Page 104 of Broken Romeo
To her credit, despite everything that went down in our families, Anne Marie got back to me within seconds.
Anne Marie:
Of course I can.
I quickly logged into her Walgreens account online, I’d had the password ever since high school, and paid for Mom’s Lexapro prescription. Then, I forwarded Anne Marie the pin of the Walgreens location and the order number I’d already paid for.
In the background while we texted, Mom mumbled the occasional, “Sweet baby boy,” and other nonsensical things.
Anne Marie texted back again.
Anne Marie:
How are you otherwise, Holden?
I gnashed my teeth together, fire burning in my veins as I responded back.
Holden:
You and I aren’t okay. But you owe my Mother this favor.
It took several more minutes for her next response to come in.
Anne Marie:
Understood. I’m on my way to Walgreens now. I should be at her house in twenty minutes.
I took a deep breath, calming down my rage before saying to Mom, “Anne Marie’s on her way, Mom.” The woman’s name was like acid in my mouth, but it wasn’t anything my Mom knew about. Or ever would know about if I had anything to do with it. “She’s bringing your Lexapro and I also got you those eye masks you like. The ones with the gold flecks.”
“Oh, I love those,” she cooed.
“I know, Mom. And for old time’s sake, I got you the peppermint Chapstick, too.”
She chuckled, the sound raspy and muffled. “You loved those Chapsticks,” she murmured.
“I did. I thought I could get away with not brushing my teeth when I wore it.” I tried to trick her once or twice, but then the Chapstick became part of our nightly routine. I’d never seen my mother use any other product that wasn’t above $100 an ounce… except for those Peppermint Chapsticks.
To this day, I still carry one around with me.
It grew eerily silent on the line. “Mom?”
Then, a quiet, steady breath.
She was asleep.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I texted my father next.
Holden:
Whatever ‘client meeting’ you’re at ends now. Get home to take care of your wife. She’s trashed.
His response took a bit longer than Anne Marie’s, but he texted back.
Dad:
I’ll be home in forty-five minutes.
Exhausted, I fell back on my bed and groaned, listening to the ambient background noise of my mother’s quiet snores.