Soundtrack
My Own Worst EnemyâLit
GlycerineâBush
Through GlassâStone Sour
7
Jack
Jack brought Mia a mug of her favorite tea the next morning, fully aware she'd be nursing a decent hangover.
The shitty part was that when Jack first woke up, he stalked into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of orange juice, and was halfway back to their bedroom before he realized he should bring her something as well.
In one of her substance fueled rages when he was twelve, Jack's mom told him he was selfish; that was the first seed of the self-fulfilling prophecy that plagued every relationship he had.
Jack pushed open the door, and its creaking stirred Mia. Her palms immediately went to her eyes, and the smallest groan escaped her mouth.
"Morning, beautiful. Tea?"
Her palms flew from her eyes as they widened in disbelief. "You brought me tea?"
"You've got to stop being shocked when I do the bare minimum."
She smiled in response. "Thank you." She held out her hands to him and clutched the mug to her chest a moment before sipping from it.
"How's your head?" he asked.
"Just a slight twinge. I should have had some water before going to bed last night. Can't change the past though, so this'll do."
Jack joined her back in bed, and she took him in with a level of concern he never had from a woman other than her.
"How's your head?"
"Which one are youâ"
"Jack."
"Sorry. You know humor is my defense mechanism."
"Along with avoidance. And acting like a prick."
Well, she wasn't wrong. "Mom has been this way for as long as I can remember. I can't imagine she's going to change now that I'm an adult. There's not a whole lot I can do."
"My offer still stands. I can come with you if you'd like. Just, um, just not around dinner time. I'm going to my parents for dinner. You can come if you want."
Jack shook his head. "I need to go home alone. Besides, I'd imagine your parents don't really want to see me just yet." In that moment, his gut wrenched, realizing he'd never even asked her about her mom since he saw her at the Bean and some shit. "How's your mom doing?"
The smallest smile built on Mia's face; Jack knew it was there because he'd finally asked her about her parents, and the fact that he'd been too self-absorbed to think of anyone's shit other than his own reminded him of how much work he still needed to do.
"She's doing okay. Her hands still shake a bit, so she needs help with the things that require fine motor skills at times. I told her I'd take her to her doctor's appointment next week, too. I've been taking her the last few times. I guess it's kind of a weird way to spend time together, but she needs someone there, and I wasn't really there for her that much when she was in the hospital last time. I need to make up for that."
A glassiness had taken over Mia's eyes, and all Jack wanted was to kiss away her sadness; he was too insecure to admit that he knew it was his fault she hadn't spent more time with her mom when she needed her most. "Does her doctor think it can happen again?"
"There's always a chance she can have another stroke, but she's taking the steps she needs to take to avoid it." She stopped for a moment, then, quietly, "I don't want to lose her."
Jack thought about losing his mom on a daily basis; was it fucked up that this was the thing bringing them closer? He pulled Mia into his chest, breathing in the faint scent of smoke that still clung to her hair. "You won't. You said it yourself, she's taking care of herself. She'll be okay."
Mia's fingers began dancing along the colors on Jack's ribs.
"Want to see?"
She nodded, and then she lifted the edge of his shirt enough to take in the ink. Her fingers traced along the lines and shapes etched into his skin; his heart raced at the feeling of her touch. "It looks really beautiful. I just wish you would have thought it through. I...I was paying for my half of the rent, even though I wasn't living here...because I thought you couldn't afford it on your own."
Jack knew she wasn't being completely honest. She knew he could afford it. She meant that she wasn't sure if he'd have enough left over to send home.
"I won a few fantasy pools, and, well, I just took the money and ran. It was impulsive. I know that. I don't make good decisions without you, Mia."
She sighed. "You're an adult. You should work on that."
Jack turned his head so she wouldn't see him roll his eyes. "I know."
They laid there for a bit longer before Mia pulled herself from bed, showered, and went off to run some errands. Once she was gone, Jack finally called his dad back and asked if it was okay to come over. His dad couldn't believe he had asked; Jack could hear his voice in his head, clear as ever: "You can always come home, Jacky boy."
***
Jack's parents' house was neat, cleanâit was a mystery as to how Jack hadn't picked up that trait from his father. For his entire life, Jack's dad played both parental roles, all the while being the loving, dutiful husband to a wife lost in herself. Jack considered his father to be the man Jack should have been.
"Dad? Ma?" He called out when the house was deathly silent as he walked in. He checked the garage, and sure enough, there was dad, moving boxes and rearranging things on the shelves upon the wall.
"Hey, son. Help me with this a second?"
Jack walked over to him and grabbed the other end of a box. Glass clinked inside.
"Careful," he warned.
Jack helped him ease it down. On the floor, he opened it to reveal a collection of bottles of varying emptiness. He picked up the nearly full one from another shelf and added it to the box.
"Fuck, dad. How long have you been collecting these? I thought you said you just found one the other day."
"I didn't want to worry you." He closed the lid and bent down to pick it up again; Jack helped him hide his mother's current vice.
They left the garage and Jack followed his father into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. He rummaged in one of the cabinets for a coffee filter and then filled it with grinds from the bright yellow canister he always kept on top of the fridge.
"Want a cup?" his dad asked.
"Sure. Little sugar, too."
Jack's dad eyed him with the suspicious eyes of a father. "You never take sugar."
"I know, but it helps." He raised the arm of his shirt to reveal a new patch.
Jack hadn't seen a smile break on his dad's face that wide in a long time. "Proud of you, Jack."
He rolled his eyes; he had a front to keep up. "Where's mom?"
"Sleeping, the last time I checked." He got up as the coffee pot dinged to signal it was finished. "I have some caramel syrup. Want that instead of sugar?"
"Actually, yeah. Thanks, dad."
He handed Jack an old mug, whatever words or images were once on it having almost completely faded. "Brought that one home the last time I visited your grandfather before he died. He was stubborn as ever, insisting I bring that one home for you. Said it was the only thing you'd drink out of the first time I brought you with me to Colombia, but he forgot to send it home with us."
Jack's face then scrunched, trying to make out the ghost of the image on the mug. "Why didn't you ever tell me that?"
"The moment I step back in this house, everything else consumes my brain."
"What else don't I know about him?"
Just as his dad opened his mouth, the creak of a door down the hall caught both of their ears; Jack pushed everything that was threatening to rise in his throat back down into his stomach; he'd deal with those emotions another time. Right now, he needed to stay calm when talking to his mother.
She made it into the kitchen slowly; she was frail, thinner than the last time he'd seen her, and there was a lag to her movements. He numbed the sensation of the prickling he felt in the back of his eyes.
"Hey, mom."
She turned to look at him, a barely there smile slowly building on her face. "What brings you here, Jack? Haven't seen you in quite a while."
"Just wanted to drop in. How're you feeling?"
The dramatics began as she shook her head. "My back has been insufferable. Takes me forever to get out of bed. The doctor gave me something for it, but the pain is just unbearable at times. Ever since I got pregnant with you, it hasn't been the same. Really messed this up for me, didn't you, you little devil of a boy?"
"That must be really frustrating," Jack said.
His father gave him a nod of thanks, knowing Jack hated playing into it. "Want some coffee, Carla?"
His mother slowly turned to face him. "Yes. Go light on the cream. You put too much in yesterday. You're always going overboard, Jer. Just simple, simple, simple. I always say that. Always remind you, but you never remember."
And like the ever dutiful husband he was, he said nothing. His mother turned back to Jack.
"How's Mia?" Carla asked.
"She's good. Apartment is good, too." Carla had no idea they'd ever broken up. It wasn't worth the conversation to tell her.
"You should bring her over for dinner one night. I'm sure your father can whip up something she likes."
"Yeah...maybe." Jack let Mia fill his head; he wanted to be better for her. He wanted to stop lying and dancing around issues. He saw the look of slight confusion take over his mother's face.
"Maybe? Why wouldn't you want to bring her over?"
Jerry gave Jack a cautionary glance, but he couldn't hold back. "Mia gets stressed out easily. I'm not sureâ"
"Not sure of what?" It never failed to impress Jack how quickly she could turn course.
"You know goddamn well what. Bringing her here is a terrible idea. She'll just worry the entire time."
Carla rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm telling you I'd like to have you and her over for dinner, so bring her over next weekend."
A deep breath helped keep Jack's breathing under control. "I'm not going to do that, mom. If you were serious aboutâ"
She laughed. "Don't forget who you're speaking with, young man. You have no right to speak to me all righteously and as if you know what you're talking about. This is my house, and I won't have youâ"
"Your house, huh? I haven't said anything. You won't let me say anything."
"I don't need to. You will not come here and disrespect me. You don't want to accept my invitation for dinner? Fine." She got up from the table, finger pointed in his face. "It's always been about you and what you want, never about me or our family. I'm sick, I'm always in pain, pain that you caused me, but you just can't see past what you want. It's not always about you, Jack."
Spit was flying from her mouth, and he braced for the impact of her palm on his cheek, but it never came. He held his tongue as she turned away. He held his tongue as his father looked at him, wanting to apologize but saying nothing.
When she was gone, Jerry coughed to break the tension. "She doesn't mean any of it. It's not her. If only you could have seen her when she was younger. Before all of...this."
"Right. Before she had me. Thanks for the coffee, dad." Jack stood from the table and left through the garage. On his way out, he grabbed the box of liquor bottles and put it in his trunk. The entire ride home, Jack kept one hand on the wheel and one on the patch on his arm, rubbing it furiously, refusing to break the promise he made to Mia.
***
The moment Jack got home, he changed into running clothes and sneakers and took off. He didn't know how far he would run or how long; he just knew he had to do something to keep his mind busy that didn't involve nicotine or anything harder.
When he returned, drenched in sweat and panting, he popped the trunk of his car, took out the box of bottles, and walked inside, nearly smacking into Mia, all dressed and ready for dinner with her family.
She looked into his eyes, eyes he knew she didn't recognize, and put a hand over one of his on the side of the box.
"Hey, what's going on? What is this?"
Jack's chest was still heaving. He looked down into the box and willed himself not to cry. "I took it from my parents' house. Can you grab the broom and pan and bring them out back before you go?"
Mia nodded, let him pass her, and then followed out after him a minute later. He walked down to the dumpster on their complex, hidden behind a concrete barrier, and set the box down.
By the time Mia caught up with him, he'd already smashed two of the bottles against it. She set the broom and pan down.
"Jack?" Her hand was on his back, and he turned to her, gently pushing her away.
"Go to dinner." He grabbed another and flung it full force into the concrete, liquor and glass shards shooting off in all directions.
Jack repeated this until all of the bottles lay in a broken heap by the bottom of the dumpster. When he turned around, he saw that Mia had tears in her eyes. "Why are you still here?"
"Jack, whatâ"
He came to her, held her face in his hands, and kissed her. "Go to dinner. It's okay. I'll talk to you when you get home."
She hesitated until he gave her a gentle push back towards their apartment.
Jack spent the next hour sweeping all of the glass into the pan and depositing it into the dumpster. He swept the entire area, making sure not a single piece remained. With the last bit he picked up to throw out, a rogue shard sliced his palm, the blood pooling at the surface of his skin quickly.
"Of course," he muttered to himself.
Back in the apartment, Jack cleaned out his hand and dressed it with things he found in Mia's first aid kit. She'd insist he go to the hospital when she got home; he'd remind her that he couldn't afford both an emergency room bill and the cost of his mother's addiction.
A/N: Oh, hello there â¤ï¸
Real talk for a second? I know this isn't as popular as my other books, and sometimes that gets to me. You know I'm my own worst critic, and questions like is this even good? what am I doing wrong? is it my writing? the story? me? Self-doubt is a powerful entity.
All that being said, I want you to know that I'm so grateful for those of you who are here and patient with my uploading schedule. YOU are the reason I write. All of this is for you, and I'm so happy you're here with me.
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xx,
L