Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I squint at my screen, not recognizing the number. “Hello?”
“Is this Emersyn?” a man’s voice asks.
“It is.”
“I … um … my name is Brad. I am … was … a friend of your mom’s.”
Friend? My mom never had male friends. She had guys who used her, abused her, and hung her out to dry.
“Okay …” I say slowly. “I don’t know why you’re calling, but I haven’t seen or spoken to my mom in years.”
“Yeah … um … I know. You see …” He clears his throat. “I don’t know how to say this but …”
“Just say it. I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Your mom passed away yesterday.”
Silence fills the line. Even the noise in the bar disappears, and I realize I’m only hearing the slow beat of my heart.
I don’t move.
I haven’t cried for my mom since the day I left home. And even then, I think the tears were more for me—the feeling of complete rejection. The feeling that she abandoned me long before I stole her car and never looked back.
All this time … she never called me. Not once. She had my number and never called.
Maybe that’s why now, amidst the news of her death, I have no tears. Not for her. Not for me.
“Since you are her next of kin, we need you to come take care of things.”
I shake my head and open my mouth to speak, but I can’t find the right words. There’s nothing to take care of. I’m only her daughter in name, and I have half of her genes. That’s it.
“I don’t know how you got my number, but I’m not the person you’re looking for. Maybe you should contact her boyfriend. I’m sure she had one. Unless … that’s you?”
“No, ma’am. I was in her AA group. I’ve been sober for two years now, and she just celebrated one year. And to my knowledge, she lived alone. I got your number from her landlord. I was supposed to pick her up and drive her to the meeting. Her door was cracked open, and that’s when I found her unresponsive in bed. She …” He clears his throat again. “There was an empty bottle of fentanyl and several empty bottles of vodka. I … I just had no idea. I’m so sorry. The last time I saw her she seemed to be doing really well. Ya know?”
I rub my forehead and close my eyes. “No. Sorry … I don’t actually know.”
“Listen, I didn't know who else to call. I don’t know what your relationship was with your mom. She talked about you with great pride. I just … I’m really sorry.”
I nod slowly before dropping the phone to my side and closing my eyes.
Athens, Georgia, isn’t Los Angeles—that’s where Leah is while I deal with next of kin stuff. Making arrangements for my mother’s cremation isn’t a day at the beach. I envy Leah right now.
The landlord lets me into my mom’s apartment. It reeks of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and other things I don’t want to think about. The lone, green sofa looks like something from the seventies. It’s the only sofa she’s ever had since before I can remember. Dirty dishes overflow in the sink, and flies fighting over the rotten food congregate on the mismatched bowls and plates.
“There’s vomit in the bedroom, and cigarette burns on the countertops. I’m afraid I won’t be able to refund her deposit to you,” the landlord says.
I grunt a laugh but don’t say anything before he leaves me alone in the two-bedroom hellhole. There’s nothing to save here. He wants me to empty this place, but I’m not going to touch a damn thing. There’s a reason I walked away from her. Hell, I sped away—in her car.
There are a few pictures in dusty frames with cracked glass. I take out the one of us and slip it into my purse without giving it much thought. I’ll walk down memory lane later because right now I’m ready to lose my breakfast from the stench. Making a quick stroll through each room, peeking in a few drawers, and trying hard to ignore the empty vodka bottles still on the floor next to her bed, I search for anything else worth taking. There’s nothing.
No heirlooms.
Nothing that belonged to me.
No hidden cash or jewelry.
Not a shred of sentimentality in this apartment.
I know that Brad guy said she had been sober for a year. He said she had talked about me with some sort of pride. I don’t believe it. I think he walked into a bad situation and simply told me whatever he thought might lure me back here to deal with the dead body.
The fact that the words dead body come to mind before Mom, or anything more personal or endearing, just shows how much she destroyed us long before she died.