Page 2 of Bourbon & Bonfires
“Taylor, I’m raising an asshole. How do I fix that?” I sniffle as the first tear falls from my eyes.
“Don’t cry. Dammit, this pisses me off. I have half a mind to fly out to California and whoop that dickhead’s ass. I don’t know what happened to him, but seriously, this takes selfish to a new level.”
“Yeah well, Dan’s always been selfish, so I wasn’t surprised. I’m here. I need to go deal with this. Thanks for letting me vent.”
“Addy?”
“Yeah.”
“Move here. I know you think you can’t because it’s too much change for Mason, but think about it. You like visiting and had a good time when you were here a few weeks ago. Hell, Mason likes visiting too. Finding a job was an issue when we talked a few months ago, but I have it on good authority one of the doctor’s offices is looking to add a nurse. You guys can stay with me if you want, or we’ll find you a rental. Just think about it.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say, laying my head back as I try to run through all the reasons I’ve given why moving and starting over is a bad idea.
Taylor’s right; I love Lexington. The town is small enough to offer all the benefits of small-town living, but it’s large enough and close to other towns and cities that you have all the benefits of larger-city living. Plus, my brother is there, and that would be a huge benefit. But Mason just started high school and pulling him away from the only home he’s known and his friends seems cruel. He’s suffered enough change in the last few years, I don’t want to add to that.
“Just don’t rule it out completely. Go deal with this and call me later if you need to. Also, if you want me to come there and talk with Mason, I will. Just say the word. I love you, sis.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
Ending the call, I allow the silence in the car to embrace me. Going to the principal’s office never gets easier, even when you’re an almost forty-year-old woman and it’s your son’s principal.
“Hey, come back here!” I shout as my son storms down the hall toward his room. Seconds later, the door slams.
I wait for a count of three. Then five. And then ten. Nothing. No calm or zen takes over my body. Instead, the hurt from the words my son slung my way continue to sting. Throwing my purse on the dining room table, I walk straight to the refrigerator and pull the bottle of wine I have in the door and pour it in a coffee cup. We keep it classy around here. Besides, this is an emergency. Normally, my drink of choice is a nice smooth bourbon, but as much as I’d like to sit and enjoy a finger or two, wine will have to do. One more screwup this year and Mason is out. They’re going to send him to the alternative high school.
When the guidance counselor, Mr. Torres, explained the latest problem Mason had, I was speechless. Not only had my son placed his hands on another child, but he had said some of the most hateful things I’ve ever heard from his mouth to me in the car.“You’re the reason my dad left. If you could keep a man he wouldn’t be in California. I hate you.”My already fragile heart shattered into a thousand pieces. He didn’t say anything I hadn’t already thought to myself over the last four years. Hell, the last seven if I’m honest. As much as I wish the divorce was a surprise, it wasn’t. We weren’t happy.
But today? This fight and the underlying rage and anger that is simmering in Mason? It kills me. I understand that, in his eyes, he was only defending himself, but both his father and I have preached over and over that fighting is never the answer to resolving a problem. But this new version of Mason doesn’t care what he’s been taught or the values we’ve instilled in him.
Knowing he blames me for his father moving—not only moving but moving out of our house four years ago, divorcing me, and being a half-assed father—guts me. My phone chirps from my purse, and I know it’s Dan. When I realized the severity of today’s meeting, I excused myself from Mr. Torres’s office and called Dan. And he sent me to voicemail. That was almost two hours ago, and now he’s texting me back.
Dan: What’s up?
Me: I called you from the school. Another meeting.
Dan: Oh no! What happened?
Me: Fighting. We need to talk. This is getting out of control.
Dan: Relax Addison. He’s a kid, it’ll blow over.
Me: No, Dan, it won’t. You’re not here. I need you to call me and we need to discuss this like adults. This isn’t a texting conversation.
Dan: I’m not in town. Actually, not in the country. I’m in Mexico for the week. I’ll call you when I get back. Tell Mason to behave.
Motherfucker. Is he kidding me? Of course, he isn’t. I look at the wine glass, also known as a coffee cup, and contemplate another glass. Nope, I’m going to deal with this now and with a clear head. With a little pep talk to myself, I walk down the hall to Mason’s room and knock twice on the door.
No answer.
I knock again with a little more force, and I hear the lock disengage and the door opens.
“Look, there are a lot of things I want to say to you but I’m going to be honest, I’m pissed off. But leave no doubt, you are grounded. Give me your electronics,” I demand.
“Whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes before stomping around his room gathering what I asked for. Damn, this kid has a lot of crap. No wonder he acts like a self-entitled brat.
“Phone,” I remind him with my hand out.
“Mom, I need that.”