Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(93)

"Finally!" my mother exclaimed. "Evan, please come help me cook these quesadillas. You and I appear to be to be the only ones who have any talent in the kitchen."

"Jared has talent," Sara defended. "It's just not in the kitchen, that's all."

"Oh, so what room are we talking about?" my mother smirked. "The bedroom?"

"We did not just go there," Jared blurted in disbelief, looking from my mother to Sara. Sara started laughing, and I stared, wide-eyed, in shock at my mother's inappropriate candor―wondering if she'd already started drinking.

Evan returned to the kitchen after hanging up his jacket. "Uh, okay. So, what do you want me to do?" he asked, having no idea what he'd just walked in on.

"Flip them when they're ready," she instructed, handing Evan the spatula. "Want a drink?"

"I think I might need one," Jared interjected. My mother pulled two glasses from the cabinet, filled them with ice and held them out for Jared to fill with the margarita blend he'd created.

She handed one glass over and held up hers with a smirk, "To being talented."

Jared raised his eyebrows in shock and clinked against her glass.

"Hey, I want in on this," Sara insisted, filling another glass to tap with theirs. I tried to keep from having heart failure as I watched my mother quickly drain half of her glass. I realized I had to prepare myself. This was about to happen.

"You okay?" Jonathan asked, passing me as he carried in more folding chairs from the porch and set them around the poker table.

"Not until tomorrow morning," I muttered, deciding to follow him to help set up the chairs.

"Emily, would you put on some music?" my mother hollered from the kitchen, although there was no need to yell since I could hear every word they were saying.

"Sure," I replied. I flipped through the CD collection, not finding anything I would deem party-worthy.

"Here," Jonathan offered, handing me his iPod. "There's a playlist on there for Rachel's party."

"Thanks," I accepted, plugging the iPod into the wire attached to the stereo. I scrolled to the Rachel's Party playlist. My mother hollered in excitement from the kitchen when the first song came on.

"Perfect, Emily," she praised.

I was about to explain that it wasn't my selection, when Jonathan stopped me. "Just let her think it was you."

"Okay," I shrugged, not understanding why it mattered.

About half an hour later, the door opened and six people let themselves in, carrying brown bags filled with alcohol and snacks.



       
         
       
        

"Is this where the party is?" a guy with a tightly trimmed beard asked peeking in the kitchen. He opened his arms when my mother squealed in excitement and rushed toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck while kissing him on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Rach," he offered, kissing her cheek in return. She hugged each person, directing them to hang up their coats and instructing them to place their beers in the cooler on the porch. She was so excited. I tried to let the worry go and be happy for her. This was her birthday after all.

"We brought the other poker table and chairs," one of the guys announced, popping open a can of beer after returning from the porch.

We had to introduce ourselves since my mother was too pre-occupied pouring margaritas for the two women she'd dragged into the kitchen.

"Wow, Emily," a woman named Sharon noted upon meeting me. "I can't believe how much you've grown up."

"Thanks," I responded, studying the woman who obviously knew me. Her voice was crackly from too many years of smoking, and her face was etched with lines from a life that didn't care for her. She wore her curly black hair long over her shoulders. Her dark eyes were heavily lined in black and layered with mascara.

"You still look just like your dad," she continued.

"Right?" my mother chimed in from behind Sharon, holding out a glass for her to take. "I swear she's not mine." She laughed playfully.

Sharon cackled. "You've been trying to get away with that one for years. But I was the one who drove you to the hospital when you went into labor, remember?"

"I couldn't exactly drive myself," my mother huffed.

"The bottle of wine may have had something to do with that," Sharon added, her laugh turning into a cough. I narrowed my eyes and looked from her to my mother.

"Relax, Emily," my mother chuckled. "She's only joking." I nodded with an awkward smile. Sharon clamped her mouth shut to keep from laughing, causing her to convulse in a coughing fit.