanging out
with
Brandon
was part of the reason.

After reading them a few
stories,
and making sure Pete’s breathin
g was completely back to normal,
I went back to my room
and dug around in the
closet
for
a
suitcase.
I didn’t get very far on packing though, figuring I would need to wait until after I finished the laundry tomorrow.

My cell was buzzing again and I crawled over on my hands and knees to answer it. It was a text
from
Jordan.

Im
outside. Let me in.

I went to my window and sure enough, Jordan’s
car
was parked on the street in front of my house. What was he doing here? I looked at the clock
—
it was
after
eleven.

Is this a booty call?
I texted back.

Haha
. Maybe.
He wrote.
C
ome down.
His next note said.

Since there was no way I was letting him come inside, I texted him back.
K
.
I hit send
and jo
gged down the stairs
and out
the front door.

He pushed open the passenger side door for me as I walked up the car. I climbed in and he
wasted no time
lean
ing
over to give me a kiss. I could tell he’d been drinking.

“Geez, Jord
an
—
slo
bber much?” I pushed him back
to his seat. He grinned at me stupidly. “How was
Brandon’s
party?”
I asked.

“It was cool. I missed you though.” He put his hand on my knee.

“You wanted a piece is more like it.” I resisted the urge to move his hand
away
.

“So what’s the deal with us, huh
Zoey
?” His brow crinkled in concentration as he studied me. The look on his face told me
he was seeing me with
double vision. He blinked and shook his head.

“What
d
o
you mean?” I asked
,
like I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Why’d we have sex last weekend?” he whispered
,
even though we were
alone
in his car with no chance of anyone overhearing us.
The
truth was I had no idea why we
had sex. I guess it was just
me
pretending to be a normal
seventeen
-
year
-
old last Friday night, and if that meant drinking a little and making out with a guy from my class, that’s exactly what I wanted to do.

I hadn’t expected us to go all the way, but
it
had been
like a strange game of chicken, and neither of us wanted to be t
he one to stop it. It had been everything I’d assumed m
y first time would be: clumsy, awkward, and a little painful. Which was probably best anyway, since I never
had illusions of being in love my first time. I figured it was best to get the awkward firs
t
time out of the way with someone that didn’t matter.

He trailed his hand over my thigh.
“It was my first time, I didn’t tell you before
—
but I wanted you to know,” he said.

“That’s nice,” I said.
I had no intention of telling him he was my first too. I didn’t want him to think it meant something it didn’t.

He
picked up my hand and interlaced his fingers with mine
. “I can’
t stop thinking about you,” he breathed onto my neck.

“Can’t stop thinking about me or about the sex?” I questioned.

“Well, that
was
fun
.” He moved up to my ear.