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The rest of the day goes exactly as days like these normally do. My mom and I don’t leave her room, watching trash TV all day. Except this time Ian is around, popping in and out to bring me a Diet Coke, to set up the dehumidifier, to bring some snacks. I can barely concentrate on the TV shows, knowing he’s in the house but not in the room, and every time he does walk into the room, I feel my heart pitch backward down my spine, like a diver taking off from the highest beam.
I didn’t feel anything like this for Anna, Greg, or any other person I’ve dated or fucked or fooled around with. But how could I? I’ve never let anyone in the way I have Ian. And I don’t know that I let Ian in so much as he sort of . . . wandered his way in. Maybe he took a wrong turn somewhere.
When eventually my mom takes a sleeping pill, I go downstairs. She won’t need me again until she wakes up and she won’t wake up for ten hours at least. She once took a sleeping pill and slept through a thunderstorm so violent, it downed three trees in our backyard.
I’m not sure where Ian is, but I have one more task to accomplish before I can call it a night, so I beeline for the kitchen to get started.
The kitchen is both empty and immaculate. Ian is nowhere to be seen, but he’s obviously been in here. It’s been cleaned, swept, mopped, and the trash and recycling have been taken out. It looks as though a professional cleaning service has been here.
“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself. I send off a quick thank-you text to Ian, not sure where he is at the moment, but it doesn’t even begin to touch the depth of my gratitude.
Ian Davidson is too good for this world. And he is definitely too good for me.
When I’ve composed myself, I use a folding chair to get into the cabinets above the fridge—her first hiding spot. There isn’t much left, but what is there is full and unopened. I crack it open and turn it upside down in the sink.
“How’s your mom?” Ian asks, his voice from behind startling me.
I jolt and press my hand over my racing heart. “Fucking hell, Ian. Warn a girl. She’s fine. Dead to the world now. Took a sleeping pill that might as well be a bear tranquilizer.”
“Wow. Any chance she’s willing to share?”
“She might be, but you’ll have to ask her tomorrow afternoon when she rises from the dead.”
Ian chuckles. “Want a hand?” He gestures to the sink, where the bottle has finished emptying.
“Can you check under the sink? There should be more there.”
“I dumped what was under the sink this morning.”
“Really?” I ask, turning my gaze up to his, my eyes wide.
He just nods, a serious look on his face. “You said we needed to dump all the alcohol in the house.”
“So you’re telling me you cleaned my kitchen to perfection and then dumped all the alcohol under the sink?”
“I also dumped the alcohol in the fridge and the garage fridge. I assume there’s more spots, like that one”—he points to above the fridge—“that I don’t know about. But if it was on the first level of the house or your bedroom or bathroom, it’s gone.”
I almost tell him I love him. I don’t love him, but what he’s done is so kind and thoughtful and good that if I were capable of loving someone, I’m pretty sure this would be a good reason to do so.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask.
“No? Is that— I’m sorry, should I?—?”
I drop the empty bottle in the sink. Taking his face in my hands, I crush my lips against his, cutting off his words with a kiss. It’s all I can think to do. “Thank you” just doesn’t cut it. I don’t think any words will at this point.
When I break the kiss, Ian’s eyes are full of longing.
“Is there more alcohol to dump, or can I kiss you again?” he asks.
“One more spot,” I say, but I give him a quick kiss anyway.
My mom thinks I don’t know all her hiding spots for her booze, but I was an overburdened teenager who liked to party, so I found her secret stash years ago.
Ian follows me into the living room, where I open a small coat closet. I locate a box at the back and drag it out into the open. It’s just a cardboard box, and if anyone else saw it, they might think it held old shoes or purses. Instead, there’s a six-pack of beer and a few fifths of vodka.
Ian grabs a vodka bottle and the six-pack and takes them to the kitchen. I follow him with the other two bottles, and after filling the recycling bin, the house is free of alcohol.
My mom won’t leave the house again until Tuesday at the earliest, and by then, the danger will have passed.
