Page 55 of Badd Love
Clean, dressed, and feeling less like Oscar the Grouch, I went to the living room to find that Rune had turned into Tropical Storm Rigby while I was in the shower. There were several trash bags piled by the door, my coffee table once more had a surface other than trash, and she'd even done the dishes and vacuumed.
She was washing her hands when I entered the kitchen. "Hey. Feel better?"
I nodded, blowing out a breath. "Yes, much." I hugged her tightly from behind while she rinsed her hands. "Thank you, Rune. I don't know what I'd do without you. I was honestly so overwhelmed by the filth that I was sort of just accepting it as my new lot in life."
She shook her head. "Nah, you'd have pulled yourself out of it eventually. I just gave you a little jumpstart." She dried her hands, draped the towel over the oven handle, and turned to grab me by the shoulders. "Now. I threw out your wine—you need to dry out, honey. Drinking isn't a coping mechanism; it just fucks you up worse. You know this—you arenotyour mother."
That fucking hurt, that last sentence. I yanked out of her arms and turned away, abruptly so furious it wouldn't have surprised me if steam was coming out of my ears. I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from cursing her out.
When I was more in control, I turned back to her. "Rune, I hope you know that you're the only human being on the planet who could say that to me and walk away with all their teeth.”
She gave me a soft, loving look. "I know, that's why I said it. I'm the only one who can, and it needed to be said. You know I'm right. I'm sorry it hurts, but you're engaging in the same self-destructive spiral. You worked way too fucking hard to distance yourself from her and that kind of life to go down that vortex of self-destruction now, honey. I love you too much to let that happen."
I had to face the facts: she was absolutely right. Whenever life didn't go her way—which was always—Mom would drown her sorrow, anger, and frustration in the bottom of a liter of sweet red wine. Sometimes, she'd finish one and walk to the corner store for another. I swore, growing up, that I'd never be her. I'dneveruse alcohol to cope.
Yet how many boxes of wine had I gone through in the last week? I refused to count, nausea and shame tangling in my gut.
"Fuck me," I whispered. "I'm turning into my goddamned mother."
"No, you're not," Rune insisted, shaking me. "You’re recognizing the problem and taking steps to correct it. You only become your mother if you keep going the way you were. Is that who you are? Is that who you want to be?"
"No," I muttered.
"Louder."
"NO!"
"Then you're good. I'm down to get lit with you any time, you know that, but only if it's for fun, not escape."
“You're pregnant, dummy. You can't drink."
"I know. You know what I mean."
"And then you'll be a mother. You can't go around getting lit with your irresponsible best friend."
She sighed. "I'm sure I'll be able to finagle a tipsy Friday night out with you once in a while."
“You'll be in Ketchikan."
She nodded. "Yeah. But Rune, do you really,actuallywant to keep living in LA by yourself?"
"Raquel is here." When Rune didn't answer that, warning bells went off. "Right?"
"Um, actually, when I talked to her a bit ago, she told me that Hamish had gotten a job offer in Seattle, which is only an hour and a half by air from Ketchikan, and Uncle Brock flies to Seattle regularly."
I sighed. "Fuck. So Iwillbe here by myself."
"Not if you come to Alaska with me," she said.
"Fuck Alaska. It's cold."
She laughed. "It’s really not." A shrug. “Not in Ketchikan, at least.”
"It's Alaska!"
"The winters in Ketchikan see more rain than snow—apparently, the weather there is more Seattle than Arctic Circle. Duncan and Mama Badd convinced me—that was a big hangup for me, too. I had this idea that Ketchikan winters were, like, arctic or something. Apparently not."
"What would I do there?"
