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I get that my mom’s life wasn’t the easiest. She got pregnant with me before college and ended up marrying my dad although they had nothing in common except a desire to make their mark on the world and be seen doingit.
Through nannies and force of will she got through undergrad and law school. Now my mom has half a law practice, sits on the board of two charities, and still insists on cooking family dinner Sundaynight.
But my mom is extra enough without escalating to recreational or medicinal druguse.
I grab her wrist and drag her out the front door, dropping onto the bench in front of thedispensary.
“What’s really going on?” Idemand.
She lifts her chin as if I’m being ridiculous but finally relents. “It’s your brother. He’s acting out. He hasn’t signed up for his usual extracurriculars. He was removed from his economics class. If this doesn’t stop, it will affect his chances of getting intoBrown.”
“The horror,” I say, trying to sound as if I care and half pulling itoff.
She lowers her voice. “It’s not only about admissions. His classmate went to the hospital last week to have his stomach pumped from stolenpills.”
And there itis.
It’s not surprising, but it still sucks. Those kinds of stories weren’t unusual when I was in high school. Apparently, not much has changed. Everyone’s parents are concerned with admissions to Ivy schools and who’s hosting the parties on long weekends. No one wants to talk about this part. It’s not pretty orfun.
My mom’s gaze flicks back to the door. “I reasoned that if I was going to get painkillers, at least I’d get something that wouldn’t hurt him if he found them. I already have these, but they look like they have a lot ofcalories.”
She reaches into her black briefcase, unzips an interior pocket, and discreetly lifts a clear bag with what looks like gummy bears init.
My brows shoot up, and the burning in my stomachintensifies.
I’m going back to those antacids when I get upstairs to myoffice.
A black car squeaks into a spot by the curb, and something tells me it’s forher.
“Mom, those are not going to help. Neither is what’s in there.” I nod toward the dispensary. “Trustme.”
My mother starts to tuck the bag away, and I hold out ahand.
Living in Philly for the last six years, I got used to not seeing the family drama all the time. It’s amazing how it can all but disappear, but now that I’m home, even though I live thirty blocks away, it’s almost as if I neverleft.
I should let them do what they want. I shouldn’t care, but I remember Wes’s question about why Beck’s doing what heis.
The bottom line is they’re still my family. I didn’t pick them, but I can’t walk awayeither.
“I’ll talk to Beck,” I press. “See if I can get to the bottom ofthis.”
With a sigh, she hands over the bag and I tuck it away. “Fine. But come for dinner Sunday. Wear a dress. The kind that covers your midriff. And take your hair out of that ridiculous ponytail. You look like aboy.”
Even though it was my suggestion, I feel as though I’ve been played before she slides the Chanel sunglasses onto her face and disappears into the car, her black briefcase the last thing I see before the doorshuts.
6
Wes
“What are these doing here?”I stare at the box of National Geographic magazines sitting on the hall floor of the three-bedroom Jerseybungalow.
“I was going to recycle them,” my mom calls, appearing in the kitchen doorway wearing jeans and a yellowsweater.
I close the front door behind me and take off my shoes. I left my jacket and tie at school, and rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt before getting on thesubway.
I lift one of the magazines, which has a man scaling a 1500-year-old redwood tree on the cover. My dad used to read those magazines tome.
Eventually, I read them to him. By the end he was so out of it from painkillers he barely knew I was there, but that didn’t dissuademe.
