Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(90)

I couldn't move. I knew Evan was watching me, but I remained still.

"What dinner?" Sara instigated, staring at me, silently begging me to speak up.

"Oh one of those business dinner thingys," Analise gushed with a nervous laugh, realizing she must have said something wrong. 

"What did you think of it?" I asked, feigning curiosity with a strained smile.

Analise hesitated. Probably trying to decide if I was sincere or about to rip her head off. "It was actually pretty nice. Stuart and Vivian are so sweet, so they made it easy. And Evan can talk to anyone and he introduced me to a lot of people, so it wasn't as bad as I feared it would be. We ended up having a really great time."

I stood from the table and stormed out of the cafeteria. I'd barely made it to the hall when Evan caught up with me.

"It was just a stupid dinner for my father's firm," Evan explained in a rush.

"Yup." I responded flatly and kept walking, not caring if he was next to me or not. I remained stoic on the outside, but my insides were squirming―I thought I was about to be sick.

"Em, stop," he begged. "Please, just listen."

I turned abruptly and provided him my full, cold and distant attention. He drew back when he saw the disconnect in my eyes.

"My mother wanted Laura to meet some potential clients affiliated with my father's firm," he explained calmly. "Analise just came along with her mother. It's not as bad as it sounds."

I turned and started walking again, choking on the fumes of anger that cut off all logic and rationalization to my head. I could only feel, not think―and I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I would regret anything I said.

"Besides, you hate those dinners," Evan hollered after me.

I spun around. "So did you," I bit back and rushed off, leaving him behind.

"Hey, Emma," Jill said from beside my locker as I forcefully pulled the books from the top shelf, grumbling to myself about how I couldn't believe Evan took Analise to a firm dinner. "How's Rachel?"

I whipped my head to the side. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to snap at her. To tell her to mind her own business. But I swallowed the anger and said, "Fine."

"We never told anyone about the drinking," she assured me. Her voice was low, careful not to be overheard. Her words struck me as odd. My eyes twitched, questioning. Her face filled with sympathy.

Then it hit me, Omigod. She thinks my mother's an alcoholic.

"Thanks," I replied quickly, needing to look away as the heat crept across my face.

"We shouldn't have done what we did," she continued. "Casey and me. I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah sure," I muttered, my stomach twisting in knots.

"If you ever need to talk," she offered consolingly, making me want to turn from her and run as fast as I could.

"Yup," I answered shortly. "See you in practice. I have to get to class."

"Oh yeah, sure," she replied uncomfortably, her cheeks slightly pink. I walked away with my head down, so people wouldn't notice how red I was.

I couldn't live in denial any longer, and it took Jill's word of solace to snap me out of it. Despite my mother's assurances that she was fine, she wasn't, and it was time I faced the truth. I wanted to believe her so much that I convinced myself that she only drank to excess when she was upset or sad―and that was okay. That was okay?! What was wrong with me?



"Hi, girls," my mother greeted cheerily from the kitchen when Sara and I arrived after practice.

"Hi, Rachel," Sara returned, setting her bag near the bottom of the stairs and walking into the kitchen. I followed after her, suddenly afraid to face my mother. It was like I was seeing her for the first time―noticing the wine glass next to her on the counter as she cut vegetables. The sight of it made my chest hurt.

She picked up the glass and took a sip. "Are you staying for dinner?"



       
         
       
        

"I may not be staying long," Sara told her. "I gave Emma a ride home, and we're just going to talk for awhile before I go."

"Oh, okay," my mother responded. "Jonathan went to pick up a new battery for your car."

"Great," I answered numbly. "Well, we'll be upstairs."

"Um, Sara," my mother called as we were about to leave the kitchen. "It's my birthday on Saturday, and I'm having a few friends over. I thought it would be nice if you came over too, you know, for Emma. I think we're just going to play poker and listen to music."