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Goddammit.
“Go away, Clemmie. I’m sleeping,” I mumbled from behind the back of my hand to make it sound authentic. Took a swipe across my lips while I was at it to remove any residual liquor. Not sure if I was selling it or not, but hey, A for effort, right?
“It’s your father.” A deep voice had replaced the young female one I expected, and I bolted upright.
Whoa, easy there, room. No need to toss me about like that.
“Daddy, I’m beat. Can we talk in the morning?” I went with the hand-over-mouth trick again.
“I’ll just be a minute, honey. I’m coming in,” he announced while simultaneously twisting the doorknob.
Fuck me. Thank God I locked my door every time I walked in here. I loved my family with every cell in my body. They were amazing humans, and we had always been a very close crew. But couldn’t a girl just have some privacy? They barged in here at all hours of the night, no care for my work schedule—or sleep schedule, for that matter.
I glanced at the clock and winced when I saw the time. My body would’ve sworn it was coming up on midnight.
Nope. Seven p.m.
After a quick assessment of my room’s condition, I went to unlock the damn door. The vodka bottle was shoved under the quilt my grandmother made for me the year I started kindergarten. I slept with it almost every night because it kept me grounded and connected to the things that mattered. Or at least that was the woo-woo shit she told me when gifting it to me.
I hadn’t felt grounded in a long time.
Subdued considerably from the vodka, I poured it on heavier and mumbled, “Hey.”
My father strolled into the center of my room, hands in pockets, and made no attempt at hiding the visual inspection he was conducting.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” I accused impatiently. I was so not in the mood for this. My standards were a far cry from the rest of the family’s, except Clemson. She was as much of a slob as I was. Maybe worse.
“I just don’t understand how you can live like this, Dah.” He turned in slow circles, surveying my room. “I’m one hundred percent positive your mother taught all you girls how to clean up after yourselves. How can you be productive in an environment like this?” With perfect timing to his comments, he stopped turning when he was facing me just as he finished talking.
“Dad, I’m so tired. I have an article due in the morning and haven’t finished it yet.” I rubbed both temples with two fingers and finished telling him my plan before I got a lecture about that too.
“Here’s the thing, honey. Your mother shouldn’t still have to clean your room for you.”
“She doesn’t have to, you’re right?—”
“You see, this is our house. Our investment. We hate to see any part of it looking so shabby. On top of that, it feels disrespectful to us as individuals because separately, we’ve both asked you to keep after your own space.”
“I’ve just been super busy, Daddy. And then the unexpected trip to Vegas.” I waved my hand in the air in some random pattern. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up when I get home from the office tomorrow.”
“You said that last week. And the week before. At this point, I’m done requesting politely. If you can’t do what’s expected, you can go find your own place to disrespect and trash.”
“This isn’t trashed.” My immediate thought slipped right through any filter I should’ve had in place. By his body language, I could tell he didn’t care for the reply at all. My father held my stare until it became uncomfortable for us both. My stupid mouth operated on its own accord again, and I spurted out, “I’ve been looking for a place on my lunch breaks anyway. The commute is getting ridiculous, and gas prices are so high…”
One brow raised, he finally said, “All right, that’s good. Let me know if you need any help or want me to look at anything with you.” We were both quiet until he finally said, “I’ll let you get some sleep, then.” He leaned close and kissed the top of my head. “Bit early, no?” he asked on his way to the door.
“We partied pretty hard the past few days. I’m wiped out,” I offered as an excuse. Well, it wasn’t really a lie. I was genuinely exhausted.
He turned back one last time while going through my door. With his nose scrunched, he said, “I thought I smelled vodka. Must still be coming out of your pores.” He chuckled then and gave his head a little shake. Probably mentally reminiscing about his younger, wilder days. Thankfully, instead of launching into a story from his college days, he just continued to grin while closing my door.
I slapped the wall light switch off and flopped backward onto my bed. Forgetting that bottle was under the covers, I knocked the back of my head on the thick glass.
“Fuck.” I gritted my teeth, trying to muffle the volume of my reaction. “Good one, Dah,” I muttered to myself and rubbed the spot where surely a lump would form.
Up again, I trudged back to the light switch and turned it on. With my current headspace, I’d break a toe too if I kept it off. I fished the bottle from beneath the blanket and inspected it. I would’ve sworn that bottle was at least half full. I’d only taken a couple swigs from it, and now it was nearly gone.
Clemson was probably sneaking into my room while I wasn’t here and helping herself. Made the most sense at least. Whatever. I set the bottle on my desk and vowed to throw it away in the morning when I got up. The last thing I needed was another lecture—from either my parents or my new spouse.
Lights out, covers up to my chin, I let sleep engulf me. I didn’t dream very often the way I used to. I loved dreaming and escaping back through them the next day. There seemed to be so many hidden meanings and messages in the movies our subconscious minds played for us.
