I’m petrified when Mom starts swearing at Carey and me. When she starts calling us names, I can’t even say anything. She’s my mom. She’s supposed to love me. The one person in the world I can trust to love me unconditionally.

But no. Instead she’s screaming that she hates me.

Even my natural instinct to protect my brother fails me in that moment. Mom’s a mean drunk, but I never expected her to get like this, to lash out at us so suddenly.

“Losers! You’re just like your father!” she wails. “I should have had an abortion!”

Her words hit me like machine-gun fire.

“I’ve given you everything, and this is how you thank me? Bastards! You’re scum!” Before any of us has gathered our wits, Mom stands up, leans across the coffee table, and slaps me across the face.

It doesn’t hurt. Not really. What gets me is the shock. Because my mom has never hit me. Not ever.

She raises her hand again, but Mac darts in front of me, and Mom’s hand ends up across her face instead. Mac doesn’t miss a beat. “Who do you think you are?” she shouts angrily. “Don’t you dare talk to them like that! You don’t have the right!”

Mom’s getting red in the face, like she’s about to have a stroke. “They’re my sons!” she thunders. “You stay out of it!”

“If they’re your sons, then why don’t you treat them like it? What kind of a role model are you? You’re not just verbally abusing your kids anymore, and I won’t have it!”

Mac’s standing so close to me, her legs are touching mine. I can see her fists clawing at the fabric of her skirt. For a moment, I wonder why Dad didn’t protect me, but then I see it in his eyes: he’s just as shocked as I am. But it’s time someone besides Mac grew a pair. Slowly, I stand up, but then everything happens too fast.

Mom raises her fist and punches Mac in the face. As Mac sways, I reach for her, and Dad finally wakes from his state of shock. He pulls Mom backward as she screams and waves her arms, trying to hit Mac again.

My arms are wrapped around Mac, supporting her as she regains her balance. Even holding her nose against what I imagine is pain, she’s still fuming. “Children deserve their parents’ unconditional love!” she yells at Mom. “Parents should never make their kids fear! It’s not these boys who are scum! You’re the scumbag here!”

Then Dad starts shouting at Mom, and Mom starts shouting at Dad. Mac turns to face us, reaching for Carey’s hand and pulling him up. He’s been sitting there looking completely lost. She grabs my arm, too, and pulls us out the front door.

“Get in the car,” she tells us, and we do it like we’re in trance. She drives—fast—to a hill overlooking the ocean. When we get to the top, we get out silently. All three of us stare at the wild beauty of the Pacific.

“Whenever I’m about to pass out with rage I come up here,” Mac says all of a sudden, “and scream. I scream at the wind, the waves, the emptiness in my chest.”

She steps off to the side a little and screams at the top of her voice, “It’s not my fault you never loved me! I deserve to be loved!”

Tears run down her cheeks, and I can’t help wondering what her story is. Whatever it is, it still haunts her. Suddenly I want to know everything about her. I want to know how she’s managed to get so strong, and why she can step up for others but not for herself.

“I-I hate my mom when she drinks!” Carey yells suddenly. I can see tears in his eyes, too. “She’s supposed to love me!”

Mac sees his tears, too. She stands behind him, wraps her arms around him, and holds him tight as he falls apart. He cries and screams, fighting her embrace, but she keeps holding him. She doesn’t let go. He grabs her hands, pressing them against him more tightly, until he sinks to the ground, taking her with him. He turns toward her, wraps his arms around her, and cries on her shoulder.

I’ve never seen my brother this desperate. I don’t know what to do until Mac stretches her hand toward me. I grab it, and she pulls me toward them, then wraps her free arm around my shoulders.

Tears are running down my cheeks now, too, and I should feel embarrassed. Embarrassed that my little brother is—that they’re seeing me cry. But I’m not embarrassed. She’s crying, too, sharing her pain with us, and we’re sharing ours with her.

Our shared pain is creating a connection between us, and I don’t know what’s going to become of it, and whether this will be enough to form any kind of relationship for the future, but right now, all three of us realize that we have something in common.

I put one arm around her, the other around Carey, and we hold each other.

“Why doesn’t she love me? What’s wrong with me?” Carey whispers hoarsely.

Mac strokes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s not your fault. You deserve to be loved.”

Closing my eyes, I wonder how she can say that to us when we’ve treated her like shit since the moment we met her. We’ve been assholes. Real assholes. Still, she’s putting her own feelings away to help us.

“But the things she said—”

“It’s her, not you,” Mac interrupts. “She has issues. Don’t take the blame. Everything she said is about her. Don’t let it define who you are.”

I untangle myself from them and stand, looking down at the water. Maybe it really does help to scream out your rage here.

“She was the best mom ever, and now she sucks!”

Not bad. It feels like a small weight has been lifted off my chest.

“I hate the fact that our family’s broken!” Another little knot dissolves.

Carey gets up and yells, “I hate that Dad didn’t give her a second chance!”

Mac stands, too, and brushes the dust off her pants. She takes a deep breath and yells, “I hate that my mom wasn’t strong enough!”

“Why didn’t Dad love our mom enough?” I scream into the wind.

“Why didn’t he love us enough to keep our family together?” Carey’s voice gets stronger.

“I miss you!” Mac screams, and I only fleetingly wonder who she misses.

“I hate the fact that Dad didn’t fight for us!” I yell.

Carey is shouting as loud as he can. “I want to hate Mac, but I can’t!”

She looks at him. He’s shouting at her, and right now, he looks like the little boy who’s still so fresh in my memory. She holds out her hand, and he hesitates before he grabs it. Then she looks at me and holds out her other hand. I grab it. For a long time, we stand on top of the hill, the wind pulling at our clothes, Mac’s dark hair flying around her head.

* * *

At some point, Mac says, “Let’s go get ice cream.”

When get in her ugly pink car, some silly music blares out of the speakers, and I fiddle with the stereo until I hear Green Day’s “Basket Case.” She surprises me by singing along.

Carey holds his ears and screams, “Fuck, you’re a horrible singer!”

She shrugs, grins, and keeps singing. Punk bands are not exactly known for their harmonious voices, but Mac’s singing is truly horrible. I stare at her a moment like she’s lost her mind, but then I shrug and join her for the chorus. She laughs, and together we sing much too loud and completely out of tune. Carey laughs his balls off in the back seat before finally joining in.

And it feels good.

It’s weird, because I don’t know any girl who would do this kind of shit, not even Ava, and she’s definitely the coolest girl I know. Girls always try to be all perfect in front of guys, but Mac doesn’t care. She knows she can’t sing, but she does it anyway.

We stop at a drive-thru and order huge ice cream cones, which we proceed to wolf down in the parking lot. On the way back, we sing along to “Everlong” by the Foo Fighters, “Kryptonite” by 3 Doors Down, and “Last Resort” by Papa Roach. But when she starts on “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston, Carey and I both start booing.

When we get back to the house, we’re definitely in better spirits than when we left. And, strange as it is, it’s thanks to Mac. As we climb out of the car, Dad comes outside.

“Where were you?” he calls. “Why didn’t any of you pick up your phones? I was worried about you all!”

He hugs me, pats me on the shoulder, and then walks over to Mac—but she signs at him to go to Carey first. Dad does and pulls Carey into his arms. Slowly, we make our way back inside. Mom’s no longer there, and Mac and I simultaneously breathe a sigh of relief. I raise an eyebrow, and she does, too.

“Where were you?” Dad asks again as he comes in with Carey and shuts the door behind them.

“The rage mountain,” Mac says easily.

He gives her a questioning look.

“It helps process emotions to scream out your rage.”

Dad nods slowly, though he still looks confused. “Did it help?” he asks.

Carey, Mac, and I all nod.

Dad runs his free hand through his hair. “Okay, well, I want to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have let your mom say those terrible things. I was so shocked, I…I know you two kept telling me how your mom had changed, but it was the first time I actually saw it. She’s not the woman I knew anymore. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you. That’s my job, and I failed miserably.” He looks down at Carey, who nods. “I love you two very much. You’re the most important people in my life. I want you to be healthy and happy, and want for nothing. If I’d known what your mom has become, I would never have let you go to Miami in the first place.”

I nod, trying to reassure him. When Mom freaked out in front of me for the first time, I was shocked, too. Hell, even earlier today I was paralyzed. So I understand how shocked he must have been. I wish it would have been different, but I understand. “It’s okay, Dad,” I say. “We wanted to go live with her at the time.”

He looks at Mac. “Thank you for standing up for my boys.”

She waves it off like it was no big thing. But it is. Especially after how we’ve treated her. Thank God Mom hits like a girl. If Mac had a black eye or something, it would make me feel even worse.

“I need a shower,” she says awkwardly and turns to run up the stairs like she’s uncomfortable to be the center of attention. Dad stops her and kisses her forehead before she can escape. And I can see so much love in his eyes I feel like an even bigger asshole. He lets her go upstairs then, and he turns back to face us. His sons.

For a while, we all stand there not knowing what to do. Dad’s always let us know how important we are to him, but he’s never articulated it like this before. Neither Carey nor I know how to act after this emotional outbreak.

“Are you doing anything tonight, or are you staying in?” Dad finally asks.

I look at Carey. “I think we’re staying in tonight.”

He smiles happily. “Pizza and baseball?”

Carey smiles. “Sounds good.”

Dad runs his hand through Carey’s blond hair. “I’m glad to hear it.” Without waiting, he picks up the phone and orders two large pizzas. One pepperoni and one half pepper, half mushrooms. Since none of us eat mushrooms, I guess that’s for Mac. I go to the kitchen for four glasses and the Coke, and we sit down on the couch to watch the pre-game report before the Dodgers game. Even though the Padres are our home team, we prefer the Yankees or the Red Sox—or the Dodgers. But none of us are into baseball the way we’re into football. Football is sacred. Still, it’s something to do with Dad tonight, and that’s what we need right now.

When the pizza arrives, we hear steps coming down the stairs. Mac’s wearing yoga pants and a baggy sweater, and I can see she’s unsure whether today’s events have changed anything or not. My eyes scan her body. I still think she’s hot, but I can feel something’s changed inside me. While I’m still suspicious that she has some kind of motivation for going out with an older guy, today she showed us she’s a human being made of flesh and blood. And that she stands up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. She has a big heart. Maybe the Mother Teresa comparison wasn’t too far off after all.

“I ordered pizza for you,” Dad says. “Mushroom.”

She smiles shyly and sits in the open spot next to Carey on the couch. I know it’s our fault she’s so timid around us, and I don’t like it. I feel bad about it.

Carey hands her a glass of Coke. “Or do you want something else?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. Coke is great.”

He nods and returns his gaze to the game. We eat pizza, swear when the Dodgers strand men on base, and cheer when they get a home run—which doesn’t happen as often as you’d think.

Mac doesn’t say much, and I don’t blame her, but the atmosphere is nowhere near as tense as it has been the past few days. It’s nice. Comfy even. In fact, it kind of feels like home.