Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I reached for the handle on the door and Sebastian’s hand clamped on my right arm, stopping me. “Is your mom homophobic?”
I huffed out a bitter laugh. “I’ve always hated that word. Phobic? She’s not scared of me. No, she just hates gay people.”
“And yet she relies completely on you for her survival and the care of her eldest son.” Sebastian sounded like he was talking through his teeth.
“It is what it is, but don’t drag Ronnie into this. It has nothing to do with him. None of this situation is his fault.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I flashed Sebastian the best smile I could manage and got out of the car while I still could.
Sebastian followed me, a silent, supportive shadow. During the walk up to the house, I felt a hundred times more aware of the brown patchy grass, the cracks stretching across the sidewalks, worn shutters, filthy windows, and dirt-crusted siding. The entire building needed to be overhauled. Or better yet, torn down. Every step felt like a wide gulf was opening between us. Sebastian had a warm, loving, accepting family made up of financially stable and productive people.
And then there were my mom and me. Everything Sebastian knew about me and my life felt like a cheap plastic Halloween mask, and I was about to rip it off to reveal the true ugliness beneath.
As I reached the door, I stopped and sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. It was like an old set of armor clicked into place around my body, so she couldn’t touch me with her hate-filled words. A hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed, reminding me that for the first time, I wasn’t alone.
I knocked before I used my key to unlock the door. “Mom? Are you awake?” I called into the dimly lit house, even though I’d heard her shuffling through the kitchen and the clink of glass bottles. Hot, stale air laced with the lingering scent of old beer hit me square in the face. “I brought a friend for you to meet,” I continued when she didn’t answer.
“What the hell you want?” she demanded, followed by the telltale scrape of her slippers across the linoleum.
She appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, where she glared at me and Sebastian. A loose ponytail held her dark brown-and-gray hair. The old T-shirt she wore was stained and hung on her awkwardly, making her look even more skeletal. Little holes riddled her black jogging pants. I’d tried getting her new clothes that fit her frame better, but she never wore them. Instead, she opted for the same two or three T-shirts and the same couple of pairs of sweat pants.
“I wanted to stop by and see if you needed anything.”
“Who’s that?” she snapped, her eyes locked on Sebastian. She seemed more lucid than my last few visits, but I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“This is my friend, Sebastian.”
“Friend? What kind of friend?” Her nose wrinkled at the last word as if it were something disgusting.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Graham,” Sebastian chimed in. “Your son and I are work friends. He was kind enough to invite me to hang out with him this weekend.”
An ugly scoff jumped from her as she continued to shuffle into the living room, where she dropped onto the sagging cushion of the ancient brown couch. “Hang out? Is that what you call it when you’re fucking my son?”
In a flash, my face felt like it was on fire, but I held my tongue. I’d learned the hard way that arguing and reprimanding her only made it a hundred times worse. It was smarter to not engage at all.
“I’m going to check the fridge and pantry before putting in a grocery order for you,” I said as my hands snatched up old soda cans, empty beer bottles, and half-eaten food containers from the coffee table and took them into the kitchen. Thankfully, Sebastian followed my lead and didn’t speak.
“Did you know my son is one of them fags?” she announced as if she couldn’t stand that we were ignoring her incendiary remark. Usually her digs flew right past me, but today each word was a bullet finding all the chinks in my armor.
“His father and I didn’t raise him to be like that. They say they’re born that way, but that’s a lot of bullshit. He picked it up at college. He paid all that money to turn himself into a dirty whore. Turned his back on God.”
I rolled my eyes. Same old song and dance with her. Nothing new in her routine, which allowed me to tune her out.
“Are you originally from this part of Kentucky?” Sebastian asked, bravely attempting to change the subject to something different and less controversial. “I grew up across the river in Ohio.”