Page 1 of Bourbon & Bonfires
Three more rings. If I don’t answer the call in three rings, it’ll go to voicemail. Voicemail means I buy myself time. Time to sit here and finish this rubbery chicken I just microwaved. Sure, it’s sitting on a bed of processed rice and dehydrated vegetables with a “delicious and savory gravy” but in the end, it’s just a diet frozen meal I microwaved for three and a half minutes. This is the only time of the day I am able to sit here, alone and with my earbuds in while I read a chapter of my book.
I’m not that mom.
I’m not that person.
I don’t ignore the call.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Sinclair?” The woman on the line asks, knowing full well it’s me. Who else would answer my cell phone? Who else would she be calling for the third time this month?
“Yes, this isMs.Sinclair,” I grit out. I dropped the “Mrs.” years ago, I wish they’d read the information sheet they require I complete each year. The form specifically asks who resides in the home and it clearly doesn’t say “Mr. Sinclair.”
“Yes, well Ms. Sinclair, we have a little problem.”
“What did he do?” Standing, I toss my uneaten lunch in the trashcan and power down my e-reader. My moment of peace is gone, and in its place sits an overwhelming feeling of dread and dismay.
Oh, yeah. I’m totally Debbie Downer these days.
“He was involved in a bit of an altercation and,” she pauses, “Mr. Torres would like you to come down and meet with him. Are you able to do that today?”
Sighing, I rub the front of my head hoping to ward off a headache. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” My tone is clipped, and I feel bad for taking my frustrations out on the wrong person. “Sorry, it’s not your fault my son has decided to turn into a little shit. Yes, I can make it work. It won’t be for at least an hour; I’ll have to speak with my boss. Is Mason suspended?”
The downside to being a single mom is when shit like this happens, I’m on my own. I don’t have a support system or a partner like I did four years ago. When Dan moved out and filed for divorce, I got the house and he got the friends. My parents passed long ago, and my brother is hundreds of miles away, so here I sit, in the tiny breakroom at the doctor’s office where I work, trying to calculate how much of my paid time off I’ll have to use so my check isn’t too short. Another perk of being single—you count every penny more than ever before.
“I’m not sure if Mason is suspended. That’s up to Mr. Torres. Umm, Mrs., excuse me, Ms. Sinclair?”
“Yes?” I reply distractedly as I wait to end this call and go speak with my office manager about leaving early.
“Would you like me to contact Mr. Sinclair? Perhaps both of you could be at the meeting?”
“That’s funny. Mr. Sinclair has moved to California. I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”
Ending the call, I take a deep breath, rubbing my temples and asking for a higher power to give me strength and patience. Being the mother to a teenage boy is not for the faint of heart. I wasn’t expecting a cakewalk, but this sudden change in my sweet boy over the last few months has been awful. I’d love to blame my ex-husband, but that wouldn’t be fair. No, it actually would be fair, but it’s not going to help matters.
Once I’ve confirmed with my office manager that there’s enough coverage for the afternoon and no problem in leaving early, I gather my things and head to my car. Settling behind the wheel of my new-to-me SUV, a gift to myself when my old minivan needed a new engine, I pull out my phone and tap my brother’s contact information.
“Country Road, this is Taylor.” My brother’s voice fills the interior of my car as I pull out of my parking space. Instantly, the familiar sound settles my anxiety and current pissed-off state.
“Hey baby brother.”
“Addy? What’s wrong?”
“Why does something have to be wrong, Tay? Can’t a sister call her brother to say hi?”
“Yes, absolutely. Except it’s the middle of the work day, and you sound upset.”
I laugh as I respond. “How can you tell that? I basically said hello.”
“Call it years of military training, or just because you’re my sister, and I know when something’s wrong. Is it dickhead Dan or my shit for brains nephew?”
“Shit for brains. I don’t even know what he did this time. The counselor’s secretary called and said it was an altercation and I needed to come down and have a meeting with the counselor. I’m at my wits’ end. What do I do, Tay?”
“Well, I’d say you whoop his little ass, but he’s bigger than you now, and all that PC shit would probably get in the way. I’m telling you, if Dad were still alive he’d handle that boy with no problem.”
He’s right. Our dad would have had no problem stepping in, regardless of how I felt about the intrusion, to deal with Mason and his disrespect toward me and ongoing issues with fighting and skipping school. The only reason Mason isn’t failing any of his classes is because, unbeknownst to me, he dropped his honors classes and the courses he’s taking aren’t a challenge for him.
“I know. But, Mom and Dad aren’t here, and you’re a million miles away.” As much as I don’t want to make excuses, I know most of Mason’s recent behavior is because Dan left, and that pisses me off more. Giving his son less than four days’ notice that he was moving thousands of miles and multiple time zones away, started this spiral of behavior. He has no remorse for leaving me to clean up his mess. But none of that matters. What matters is my son has become an asshole.