“Just the girl I wanted to see.” He raises a bottle to me and narrows his bloodshot eyes like he’s trying to bring me into focus.
The bed is messy, and there are more of those empty bottles on both nightstands and on the floor beside my dad, who’s on his knees in front of an open box. There are dirty clothes all over the place and a layer of dust covering the dresser. I always think of him as having everything together.Ī look at the bedroom tells me otherwise. He could’ve been spiraling all this time while I was too busy screwing up my life to notice. Sometimes, he likes to reminisce.īut it’s not like him to get drunk before he does, and that sink didn’t fill up overnight. His bedroom door is open, and before I’ve entered the room, I can see the pictures spread out over the double bed he once shared with my mom. How many of those bottles has he emptied tonight? My heart’s in my throat as I hurry up the stairs, dreading what I’ll find. Running seems to be the way to go, but a voice coming from upstairs stops me before I take off. Goosebumps pebble my skin, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up while I wrestle with the choice of going up the stairs or running out the door.
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