Saving Rain(5)

Gramma came up behind me, laid her hands on my shoulders, and kept me from leaving. “Wait a second there, birthday boy. What do you say?”

Excitement was zipping wildly through every one of my fingers and toes, and I could barely stand still. But I sighed and remembered I was supposed to be polite, so I looked up at Billy's mom and muttered, “Thank you.”

“You're very welcome,” she said with the prettiest smile I had ever seen.

Billy's mom wasn't like mine. She was more like Gramma. She baked cookies and cooked dinners and did the laundry. She brought snacks to school and went on class trips. Sometimes, I wondered what it was like to have a mom more like her, but I never really thought about it for too long.

Not until now anyway.

“Laura, would you like to stay?” Gramma asked Billy's mom. “We're having pizza and cupcakes, if you're interested.”

Billy's mom shook her head and passed the gifts to Gramma's wrinkly hands. “I have some errands to run,” she said as I noted that Mom never ran errands. That was Gramma's job. “But I'll be back in a few hours to pick these guys up for a sleepover at my house, if Soldier wants to come.”

I turned to look up at Gramma with hopeful eyes. “Can I, Gramma?”

“We'll talk about it, okay?” she answered before looking back at Billy's mom. “I'll let you know.”

Billy's mom nodded and gave Billy a kiss on the top of his head. He rolled his eyes and told her to leave already. I wondered if he'd want her to leave so bad if she regularly left on her own, like my mom did.

Gramma closed the door as Billy's mom went back to her car, and my friends and Sully and I ran like a herd of elephants up the stairs to my bedroom. And I was right; they liked my room. They liked my room a lot, and we took turns playing video games until the pizza was delivered.

Gramma called us to the dining room, so down we went like a herd of elephants again. Grampa told us all to wash up before we ate, and while my friends made a line at the kitchen sink, I announced I needed to pee anyway.

I went upstairs to the bathroom with the good-smelling soap—the downstairs bathroom soap smelled like baby powder, and I hated baby powder. The door was closed, which was kinda weird because Gramma and Grampa always said to leave it open unless someone was inside. And if Gramma and Grampa were downstairs and Mom was at work, then who was in there?

Maybe someone forgot to leave it open.

So, I turned the knob, finding it wasn’t locked, and gasped when I saw Mom standing at the sink with a bottle of medicine in her hand. She turned on her heel as she tossed something into her mouth and swallowed quickly.

“S-Soldier!” she shouted angrily, her eyes squinty and her cheeks red as she stuffed the medicine bottle into her pocket. “Goddammit! You're supposed to knock!”

I hurried backward a couple of steps. “S-sorry. I'm sorry.”

My heart was beating so, so hard and fast. What was she doing home? She was supposed to be at work; that was why she couldn't be at my party. That was what she had said, so … what was she doing here now?

“Hey, buddy, don't leave your friends hang—” Grampa stopped talking when he saw Mom in the bathroom. “Diane, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?”

Mom's eyes moved rapidly from me to Grampa. “I, um … I-I got off early.”

“O-kay.” Grampa used the same voice on her that he had used when I told him I ate all my broccoli at dinner the other night when he knew I had given it all to Sully.

I hated broccoli, but Gramma kept giving it to me.

I was never ever, ever going to eat it.

“What's that in there?” He pointed at the white cap of the bottle sticking out of her pocket.

Mom shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a headache.”

“Oh, yeah? So, what are you taking for it?”

“Something for a headache.”

“Let me see.” Grampa held out a hand and waited for Mom to give the bottle to him.

I didn't like this. I didn't feel good. My heart was going to blow up, and Mom was going to yell. I could see it in her frowny mouth and tomato-red face.

“How about you just mind your own fucking business?” she shouted, proving me right once again.

Grampa squeezed my shoulder. “Soldier, go downstairs and eat your pizza with your friends. Tell Gramma to come up here.”

“B-but … but I have to pee,” I said, suddenly feeling like I was five again, not eight. Eight-year-olds weren’t supposed to sound like they were going to cry.

“Go pee downstairs,” Grampa ordered.

My bottom lip began to wriggle like a stupid baby. “B-but, but, but—”

“Fucking hell, Soldier! Why the hell are you like this?! Get the fuck out of here!” Mom yelled at me, pointing her finger toward the stairs.

I took one look at her angry eyes, and then I ran.

I ran down the stairs to the bathroom with the baby-powder soap, slammed the door behind me, and wished so, so, so hard that my friends hadn’t heard my mom yell at me. I bet their moms didn't yell at them. I bet their moms didn't fight with their grammas and grampas.

I peed and washed my hands with the gross soap and hoped my friends didn't ask me why my mom had yelled at me on my birthday. Mostly because I was embarrassed, but also because I didn't know why she had yelled in the first place.