Ch. 20

My dad leaves for his conference, as promised, three days after Christmas. Mommy celebrates by staying in bed, quite out of the ordinary for her. Before he left, Daddy gave me a bunch of money.

"Here, Sweetpea, for groceries and stuff, okay?"

"Sure, thanks."

"Be a good girl, Gracie, I'll see you in the new year." He plants a quick kiss on my forehead and dashes out the door with his suitcase and briefcase. It looks like he packed for a year, not just five days.

I text Chris to ask if he wants to come with me to the grocery store. I have to take a taxi if Mom doesn't get up, and I'm not going to hold my breath. Instead Chris messages back that Andrea is going to take me, since she has to go anyway. I throw on my coat and run across the yard. When I get in their house Ian is sitting in the living room.

"Here again, Grace? Nothing better to do than slum it with the neighbours?" Ian says, glancing up from the TV.

"Actually, I'm going grocery shopping with Andrea because my dad left until after New Year's and my mom's in bed again, and there's no food in the house. I have to take care of her and do everything until my dad gets back. At least he left me money this time." I am in no mood for his snarky comments. He used to understand how crappy my parents are.

"What do you mean, this time?" his voice has a growl to it and I can't really gauge his reaction.

"Let's see, in Manchester, he went out for three days without telling us, leaving my mom and I in a visiting faculty building with no idea if he was coming back—he swears he told us about the conference, and thankfully the university allowed us to eat in the cafeteria. Um, in Versailles he went out with a group of visiting profs for two days and we were stuck in a professor's home by ourselves. Then there was the tour he took in Switzerland...Really there were about five different times where he just kind of forgot we were there and left us with nothing. Every time he left, my mom would freak out on me, like it was my fault and abuse me verbally until she took to her bed for at least a day or two. If people hadn't been so kind, we would have been without a place to sleep, let alone food, and there were a few times we did go without a few meals." I am angry that I am telling him all this, I that I have to tell him this, but I am sick and tired of him being mean to me.

"Honestly Grace, your dad's is an ass." I seriously want to say 'takes one to know one' back at him, but I'm too old for that now.

"Yeah, but I'm just the poor little rich girl who went to Europe, who was excited about getting jeans because no one in my house would ever think of getting me any." I storm out of the room to the kitchen to calm down because I'm shaking.

"Ready to go, Grace?" Andrea gives me a hug and I feel a lot better.

"Yep, I have my list and the money. Thank you so much for taking me."

"It's my pleasure. With Maggie gone, there's far too much testosterone around here for my liking." I'm guessing she overheard my argument with Ian.

Have you had lunch yet?" I want to do something nice for her.

"No."

"Well, let me take you, my treat," I offer.

"No Grace, you never know when you'll need that money. You'd better hold on to the extra just in case, but I'd love to treat you to a meal."

"Thanks, are you sure?"

"Of course."

At lunch, Andrea asks me how my mom is doing, and I admit to her that she's not doing well. We talk for a long time, and it is just so wonderful, I've really missed having a real parent. Chris, Ian and Maggie don't know how lucky they are. We go grocery shopping afterwards, and she shows me how to pick out good produce and suggests some easy meals that I can make. Honestly, if it wasn't for her, I'd be eating microwave junk all the time.

Chris and I are watching tv at my house when he asks, "Are you coming over for New Year's?"

"What do you mean?" I am confused.

"Ian's throwing a party. Mom and Steve are going to a hotel to have a romantic getaway." Chris makes a gagging motion. "I thought he told you." Chris seems confused, too.

"I guess I'm not invited."

"Don't be silly, of course you are. Ian told me he invited you."

"Whatever, no big deal, I'm probably going to stay home, it's okay."

"If you don't come, I'll come over here and drag you over in your pyjamas." Chris tickles me into submission.

"Fine, fine," I squeal.

"Grace!" my mom screams in a warning tone from her bed. "Too much noise. If you can't behave you can't have guests."

I am so embarrassed, and I'm sure Chris can tell. He stands to leave, "I should go, I have to go to the bathroom anyway." Because the only bathroom is upstairs, ever since we've been little the guys have always gone home to use the facilities. No one wants to see my mom languishing in her bed. Besides, she smells sometimes because she doesn't bother to shower a lot of the time. Honestly, no wonder my dad can't stand being home, although she does make a lot more of an effort when he's around.

On New Year's Eve, when I wake up, the sun is shining though the mosaic Ian got me for Christmas making jewel tone lights all over the room, and it's gorgeous. I still can't figure out how Ian was able to pick out something so nice for me, yet still treat me like dirt. Maybe it really was just something he grabbed without thinking, but that's not really like him. As much as he's quick to get into a fight, he's also pretty sensitive, so I know somewhere deep down he's not a complete jerk. Although I am sure he purposely didn't invite me to the party for whatever reason.

My mom is up and around a bit today, but mostly because she wants to get something to drink for New Year's Eve. She actually showers, so I change her sheets while she's out of bed, then start the load of fetid bedding, while trying not to gag. It really is disgusting that she lets it get so bad. I am so thankful that Andrea taught me how to use the washer and dryer. When I come up from the basement, my mom is in the kitchen surveying the room.

"You know I don't like it when you make a mess, Grace," she's pointing at my lunch dishes that are sitting on the table waiting for me to put in the dishwasher.

"I was getting to it, I just had to start the laundry," I try to explain.

"Do it later, we're going out now. Get your coat." she commands. I have a very bad feeling about this, but I do it. My mom hasn't been out of the house in at least a week, so this is a bit scary, plus she's wearing some sort of housedress that's all mis-buttoned and a ratty old cardigan. It's social suicide being seen with her, not that it really matters, I suppose.

"Do you have any money?" I ask her, trying to thwart her shopping trip.

"I know your father gave you some."

"Yeah, but I used it for groceries." Andrea told me to hold on to the rest and I'm taking her advice over giving it to my mom to buy some cheer.

"Fine, I think I have some," she snaps.

She drives like an old lady, overly cautious on the brakes and timid on the gas. I guess she's out of practice. I'm surprised the car still started, honestly. The drive takes forever and there are people honking. I wish I could sink down in my seat, but I know that she would yell at me for that. Finally she pulls into the liquor store parking lot.

"Want anything?" She asks me on her way in.

"No."

"Are you sure? I mean you had a few drinks in Europe."

"That's totally different."

Her voice gets tight, and venomous, "Fine, whatever. I was just trying to be the cool mom, I mean you love Andrea so much."

I can't believe she thinks Andrea is doing anything other than being responsible, taking on my mom's responsibilities. "Mom, she took me grocery shopping to help me get food for us, not to buy me booze and be cool."

"Go wait in the car, Grace." Her voice is icy cold and cuts through me just like it did when I was little. I know I'm in trouble.

She comes out of the store clutching her purchases tightly to her and climbs into the car very slowly, pointedly, her gestures precise and setting me on edge. I am waiting for her to strike, because I know she will and when she does it will be painful. The drive home is slow and silent, and when we get into the house, she gets down a glass and pours herself a drink. Then she gestures to the chair across from her.

"Do you know why Daddy goes away, Grace?" I am not engaging in this conversation, I've heard it before, so I just sit. Responding makes her angry anyway. "He doesn't actually love us. We are a disappointment to him. I tried for years to give him another baby, one to replace the mess we got when you came along. Grace, what a total joke. Matt named you when you were sleeping, only a few hours old. Like a 'total state of grace' he said, and that's where your name came from, but it was a total load of shit." She takes another drink. "You cried all the time and were so completely needy that he started staying away longer and longer. Every time we tried to have another baby, you got in the way. Your noise and need causing me too much stress, making me miscarry. All those brothers and sisters you wanted, gone because you just couldn't behave." Another drink. "I know you're embarrassed by me, but you're the embarrassment, not me. Hanging off that other family like you're too good for me. Following those boys around like a lost puppy. No one will ever want you because you're too pathetic, too needy."

As much as I try not to listen, try not to react, tears are trickling down my cheeks and she knows she's wounded me and revels in her success. She must be a really sad woman to want to degrade me this much. I sit and watch her finish her glass, and then she pours the next. My mom doesn't drink very often, almost never, and she hasn't had much to eat lately either, so when she passes out, it comes quick and hits hard. I carry her to the couch and lay her down, covering her with a blanket, putting out a bottle of water and a pail beside her just in case. If she vomits and misses, then I'll have to clean the rug.

I slip upstairs to my room and look out the window. People are already at the party next door. I guess since Andrea and Steve are away, Ian probably has people staying over. There are Christmas lights strung along the edge of the patio for people who want to stand outside and smoke, and it appears there is a keg cooling out there too. How the heck Ian pulled this off, I'll never know, but he's always been pretty sneaky. I watch for a little while and as the night gets darker the yard gets more full. Eventually I decide to go over. Even if Ian doesn't want me to be there, Chris does, besides I need to get away from my mom, even if she's passed out. This house is sucking the life out of me. I'm glad she's asleep and hope she stays that way because the bass from the music is rattling our old windows.

I change into the typical teen outfit, jeans a t-shirt and a hoodie, pull on my sneakers and head over. For good measure, I grab one of the unopened bottles my mom bought today. It's gin, but I know someone at the party will drink it, if I don't, besides I'm not sure if she'll even remember she bought it by tomorrow. I slip open the backdoor and traipse across the lawn to the boys' house. People have spilled out onto the lawn, and there's already a bunch of kids. When I walk in the familiar front door, I am surprised by the state of the living room. All the couches have been wrapped in plastic wrap—I guess that's one way to prevent the upholstery from getting stained. Not the best way to be sitting on the couch though.

"Hey Grace, whatcha doing here?" someone asks. I'm not even sure I know who he is. "Didn't think a priss like you would be here."

"Do I know you?"

"Sure, we have science together. Andy." he looks vaguely familiar and I nod. "Why are you here?" he asks again.

"Have you seen Chris?"

"Isn't that him, over there?" he points towards the kitchen and I can just see chestnut waves of hair going through the door.

"Thanks," and I head to the kitchen.

Of course, it's not Chris, it's Ian, and he's got Jillian Jensen hanging off his arm.

"Oh, hey, Ian, Jillian, have you seen Chris?"

Jillian is already drunk and she stage whispers to Ian, "What's she doing here? I told you I didn't want her to come. You promised me you wouldn't ask her." She's being a total bitch, I mean I don't even know her. Ian looks a bit pained by the whole thing.

"Jillian, I am standing right here, and I live right next door, so it's not like I wouldn't have noticed a huge party. Besides, Chris invited me, not Ian." I tell her, then I turn to him, "thanks for that, by the way. Really classy. Where's Chris?"

"I think he's in his room," Ian actually looks embarrassed.

"Fine." I grab a bottle of ginger ale and leave them behind, her whiney complaining and clinging figure nauseating. Pushing my way to the stairs, I find Chris exactly where Ian said he'd be. He's sitting on his bed watching a movie on his computer.

"Hey Chris, how's the party?"

"I don't know, I've been in here. Look Grace, I'm really sorry, I didn't know about Jillian."

"What, that she's a complete bitch and didn't want me here? Yeah I just figured that out. I don't even know her, what's her problem?"

"I think she's jealous."

"Of what?"

"You of course."

"How is that even possible? I mean why not be jealous of the fifty other girls he's made out with? Why care about me, the one person he won't even talk to? I'm more like a sister than anything else, a really annoying little sister that nobody wants around." I start to cry.

"Gracie, it's not worth crying over."

"No, it's not that, I could care less about Jillian, he'll move on to someone else in a week anyway." I sit on the bed and explain what happened with my mom, glossing over some of the crappy things she's said.

"Oh Grace, that sucks. When's your dad back?"

"In two days."

"Well, things will get better than. She's always happier when your dad's around. Now lets watch a movie and have a few drinks. It's New Year's after all."

Chris and I have some of the gin mixed with ginger ale, although it tastes like paint stripper, we are a bit giggly. We watch a comedy and have a decent time, sending people away every time they open the door looking for a quiet place to make out. At five to midnight the door to Chris' room slams open. Ian's eyes are red from something, weed probably, and he's swaying a bit. "Come down for the countdown. Let's go." He does a come here gesture to us, batting his eyes like an idiot.

"He's not going to stop until we do what he wants," Chris says, and he's totally right.

"Fine." I say shrugging.

So Chris and I get up and walk over to Ian, where he puts an arm over each of our shoulders. "I love you, guys." he says all slow and sloppy. He's a bit more messed up than I initially thought. "You're my best friends."

We go downstairs and the countdown on tv has begun.

"5...4...3...2...1" the people in the house are yelling. "Happy New Year!"

Ian still has his arms over us, and pulls us both into a big hug, giving us each a messy kiss on the cheek, and it's nice until I see Jillian passed out on the couch in front of us. I'm only good enough to be near when she's not around, like he's embarrassed of me or something. Screw that.

"I think I'm going to leave now. I'm tired. Happy New Year's Reeds," and I leave so quickly that Chris has to struggle to hold Ian's weight. Darting across the lawn, now strewn with party debris, I go into my house. My mom is still passed out on the sofa, so I take a hot shower and go to bed.

And Ian doesn't talk to me for four months.