Free Sunburn by Rosanna Leo Page B

alcoholics. Each one worse than the one before. But my mom took the cake. I think she was going for an award or something. You’re a bartender. Do they give out trophies for ‘Best Alcoholic of the Year’?”
    He didn’t respond to her sarcastic joke. Rather, he stayed quiet, hoping space would encourage her to tell him more. It did. Within seconds, her story was pouring out.
    “In almost every memory I have of my mother, she’s clutching a liquor bottle. At school functions, when she decided to show up at all, she showed up drunk. Half of the time, she didn’t hear a word I said to her. My friends’ mothers took better care of me. I spent most of my time growing up at Angie’s place. Her parents checked my homework. Her folks gave me advice on boys. When I met Doris years later, her parents looked out for me too.”
    She stopped talking for a moment, lost in thought. Apollo couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was astounded at how much he wanted to draw her close and give her a much-needed embrace.
    She continued, her eyes cold and dry. “I remember this one time when I was fourteen. I decided I was ready to get my ears pierced. I begged my mom to meet me at the mall after school, to be there during the piercing, because I was nervous. She swore up and down she’d be there. When I got to the mall, Angie’s mom was waiting, trying so hard not to look like she pitied me. I got my ears done, went home, and found my mother drunk on the couch. An empty bottle of rum in her hands. She never once noticed my earrings.”
    “What about your father?”
    She rolled her eyes. “I have no idea who he is. Neither does my mother. He’s probably another alcoholic. Someone she picked up in a bar.”
    “I’m sorry,” he whispered, realizing he was so sorry for her. She deserved better. “What about the rest of your family? Aunts, uncles? Grandparents?”
    She made a face. “Yeah, that’s the ridiculous part. Most of them died when I was little. And from what I heard, they were mostly all drunks, too. I didn’t have a lot of support growing up. It was really just me. In a way, it’s good I’m an only child. I’d hate to see any siblings dealing with the same crap.”
    “Didn’t anyone call children’s services?”
    “Oh, sure. All the time. Polite inquiries were made. Social workers came to visit, but she always managed to clean up her act right before their visits. She’d normally end up back on the wagon a week later.”
    He stared at her, in awe of her strength and will to fight. “How did you ever cope?”
    “Well, like I said, I had good friends. Luckily, I also had very kind teachers. They all sort of adopted me in an unofficial way. They made sure I had clothes on my back and food in my belly. It was usually hand-me-downs and Hamburger Helper, but I’m thankful for every morsel.”
    “Patience, I…”
    She brightened. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” She patted her belly. “And as you can see, I have no problems eating now. In fact, I need to eat less!”
    He frowned. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re stunning.”
    Her story of misery hadn’t made her tear up, but his compliment did. Her pretty eyes welled up. She looked away and pretended to wipe sand out of her eye again. Not wanting to embarrass her, he didn’t call attention to it.
    “I may have been a little short with you when we first met,” she admitted in a faraway voice. “Fact is, I’ve never really been keen on bartenders as a species. None of the bartenders at my mother’s usual haunts ever cut her off. No one ever said ‘no’ to her. I sometimes think if even one of those bartenders had refused to serve her, she might have had a moment of strength. She might have had the courage to change her life and put her daughter first. But they kept plying her with drinks.” She considered. “Of course, she didn’t really hang out in the most sophisticated of joints.”
    “Well, hopefully I can be the one to redeem the