Seventeen year old Lauren is a closet poet who has everything under control (she claims) in regards to her taking care of her two younger sisters and her bipolar mother. But when her allegedly sober father wants back into their lives everything spin...
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ri-ling-kwish
to renounce or surrender to let go; release:
to relinquish one's hold.
"I never know what to say to her." Matty complains. "You don't need to say anything. Just your presence is enough."
I put Sara's old baby monitor in Mom's room so I can hear Matty enter. I imagine Mom is watching TV with it turned off again.
"This is my favorite part," Mom says.
Matty doesn't say anything. She's probably just staring at her. Matty often just stares at her.
"Tell me something I don't know," Mom says.
After a moment, Matty says, "Did you know that Americans watch two hundred and fifty billion hours of television a year?"
I can hear Mom applauding and then saying softly, "I love you so much, Matty."
Matty says nothing in response. I can hear her heart break into a million little pieces, then I hear footsteps, and then the door closing. Matty comes zooming down the stairs. She pauses and looks out the front window. "Grandma Gayle is here."
Grandma Gayle is Dad's mom and when she knocks on the door, it means one thing and one thing only: it's payday.
I open the door. She stands there, studying me. I know I look like a mess with my wild, unbrushed hair and olive oil stained t-shirt. I'm the polar opposite of this woman who stands before me. Gayle is tall, super thin, and doesn't look like anybody's grandma. Not at all. She speaks abruptly, using as few words as possible so she can get to the point quickly. I'm pretty sure she uses less words than most mortals.
"She's out of bed?" she asks. "She's fine," I answer. "The children?" she asks. "They're fine," I answer. She hands me a check. I take it.
I've heard so many stories from my friends about their brownie-baking grannies and how much their grandmas spoil them and how much they love them. Must be nice. But, that's just not in the cards for us Brightons. The main reason for that is that Grandma Gayle never much cared for Mom. She thought her son, (you know, the one who abandoned his family) could do much better. Oh-kaaaay.
"Anything else?" she asks as she turns to leave. "I've got it handled," I tell her.That's what I always tell her. Honestly, I wouldn't even take the money if we didn't need it to pay the mortgage. And eat. I'll continue to keep everyone alive and in one piece until my parent's get their crap together.
