Breakaway

by Sophia Henry

  When she told me she sold the house to have savings for retirement, I knew she was lying. If she wanted to save for retirement, she would get a job. Despite knowing how she used the money I gave her, and why she sold the house I bought her, I still helped. There was a part of me that thought if I took care of her, she’d change.

  But now I know I’m just enabling her. Maybe I’m killing her. I’d already seen her overdose twice. She’s probably been at that point multiple times since, but I don’t want to know. It’s time to say goodbye.

  “Here,” I say quickly, letting go of her hand and reaching for the backpack I have slung over my shoulder.

  Since I vowed never to give her money again, I filled the bag with essentials—toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, deodorant, and water—as well as a few things I figured she probably needs, like shoes, socks, and underwear. I also slipped in some gift cards that will let her buy things at grocery, convenience, and clothing stores.

  I never thought I’d be taking care of a parent like this so early, but I know she doesn’t think of the necessities. I put it all in a backpack because I don’t know if she has a place to store the stuff, and a backpack is easy to carry.

  Mom’s bony fingers circle the handle on the top of the bag. I reach up and slide my hand through her thin, brittle hair, now peppered with wiry, gray strands where full, light-brown locks used to be.

  “Can I take you to get a cut?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and bats my hand away. “It’s all right.”

  “Ma, let me do something.”

  “You have, Luke. You came to see me.”

  Mom doesn’t get too affectionate anymore, so anything I get gives me a rush. But when her hand moves toward my cheek, I flinch involuntary. She catches it and snatches her hand back. Her eyes flash, showing life where there was none just a moment ago. That split second transforms her previous indifference to anger.

  “Sorry, Mister High and Mighty. I forgot that you’re too good for me to touch you.” She tightens her grip on the backpack and steps away from me.

  “Ma,” I plead, reaching for her. “It’s not like that. I…”

  It’s not in my heart to continue, because it is like that, isn’t it? I do feel superior to her, don’t I? Who knows what she’s touched, or the last time she washed her hands. She’s a fucking junkie living on the streets despite all my attempts to help her clean up.

  But I won’t admit that to her. Despite everything, I wouldn’t hurt her intentionally. I don’t want to be that kind of person. “I needed to see you, Ma.”

  “Why? To show off how happy you are? To rub it in that you’re better than me? You lived here too, Luke.”

  “Not by choice,” I growl.

  Mom snarls. “You could have gotten a job and helped pay some bills after your father died. You could’ve stepped up and been a man like he was. But you didn’t. You chose hockey like a selfish brat. You chose hockey over me. And now this is where I am.”

  Her words cut like the rusty steak knife she’d slashed across my palm when I was twelve, after she found out I stole a bag of weed from the stash she was keeping for a boyfriend. She thought I swiped it for myself and my friends, but I didn’t. I traded it to the high school kid who worked the counter at the ice rink in exchange for skate rental and ice fees. After a few weeks, he felt sorry for me. He gave me a pair of his old skates and let me skate for free any time he worked.

  I thought pursuing my dream to play hockey was helping the family. I worked my ass off to be the best. The fastest, the strongest, the hardest worker on the ice. Making it to the WHL, the AHL, and the NHL isn’t easy. I thought once I made it, I’d be able to take care of her.

  Except I didn’t really understand what addiction was. I bought her the house as soon as I had the money. A small part of me hoped that having a place to go with no worries about mortgage payments would give her a sense of stability. She hadn’t had real stability since Dad died. I hoped that would be the first step. Once she was safe and settled, I could talk to her about rehab.

  In hindsight, I probably should have switched the order. What did I know? I was just a kid trying to realize my own dream while doing what I thought was the best thing to help Mom.

  “I’m gonna go, Ma,” I say. “I’m, I’m not coming back this time.”

  “Sure. Walk away, Luke. It’s all you’ve ever done.”

  My hands shake at my sides, so I stuff them into my pockets. I used to ignore her comments and try to let them roll off my back because I know it’s the disease talking—the depression, the addiction.

  I can’t say it doesn’t hurt like hell when my mother spews the words that lance straight through my heart and into my deepest insecurities.

  But this time I’m angry and fed up—and over it. Her life is her own. I can’t waste any more of mine trying to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. I can’t keep coming back here to DTES to relive all the horrible situations Mom put me in.

  “Fuck that, Ma! Fuck that! I’ve done everything I possibly can for you and you know it,” I yell. Despite my anger and frustration, I tack on a mumbled “I love you” before turning around.

  “Luke!” she calls out.

  Hope fuels the speed with which I spin around. Maybe she’ll return some of the feelings I’ve expressed now that I’ve let her know I’m never coming back.

  “You got any cash on you?” She rubs her eye with her knuckles, then wipes at her nose, her hand jerking from one place to another.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Fuck you, Luke. You’re a fucking liar,” she yells at me as I walk away.

  I don’t look back, though Mom is still cussing me out. I hold my head up and keep walking down Hastings back toward Gastown. Once I’m far enough away that I know Mom can’t see me, I pull out my phone and call Nick.

  “Meet me at Steamworks,” I tell him, referring to the local brewery just up the road from where I am. “I need a beer—or twelve.”

  Beer and a visit with Nick are exactly what I need to ease some of my anxiety about leaving my mom behind for the last time—or at least what I need to take my mind off of it. The finality of it is crushing me on the inside.

  There’s always a wave of mental anguish and self-loathing reminding me that I should be stronger, that I shouldn’t have to rely on drinking to handle a bump on the road of life. It was scary enough when I had to ask for help weaning myself off painkillers after my surgery. Those pills took away all feelings, and it was fucking amazing, but I never want to go back to that. A nagging voice in the back of my mind keeps telling me I’m going to end up back in DTES, sharing a room in an SRO with my addict mom. Instead of scaring me straight, it makes me wish I didn’t have to catch a flight later, and could just drink until I pass out on Nick’s couch.

  Because so far, drowning myself in mind-altering substances has been the only way for me to block out the past and the pain.

  Chapter 18

  Bree

  Though our shift ended at 3:30 p.m., Tonya and I aren’t able to leave the hospital until an hour after that. I suppose the life of a nurse is similar to a life in any other profession in the sense that you can’t leave until your work for the day is done, especially something time sensitive. The difference in our case is that time sensitive might literally mean life or death.

  “Why are you bouncing?” Tonya asks. We’re standing on the corner waiting for the light at Brunswick to turn green so we can cross Kings Drive.

  “It’s our weekend, T!” I say, bouncing on my toes, unable to control my excitement. After working four ten-hour shifts this week, both Tonya and I have the next three days off.

  Her lips twist and she looks at me. “That’s not a weekend bounce. That’s an I’m-’bout-to-get-laid bounce.”

  I snort, but keep my mouth closed.

  “You’re head over heels, aren’t you?” Tonya asks as we hustle across the street. The light doesn’t stay green long.

  “Yes.”

&
nbsp; “What did I tell you about him?”

  “T,” I begin. “Do I say anything about your love life?”

  “What do you have to say about my love life? My husband and I have been married for seventeen years.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh, no, you didn’t just put your nose in my business.”

  I turn toward her, tilting my head with an if-the-shoe-fits look.

  “Fine,” she huffs. “I just—”

  “Ah, ah, ah!” I raise a hand to stop her while holding open the door to the Philadelphia for her. She scoots past me and goes right to our booth. It’s in the back corner of the front section of the restaurant. The rounded corner booth has seats for about four people, while a couple more can take the chairs across the table. Mindy, who I saw during the six-hour swing shift she worked today, is meeting us there. A few other people from the hospital always show up, as well.

  I’m especially pumped because Luke texted me when he got home from his trip to Vancouver last night to ask me if I wanted to go to the U.S. National Whitewater Center with him tomorrow. Despite my reservations about getting involved, I haven’t stopped thinking about him since he left.

  Even though I know we’ll have a server, I go to the bar and order a glass of Pinot Grigio and bottle of beer. I like to make it easy for the staff when we bombard them at the end of a shift. The Philadelphia is not a craft-brew kind of place, so I settle for beer-flavored water in an amber bottle.

  I set the glass of Pinot in front of Tonya, then slide into the tattered vinyl booth next to her.

  “Did he go to Jack’s memorial service?” she asks.

  “He did.”

  “How was it? He was broken up, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” I take a sip of my beer. “But he did well. He said beautiful things about Jack. I know it gave Ally comfort.”

  “You can tell a lot about a person when you see how they act around kids,” Tonya says.

  “I agree.” I nudge her with my knee under the table. “Are you doing a one-eighty? You just told me to stay away from him.”

  “I’m thinking about it. You might be just what he needs in his life.”

  I scratch at the corner of the label on the beer bottle with my fingernail and try to conceal my smile. “He might be what I need in mine.”

  Tonya knocks my shoulder with hers. “I thought it was just a casual hookup?”

  I nod. “It was supposed to be.”

  “But?” Tonya asks before taking a sip of her wine.

  “It turned into an ongoing hookup. Which was all I wanted.”

  “But?” she asks again.

  Instead of looking at Tonya, I focus my gaze on the silver label on my beer bottle. “Then Jack’s memorial service happened, and it sort of shifted things. He was so vulnerable and exposed.” I look up at her. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Don’t explain. Tell me about sex with that man. I always thought about how you could just grab onto his hair and…” Tonya holds her clenched fists up and circles her hips.

  “Stop. Please stop.” Leave it to Tonya to take something emotional and turn it back to sex. It’s one of those things I love about her. We spend enough time being serious and responsible at work. It’s nice to be able to let loose and have a laugh.

  Thankfully, Mindy rounds the corner of the wall at the front entrance. “Hey, ladies!”

  “Thank goodness you’re here!” I exclaim. Tonya bumps my shoulder with hers and brings her fist to her mouth to cover her laugh.

  As Mindy slides into the booth next to me, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

  “Look at this.” I hold my phone up so my friends can see all the texts from my dad. He’s been blowing up my phone all day.

  We want to send Mason out to see you. When would be a good time?

  I been waiting for you to call.

  When should we fly him out there, Brianna? He needs a change of scenery.

  Check your email. I sent you flight times.

  “Who’s Mason and why do they want to send him out here so badly?” Mindy asks.

  “Mason is my slacker brother. They want to send him here so they don’t have to pass by him lying on their couch every day anymore.” I shake my head and lower my phone, switching the button to silent before setting it on the table. I don’t want Mason here. Charlotte is supposed to be a stress-free getaway for me.

  “Why don’t they send him somewhere fun, like Mexico?” Tonya asks. “Tijuana is just over the border from y’all, right?”

  I laugh. “Well, Mexico would be a vacation. And Mason has been on an extended vacation since he got injured. Now they want him to get off his ass and do something with his life. Dad is especially concerned, as you saw with all the text messages. He’s had unrealistic expectations for Mason since he was born, but it’s gotten really out of hand now that a hockey career is no longer an option.”

  “Sounds like a father with only one son,” Tonya says.

  “Yep. A son he wanted to do all the things he didn’t get to do, like play professional hockey.”

  “Why didn’t your dad play pro? Didn’t you say he was some big star in college?” Tonya asks.

  “Yeah. He was, but he met Mom, and she didn’t want to be a hockey wife. He chose to marry her instead of pursuing his career.”

  Tonya exhales a whistle as she leans back against the booth. “Your mom must be a fine piece of ass.”

  I pause to think about how to describe my high-strung, aggressive, yet still tree-hugging mother. “I suppose all of the things Dad liked about her back then are the same things he doesn’t like about her now. She’s smart, independent, a bit cunning—in the business sense—and she has never been the kind of person to sit around and wait for a man. She started her first business in college.”

  “What kind of business?” Mindy asks.

  I pause, kicking myself for starting this part of the conversation. I don’t like people to think I’m bragging about my family’s success. “Healthy Girl.”

  “As in Healthy Girl granola bars?” Mindy asks. Then she reaches to the floor, grabs her purse, and sets it in her lap. After digging around for a few seconds, she pulls out the trademark hot-pink, black, and white wrapper of a Healthy Girl granola bar. “This is your mom’s company?”

  I nod.

  “Did your dad stay at home?” Tonya asks.

  “Yeah, right.” I laugh out loud at the thought of either of my parents staying home with their kids. That’s why we had Gemma, our British nanny. “My dad’s official title is Cofounder and Vice President of Everything.”

  “We’re sitting with health-food royalty,” Mindy says as our waiter places a cup of ice and a can of Pepsi in front of her. “Your mom is famous.”

  “Not really.” I shake off the comment, though Mom would love to hear someone say that. She likes to be recognized. I’m not knocking her, believe me. As hard she’s worked her entire life, she deserves praise for her accomplishments. Sami Collins doesn’t know the definition of vacation. I know I got my work ethic from her. Can’t say the same for Mason.

  “Here’s what I don’t get,” Tonya interjects. “If your parents are such successful workaholics, why don’t they make him get off his ass and get a job?”

  “They’re trying. I mean, not very hard, because they still let him live at home rent-free. Dad once said that he thought Mason was faking the injury, but a concussion isn’t really something you can fake, with as many doctors as Mason saw. All of them said the same thing. Plus, Mason loves hockey too much. If he could be playing, he would be.”

  “What does your mom say?” Mindy asks, pouring her Pepsi over the ice.

  “Mom’s too busy working on the next project and networking to pay much attention to her twenty-four-year-old son. But, deep down, I know it hurts her to see him wasting his life. She wanted her son to be a successful professional hockey player just as much as Dad did.”

  “What about Mason? What does he want?” Tonya asks.
/>   “Mason wants…” I stop. I don’t know. He never wanted to give up hockey, but he’d already come to terms with the fact that he’d never play again. He wasn’t happy, but I think he understood. “I’m not sure what Mason wants,” I admit.

  “Your brother needs to suck it up and get his ass off the couch,” Tonya declares, before draining the last sip of wine in her glass.

  I love how she says what she thinks. And she’s right. Even without knowing our entire backstory.

  “Yep.” I lift my beer to the girls. “Which is why I’m here in Charlotte, thousands of miles away from that stress.”

  Tonya and Mindy clink their glasses against my bottle.

  “Speaking of whack jobs,” Tonya begins.

  I almost choke. “Are you talking about my family?”

  She doesn’t answer, just tilts her head toward my phone and purses her lips as if waiting for me to challenge her. I don’t, because she’s got a point.

  “What I meant was, don’t get involved with Dr. Waverly,” she continues. I follow her gaze to the front of the restaurant where a tall, handsome man just walked in. “That boy is prettier than Derek Jeter but I hear he has mirrors and pictures of himself all over his bedroom. Ask Mindy.”

  “Really Tonya?” Mindy asks, eyes ablaze. “Are we airing our dirty laundry right now? Because I have a few things locked away about you.” Mindy taps her temple.

  “Shit. You don’t have anything on me.” Tonya waves a hand at her.

  I laugh, happy the conversation has turned away from my family. I still have a few more weeks left in my assignment, and even that seems too soon to jump back into my old life. I still have more to prove to my family of overachieving workaholics.

  —

  On the drive back to my apartment, I decide to rip off the Band-Aid and call my parents. The ride home takes roughly ten minutes, so I have a built-in time limit.

  “Y’ello,” Dad says. He’s greeted callers the same way my entire life. The corniness always makes me smile.

  “Hey, Pops. What’s shakin’?” I ask.