My headache grows exponentially worse.
“What did she want?”
“What she always wants.” My friend grimaces, her expression mirroring my own distaste, as she pops the cork out of the bottle and begins filling the glasses. “I told her you weren’t home.”
“I had my phone on silent. I haven’t even checked it yet. She’s probably left a dozen voice messages, each one more guilt-inducing than the last.”
The mere idea of talking to my mother makes me want to bury myself in my bed and hide from the world for the next decade.
As I sip the red wine, letting the rich liquid wash away thoughts of my mother’s inevitable emotional manipulation, Sarah stirs the pasta with methodical precision. “I really don’t understand why you have to pay her gambling debts. She takes achunk of your salary every month for no reason. It’s not like she’s even trying to break the habit.”
“She raised me. I owe it to her.” I stare blindly into my glass, my chest aching in the way it always does when the subject of my mother surfaces. Unlike me, Sarah was raised in a normal, happy home where both her parents loved her and thought the sun shined from her ass. Sometimes I’m envious of the fact that her parents call her every weekend just to check up on her. I’m also invited for dinner when she visits, but seeing her large, happy family makes me feel small and alone in comparison.
The only time my mother ever calls me is to demand money.
“I was a disappointment to her.” I sip the wine, desperately wishing I’d listened to my instincts and headed over to a bar to get drunk instead of coming home.
Unaware of the inner conflict raging within me, Sarah makes a scoffing sound. “Why? Because you have a well-paying job and are a well-adjusted adult? Did she want you to be homeless? Was that the dream?”
A heavy sigh escapes me as I swirl the red liquid in my glass, answering without thinking, “Because I ruined my brother’s life.”
My flatmate turns to look at me now, surprise written across her features. “Come again?”
I bite my tongue, closing my eyes in regret. I never talk about my family. The only reason Sarah knows about my mother taking money from me is because she heard the messages left on our shared answering machine, which Sarah’s parents insisted we get for emergencies.
“Forget it.”
“Oh, ho ho.” Sarah puts her hands on her hips, adopting that stance she uses when she’s determined to get answers. “Wrong answer. Spill.”
I press my lips together, trying to think up a way out ofproviding an explanation. However, Sarah is sharp as a tack and twice as persistent.
“An honest answer would be nice, Nat.”
A gust of air leaves me as I sink onto the stool at the island counter, feeling suddenly drained. “I did something stupid a couple of years ago and ruined his life as a result.”
Sarah freezes. “Are we talking about the same brother you haven’t seen in half a decade?”
I drain the glass, feeling numb inside. “The one and only. The sauce is burning.”
The acrid smell has my friend jerking around, and she quickly plates the pasta before bringing it over to the island counter, grabbing the bottle of wine as she does. “I think this conversation calls for more wine.”
A bitter chuckle escapes me. “I’d like nothing more than to get drunk tonight. Forget this whole day ever happened.”
She hands me a fork and generously refills my glass. “So what did you do?”
My stomach churns, but not from hunger now. “I slept with his best friend. He found out about it and lost his temper.”
The memory of that night has never faded from my mind, playing on repeat like a broken record I can’t turn off. I got my heart broken by two different men that night. Ethan Wilder and my brother.
My friend stares at me as the pasta cools, forgotten. “You slept with his best friend, and it ruined his life? Why? Was he in love with this man?”
Her blunt question has me letting out a startled laugh. “No. No, but Lucas always told me to stay away from his friends. And on top of that, this particular friend was trying to get information out of me about Lucas’s new business venture. Not that I knew anything.” I sip the wine now, more slowly. “My brother never discussed business with me.”
Sarah hisses like an angry cat. “He slept with you to get information on Lucas? What a jerk!”
I shrug, the gesture feeling heavy. “I was stupid. It was my fault. I had a major crush on him.”
Taking a bite of her pasta, Sarah chews slowly, processing this information. “So what happened?”
