"What are you doing here?" I asked with my arms crossed over my bare chest. I didn't even bother to hide my annoyance, which was only surpassed by shock at seeing my mother standing in the doorway.
"Jesus, you look like shit. Can I come in?" she asked, with a strained smile.
I considered denying her. We hadn't spoken since the night of the awards ceremony. She had left half a dozen voicemails that ranged from apologetic to indignant. But I'd refused to return her calls.
The words Erica had spoken on the pier came rushing back. Forgiveness had never been my strong suit, but maybe it was time to be a better man. Especially since I needed a little forgiveness extended my way.
I waved my mom in with a bone-weary sigh, ignoring the look of disgust plastered on her face as she took in the current state of my condo. It was a reflection of where I was. There were empty takeout containers and beer bottles strewn across the counter in the kitchen. The sink was full of dirty dishes, and my couch was piled high with blankets and pillows.
I couldn't bear to sleep in the same bed that Erica and I had shared.
"Darius told me what happened with you and Erica. And that you haven't been to work in weeks."
"Why do you care? Aren't you still getting your checks in the mail?" I said with a snide tone that soured her expression.
"Dante, I don't care about that."
"Now, you're just lying, Ma."
She stepped closer, ignoring my taunt. "I'm worried about you."
"It's not a big deal. I decided to take some paid time off." I slumped down onto the couch and thumbed through the channels while she toyed with the strap of her purse.
"I'm not here to bust your balls. I'm here to make sure you're okay. And judging from the way you smell, you ain't."
I didn't care if I stunk. I didn't care that my nappy hair had started to dread. I didn't care that I had lost all motivation to get out of bed in the morning.
The adrenaline high I used to get before a game that helped me dominate on the football field had kept me from sleeping for weeks. I was a fucking mess.
"Hey, it's going to be okay," she said, sinking down beside me.
I gave her a withering sidelong glance. "No, it's not. I fucked up."
"Yeah, you did, but that doesn't mean you can't fix it."
"I've been trying, but Erica won't even talk to me."
"Then try harder."
"It's not that simple. She told me there's no coming back from this."
"I know it seems that way right now, but she loves you. She'll come around. She's just embarrassed. And even though she has no reason for it, she's ashamed. It's normal, in these sorts of situations," she said, her voice cracking.
I glanced her direction. The empathy softening her eyes, made my stomach turn. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
She glanced down at her lap before answering. "Is it so hard to believe?"
I sunk my head into my hands, unsure I could take any more dark revelations. "Jesus Christ, Ma. When?"
"It was a long time ago when you were just a baby. But it's colored my entire life. So, I know what she's going through."
Before I could over-think it, I reached out and squeezed her hand which fidgeted in her lap. "I'm so sorry."
She looked surprised by my offering but squeezed back. "No, Dante. I'm sorry. For everything. It don't matter what happened in my past, it doesn't excuse what I did to you and your brothers when you were growing up. And it is high time I do something about it."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm gonna do something about my drinking."
"Excuse me if I don't believe you. You've said that more times than I can count." My cynicism stole the half-smile from her face, which only made me feel worse.
"You're right. I have. And there ain't nothing I can do, but try again. I'm not expecting you to believe me. I'll just have to show you. I'm going into a thirty-day treatment program. After that, I plan to move into a sober living facility, until I'm ready to live in the real world again."
I wanted to believe her because I would always be that little boy who wanted a mom that was normal. A mom that didn't leave her kids to fend for themselves while she drank herself into oblivion.
"That's great, Ma. I wish you luck."
"I'm going to need more than luck. I hope that you and your brothers can forgive me someday."
"I hope so, too."
She seemed happy to accept my meager offering and stood up. "Let me help you clean up and then I'll make us some dinner," she said.
"You don't have to do that," I called over my shoulder when she marched to the kitchen. Ignoring me completely, she went to work scrubbing dirty dishes while I tossed out all the garbage I'd allowed to accumulate. Coupled with the scent of her lilac perfume, the Bible hymn she hummed transported me back to the early days of my childhood when she had been sober. When she used to make dinner and read me books before tucking me into bed.
After returning my kitchen to some semblance of normality, she started digging around in my refrigerator. It was clear from her soft clucks that my fridge did not meet her approval. "You don't got nothing I can work with," she said placing one hand on her hip. "Why don't we go out? My treat."
I almost laughed, but she looked so earnest that I couldn't bear to hurt her feelings. "Um, okay. I'll go shower and change."
"Great." When I was about to turn the corner to my bedroom, she called out to me. "Hey, Dante... I know I wasn't there for you when you needed me the most. And I'm not talking about when you were a kid. After you got hurt. That wasn't right what I did, leaving you to fend for yourself."
Her apology took me by surprise, and I stood there staring at her like an idiot. After a simple nod, I continued to my bedroom, doing my best to force the lump down my throat that threatened to strangle me.