He yawns, scratching the top of his head before stretching his arms above his head. “Any news?”
“Nothing.” I give him a sad smile. “You should probably go home. I don’t know when she’ll be back, and it’s unfair to you, you know, staying here. Neither of us expected it to be this long.”
“It’s my morning breath, isn’t it?”
As weird as it is to say this, I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve grown accustomed to hearing Zeke’s gravelly voice in the morning. Both have become a comfort.
“Seriously, Zeke. Obviously, you can still come over for our little booty calls. You even have a key to help you with that, but I think we’re getting too comfortable here.”
“What’s wrong with that?” He sits up. “Are you ashamed to admit we’re becoming friends, Stewart?”
I’m afraid part of me feels like we’re becoming something more.
“We aren’t friends,Harris. Never will be.”
“You keep telling yourself that.” He drags himself out of bed and strides over to my side. “I’m gonna shower; you wanna join me?” He cocks an eyebrow, but I jokingly push him away.
“You’re on your own for this one, buddy. I’m hungry.” I stand up and brush past him.
“Suit yourself.” He smacks my ass before disappearing into my bathroom, causing me to laugh as I head into the kitchen.
Which is pretty bare. The fridge is empty, aside from a few takeout containers, which are only there because Zeke doesn’t know how to come over without food.
So much for breakfast.
I guess I could have leftover Mexican food. Or maybe some pizza. Pizza’s always good in the morning.
As I reach for the pizza, I hear keys jingling and the lock's turn.
The lock to the front door.
I turn, and through the threshold, my mom walks in laughing; a guy I’ve never seen before walking behind her.
“Oh,mija!” She smiles when she sees me as if she hasn’t disappeared for nearly a week. “I’m so glad you’re up.”
“Oh,mija? You’re gone for a week, and that’s all you have to say?” She walks toward me, grabbing my face between her hands.
“I meant to call, but my phone died, and Ronnie didn’t have a charger.” I can smell the alcohol on her breath, which confirms everything I’ve thought for the last few days.
She relapsed.
“Mami,apestas a alcohol,” I whisper.
“Avalon, we have guests; it’s not polite to speak Spanish in front of guests who don’t understand.” She squeezes my shoulders harder than necessary, almost as if she’s trying to tell me to shut up. And then I notice the glossiness in her eyes—she’s using drugs again, too.
“Where have you been?”
“I told you, with Ronnie.” She points to the guy she walked in with, the one still standing in front of the open door. “I just came to pick up some of my things.”
“Who’s Ronnie?” I stare at the guy behind her. I don’t want to be a judgmental bitch, but Ronnie looks just like every crack addict I saw when I was in health class. Maybe a little fuller in the face, like he was just in rehab recovering, but his white skin is starting to turn back to a pale gray that makes him look sick.
“That’s Ronnie,” she says it like I’m stupid.
“How do you know Ronnie?” What I really want to ask is if she met him on the streets. If she went to him to get high. If she’s really just back to steal money from me again.
“I met him in AA.”
I let out a breathy laugh, “Unbelievable.”