Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(94)

"Can I smoke?" Sharon asked in a rasp, pulling a pack from her pocket.

"Porch," my mother instructed. "I'll come out with you."

My mother and Sharon disappeared out the front door.

Evan finally emerged from the kitchen with several platters of quesadillas. Jared and Jonathan were helping two of the new arrivals move furniture to make room for the additional poker table. Sara and I brought in pitchers of margaritas and set them on the coffee table.

"I know, right?" my mother said to Sharon as they entered from the porch, the smell of cigarettes swirling around them.

"Evan, you can have a beer," my mother insisted. "It's my birthday. Besides, you're staying over, so you don't have to worry about driving." She smiled and handed him a freshly opened bottle. 

"Thanks." He accepted it and placed his hand on my back, probably sensing my uneven breaths. I watched as my mother poured herself another drink. Closing my eyes, I exhaled quickly, trying to remain calm.

"You okay?" Evan bent down to ask in my ear.

I played off my worried expression. "I'm not so sure I know what I'm doing with poker."

"I'll help you," he assured me. "I'll give you a cheat sheet so you know what hand beats what."

"Okay," I replied, trying to appear relaxed. I met Jonathan's eyes across the room. He looked from my mother to me and shook his head. He was expecting something to happen, and my gut twisted in a knot, knowing it too. I looked away and tried to shake it off.

"Let's play," my mother announced, herding everyone into the living room.

As she drank more and more, my mother played less and less. She finally declared that whatever Jonathan earned would be her winnings. She hopped from table to table, initiating conversation; then she'd jump up to select songs on the iPod and dance around with whomever she could pull away from the game.

And I played poker, or at least tried to. I had no idea what I was doing. I kept glancing at Evan's cheat sheet to decide if my hand was worthy of placing a bet. We had to buy chips, so the betting was real―the birthday girl's insistence. This kept a few of the guys a little too serious, considering it was supposed to be fun.

A few margarita pitchers later, my mother was a giggly mess, sitting on Jonathan's lap with her arms draped around his neck.

"Come on, baby. You need to bet big on this hand," my mother urged, kissing him on the cheek. With that statement, one of the guys folded.

"Thanks, Rachel," Jonathan replied, placing his bet.

"No, you should bet more than that," she garbled, pushing a few more chips in. "We're winning this hand." She stuck her tongue out at Sara and the other guy who hadn't folded. Sara laughed at her, taking a sip of her margarita.

"Sara, I like you," she spontaneously confessed, the affects of the tequila surfacing.

"Thanks, Rachel," Sara replied with a smile. "Happy birthday." She raised her glass for my mother to clumsily tap.

"Come dance with me," my mother insisted, popping up from Jonathan's lap and grabbing Sara's hand.

"But I'm still playing," Sara argued feebly. My mother grabbed her hand and pulled her from her chair, making Sara abandon her cards on the table.

My mother twirled herself under Sara's arm as she held her hand above her head.

I watched from the other table as Jared shuffled the deck.

"You don't say much, huh?" the woman with bleach blond hair noted. I thought her name was Sally, but maybe it was Ally.

"Not really," I replied, keeping my eyes on the cards as Jared placed them on the table in front of me.

"Don't drink either, huh?" she slurred, holding her head up on her hand.

"No, I don't," I answered.

"You used to make us drinks when you were little," she shared, making me pause before picking up my cards. "You were so cute, getting us beers. Rachel always had the best parties."

I studied my cards intently, knowing Evan and Jared were watching me.

"I'll take two cards," I requested, pretending not to be fazed by the glimpse of my previous life living with my mother.

In truth, it was appearing to be not too much different than it was now―except I didn't take sips from the beer cans anymore. Our life was full of emotional waves, even more so when I was young―laughing one minute, crying and screaming the next. There was always music playing, and there seemed to be a constant flow of people in the house. But despite the bodies, I was very much on my own. That's when my focus became school and sports. Despite my mother's lack of interest in my academics, she always made certain I had soccer and basketball―even if she was incapable of driving me to the practices and games herself.