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I turned over, wishing the room would stop moving like a boat on the water, a sure sign that I drank too much, and willed sleep to come.
The next morning, I woke feeling like I had cotton in my mouth and a cleaver in my head. Groaning, I made it to my bathroom where I downed water and pain reliever, brushed my teeth and then headed downstairs to start breakfast.
“Mommy,” Hannah trotted into the kitchen wearing her pajamas and mermaid slippers. Her usually sweet voice rattled around in my brain making me wince.
“Inside voice, baby.”
“I am using my inside voice,” she said, her round face contorting into a quizzical frown.
I hadn’t been hungover since that summer six years ago. Ash had been the one to sit with me as I puked my guts out. At the time, I’d had a crush on him, but we weren’t together yet. I remember being mortified, and at the same time thinking how sweet he was to hold my hair out of my face for me as I wretched.
“Can you set the table, Ms. Banana?” I said, referring to her Hannah-Banana nickname. “Pancakes are almost ready.”
She blew out a breath, clearly not liking being put to work. I brought her plate to the table and helped her into her booster seat.
“Not too much syrup. Pancakes don’t need to swim.”
She laughed. “You’re funny mommy.”
I brought my plate and sat with her, but I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to eat. My stomach roiled at the sight and smell of the syrup.
“Did you have fun with Morgan?” I asked her as I sipped water instead.
“Yep.” Hannah forked a large piece of pancake and shoved it in her mouth. I studied her. Her features favored me with her blonde hair and blue eyes. But there was no mistaking Ash in her as well. The shape of her eyes and slight cleft in her chin were all from Ash. She was probably the reason I couldn’t hate him completely. I’d have rather we raised her together, but he forfeited that right when he left and refused to respond to my letter telling him about my pregnancy.
Guilt flared in my gut. Now that he and I were talking, I really should tell him. And yet, we weren’t forming a long-term relationship. We were engaged in a business deal, and then we wouldn’t see each other again. Especially if I followed through on my idea to relocate to the west coast. Once I liquidated all our assets to pay our debts, I’d be free. I had to hope Ben would use his portion, plus whatever he got from Ash’s buyout of Jet to get help, but it was time that I focused on pursuing my own life and raising Hannah. I had no clue what I’d do career-wise, but I had skills. I felt confident I could get a job or maybe I’d start my own consulting business. Either way, out west, Hannah and I could have a fresh start. Ben could come too, but only if he got his shit together.
There was a bang against the door, and then noise as if someone was trying to use their key.
Speak of the devil, I thought. Hannah seemed to ignore it, although she was used to Ben’s behavior, which was another reason I needed to get her away from him.
I rose from the table and went to the door to let him in. He stumbled in as I opened the door.
“I had it.” His voice slurred and his eyes were glassy. He’d probably had his last drink of the night ten minutes ago. He bumped into the side table, bounced away until he hit the couch. He was like a pinball, which would have been funny if it wasn’t so tragic.
“Are you hungry? Want coffee?” I asked, hating that Hannah had to witness this, but I needed to get food or coffee into him.
“Nah…” He pushed me away as I tried to steady him, but it only served to put him off balance. I was able to maneuver him to the couch, where he tumbled down. I think he passed out before his head hit the cushion.
I reminded myself of the tremendous pressure he was under. Pressure he wasn’t ready to take on as my father got ill and died. He’d loved managing Jet and had been successful enough to invest in a few other restaurant ventures without Ash. But he wasn’t ready to take on my father’s empire. The stress of it led to his increased drinking which contributed to the company’s current financial difficulties. I was hoping that selling most of our assets would prevent us from having to declare bankruptcy. While I didn’t care so much about the stigma of going broke, I hated to ruin my father’s legacy.
