Stopping at the door, I take a deep, fortifying breath and glance at my watch.
Twenty minutes. In and out.
I knock twice and open the door. Every light in the house is on, the TV is blaring, and Dad is in his normal spot on the end of the couch. Head tipped back, mouth open, he’s snoozing away. I grab the remote to turn the volume down and walk into the kitchen, wondering if I can get the groceries unloaded and slip out before he wakes up.
Hoisting the bags onto the counter, I unpack them, tucking everything in its rightful spot, knowing he’ll rearrange it as soon as I leave. I’m restocking the lazy Susan when a can of green beans slips from my hand and smacks the linoleum floor.
Dad startles awake, wipes the drool from his cheek with his arm, and glares at me from across the room.
“What the hell did I tell you about sneaking up on me like that? Doesn’t anyone know how to knock? You’re just as bad as your sister. Where the hell is she anyway? Haven’t seen her in days.”
This is how dad talks. Bitch, bitch, bitch with a question or two thrown in there that he doesn’t give you a chance to answer, followed by… Wait for it…wait for it…
“You deaf, boy? Answer me.”
“I wasn’t sneaking up on you. You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you. Yes, I know how to knock, but what’s the use? You’re too lazy to get up and answer the door. And Chloe is busy with school, which is probably why you haven’t seen her in a few days. Although, it could also be because you’re mean. You make it hard for anyone to want to come see you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I give him a look. “You know what that means. You’re angry, demanding, and rude. We do everything for you—pay your bills, buy your groceries, maintain the house and lawn, make sure you’ve got everything you could possibly need even though you don’t deserve it, and not once have you said thank you. Would it kill you to show a little gratitude?”
“I wouldn’t be so damn crabby if you’d buy me a bottle of Jack.” He nods toward the groceries on the counter. “Don’t suppose you stopped by the liquor store on your way here, did ya?”
Did he even hear a word I said? “No, I didn’t stop by liquor store. Why would I do that when you’ve been sober for a month?”
“Six weeks,” he mumbles.
“What was that?
”
“Six weeks,” he yells. “It’s been six damn weeks. Worst six weeks of my pathetic life.”
I glance at my watch. Ten more minutes. In and out. And while I’m at it, I grab my phone. Still nothing from Adley. Dammit. I’m giving her twenty more minutes, and then I’m calling her.
“Just remember what Dr. Pollard said.” I tuck my phone back in my pocket.
Dad grunts, waves me off, and grabs the remote. He turns the volume up, making it impossible to carry on a conversation, which is fine with me.
Four years ago, dad had a little scare. He ended up in the hospital, and Dr. Pollard gave him a grave warning: “It’s alcohol, or your life. Pick one.”
He’s gone through rehab, attended countless AA meetings, and I’ve watched him pour bottles of liquor down the drain. But it never lasts, and there’s no reason to believe it will this time either.
Like every other time he’s quit, I’ve offered to get him help or find him some form of support, but he’s flat-out refused. I have no idea what spurred the change in him this time, and quite frankly, I don’t care.
He’ll either stay sober and enjoy what’s left of his life, or he’ll fall off the wagon and drink himself into an early grave, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Tucking away the cereal, I shut the cabinet door and grab the dirty rag off the counter, along with a string of clothes littered throughout the house.
Dad’s eyes track me across the living room. “I don’t need you to clean up after me.”
Lucky for him, I’m still riding the high of having Adley in my bed, and I’m in no mood to argue, so I don’t respond. I continue to the back of the house, toss the dirty laundry into the washer, pour in detergent, and press start.
Looking at my watch, I smile. Time’s up.
“I’m out,” I say, striding through the living room. “Don’t forget the fabric softener. Call if you need anything.”
Dad grunts the way he normally does. I’m halfway out the door when he switches up our routine and calls out to me.