Page 15 of Unwrapping His Gift
The work dayseems to just crawl by like time has suddenly transformed into the world’s slowest slug. I keep glancing at the clock on my phone, which of course doesn’t help things one bit, hoping the next time I look, it will be time to go.
Despite the fact that we both do everything we can to avoid partaking in any kind of Christmas festivities during December, I need to go check on Mom and make sure she’s all right. Her drinking during the holidays has gotten worse in the last couple of years, and I’m starting to get worried about her.
I don’t know what it is – whether she thinks Dad’s death is her fault, or whether she’s upset about our family not being together like it used to be, or whether it’s just how she handles this time of year like I handle it by avoiding everyone and everything that has anything to do with Christmas, and turning into basically a female Scrooge until the second week of January.
Either way, it’s just another one of my responsibilities now – to go check in on Mom and make sure she hasn’t let herself go too far, to see if she needs me to go pick her up anything from the store, and if things have gottenreallybad, to take away some of her alcohol.
By the time the work end of the workday rolls around, I’m practically ready to break out of the office like a prisoner busting out of jail. I wave to Marissa, and she joins me in the elevator on the way down.
“So going over to Craig’s for a little red wine and dick?”
“Would you shut up?” I ask, doing my best not to laugh as she smirks back at me. “I’m going to check up on Mom.”
Marissa is basically the only person who knows about Mom, so she understands immediately what I mean when I say that and backs off.
“How do you think she’ll be?”
I shrug. “Good, hopefully. But you never know with her, ya know?”
Marissa nods in a commiserating fashion. I’ve always gone to check up on Mom by myself, except for one time when I had to get a ride from Marissa because my car needed its oil changed or something – or maybe it was its oil filter, I can’t remember – but that was the time my mom went off on me for taking away one of her vodka bottles, and Marissa could see her screaming at me from the driveway. So although she hasn’t been through the whole experience of dealing with my mom with me, she’s got a pretty good idea of what it’s like.
“I could come if you want,” she suggests.
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s okay. It’s actually easier if I go on my own. I don’t know why.”
“Okay.” She nods as the elevator stops in the lobby and the doors open. “I understand. But we can always meet up after, so let me know.”
“Yeah, I will. Let’s just see how this all goes,” I say, letting out the most pathetic laugh in the universe.
I can’t help but think how strange and almost cruel the world is as I make my way to my car. I may hate the holidays and do everything I can to avoid Christmas, but there’s no denying that the snow falling lightly around me, the decorations in the shop windows and the sparkling lights hanging everywhere make for a beautiful setting.
It’s almost like a postcard. I should be out taking photos and enjoying myself, but here I am, emotionally scarred by the loss of my father, going to check in on my equally emotionally scarred drunk mother to make sure she hasn’t drunk herself to death.
Normally, I’m okay checking in on her. It’s always awkward and never something Iwantto do, but I’ve gotten used to it, and I treat it like just another one of those things you have to do now that you’re an adult. But today, as I drive over to her house, I feel off balance. I feel anxious. And I know exactly why that is.
Craig.
All those things he said last night about his parents looking down on her – on me – are running around in my mind like rabid little mice, chewing away at my brain. I feel judged, but judged by people who aren’t even here. People I haven’t seen in years. I feel like my mom is being judged, while at the same time, I’m on my way to go check on her and probably end up judging her a bit myself.
Were Craig’s parents right to force him to break up with me?
“Oh, come on, Daisy,” I groan at myself as I pull into Mom’s driveway. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Of course they weren’t. What kind of parent would do something like that to their son or daughter? It’s not like Craig was dating the son of a drug kingpin or a mafia boss or something. The just didn’t like my mom, and so they forced him to break up with me and cut me out of his life completely. And I think that makes them a couple of jerks!
It’s a very cold evening, and I wrap my jacket tighter around myself as I walk through the snow up to mom’s steps. She hasn’t done a bit of shoveling, which isn’t a good sign. I don’t even bother knocking; I just use my key and open the door and let myself in.
It’s warm inside – too warm for the amount of money she brings in working part-time at the grocery store and the subsidies she gets from the state. That means I’m going to have to lend her more money just to keep the heat on. It’s things like this that cause me to be behind in my own rent at my apartment.
“Mom, it’s me!” I call out, kicking off my shoes. There’s no answer, but I can hear the television in the living room, so I go in and find her sleeping on the couch, an empty bottle of peach schnapps on the coffee table in front of her. There’s another bottle of gin beside it. I take it and set it by my shoes to take out to the car later.
Some kind of trashy reality show is playing with the volume cranked. I find the remote and turn it down. Ironically, this wakes her up.
She rubs her eyes and glances up at me. “Daisy? What are you doing here?”
“Came to check on you, Mom.” I smile. “How are you feeling? Kind of hot in here, don’t you think?”
“Eh, you know how cold it gets this time of year,” she grumbles. “All that snow, all that ice. If I don’t keep the heat on, all that cold will get in here and turn me into a popsicle.”