The tiny smile Mom gives Dad is full of sadness, but then she turns back to the counter and scoops up the five empty bottles of wine into her arms. “No more drinking,” she announces with fragile determination. She moves across the kitchen and dumps the bottles by the back door. “I’d like a drink right now, but it looks like we don’t have any wine left in this house anymore,” she says. She walks over to Dad and places her hand on his shoulder, looking down at him. “I will try this on my own for now, but if it becomes too difficult, I will get help. Okay?”
I hear the honking of Will’s Jeep out front, but I don’t care. Overwhelmed by a mixture of emotions, from pride to relief to joy, I dump my bag and my textbook down onto the table next to Dad and throw myself at Mom. Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her against me and hug her tight. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to hear her say these things until now. She buries her face into my hair and hugs me back even tighter as though she’s afraid to let go, and she whispers, “Sometimes I forget that I’m still lucky enough to be a mom.”
During Physics, I find it impossible to concentrate. I try, I really do. But no matter how hard I try to focus my full attention on Mr. Acker as he discusses vectors, my mind always wonders elsewhere within a matter of seconds. I’m thinking about Mom, hoping she’s managing on her own. I’m also thinking about Jaden. I have yet to see him, but it’s only first period. I’m still angry, but now it feels like it’s more out of a sense of hurt pride. His truthful words were harsh but necessary, and they seem to have gotten the message across to Mom that she has been grieving the wrong way for four years now. But Jaden still did not have the right to talk to my mom the way he did. He didn’t have the right to get involved. It could have backfired. Luckily for him, it didn’t. So I forgive him, but not entirely.