“Kalli!” Seth screams, “The part. Watch, watch.”
“All right, but you gotta shush. Mum will go wild if she knows you’re up.”
Our mum, though a drunken high mess of a woman at times, still has enough brains to put my brothers to bed before nine, so Seth and Tristan awake at three am is odd. I hope to hell she fell asleep by accident.
Seth is first to answer my test question.
“Mummy isn’t here.”
“She went out?” I ask, studying both of their faces for any lies.
“Yup,” Tristan chimes in. “We started watching Toy Story when she left.”
“This is Toy Story,” I correct.
These twins are similar in looks and brains. I swear they can read each other’s mind, which is what they do now, sharing a look.
“Kalli …” Seth gives me such an earnest gaze. It breaks my heart knowing these kids are more mature than our mum at times like this. “This is number three.”
The twins explain that she’s with Betsy. I add, internally, and getting high. Apparently, she hired the usual sitter. However, Mum must have lost track of time. It’s no wonder the sitter left. I doubt she was paid for this long, or could work until now.
Seth and Tristan, my baby brothers, have been left to watch back-to-back Toy Story movies that will hopefully keep them distracted or put them to sleep until an adult gets home.
Shit. Fucking shit.
“What happened to the sitter?” I say, enquiring what actually happened.
“Amanda left.” Seth says, poking his head above the covers.
“When?” I say, gazing into his grey eyes. I want to cuddle them both but I reek of alcohol, and I’m sickening myself feeling so irresponsible and messy.
Seth thinks, answers, “Toy Story 2.”
I look back to the TV and estimate this one is probably around the one-hour mark. The sitter must have left after putting on the second movie, around 12.30 or so.
I tell the boys they stink, which they do. Tristan doesn’t care, but Seth tends to be self-conscious—a first for this family—so he agrees to come have a bath. Tristan loves Seth and follows.
All three of us strip. I felt awkward the first time we bathed together, but when I’m drunk and over-tired and it’s this time of the night, and my twin brothers are four? It’s just not awkward. I slide off their pjs and underwear and slip off my dress while the bath fills. It’s only average size but it has a curtain surrounding it so the boys sit on the bottom with the bubbles and their LEGO and truck figurines and I stand.
I shampoo and condition their heads and they love getting their fingers into the suds and trying to make them expand as much as possible, which I told them, if they rub fast, will make one of them the winner.
They do this now while I stand there, hands frozen in my hair, and stare at the water beading off the tiles. Watching the droplets race down the walls as if competing against each other. Some droplets join and become heavy, picking up speed. Others are lonely and take too long to drop to the bath bottom.
On my right, Seth taps my leg and I shake my head back to here and get us dressed. By this stage, the boys’ shoulders are sagging and they mumble their words, which are laced with sleep. These twins can get over-tired quickly and then it’s crazy trying to get them to sleep, so I skip story time, tuck them in and take the couch cushion I’ve positioned between their beds to sit on until they’re asleep and won’t notice me leave.
I slide the knob into the latch silently on my way out. I finally call Mum, but she doesn’t answer on call one or by number three so I give up because I know how that situation pans out, and waking up with my mobile imprint in my hand only ruins my morning when I remember.
Scout will be my distraction for the night. My best friend. The only adult I can rely on, besides Nate.
“It’s never rude when you’re having fun. Remember, life isn’t about being boring,” Mum always used to tell me.
Noticing Scout’s transferred to my room, I walk there and lower myself next to her, sliding onto the mattress so it doesn’t bounce, but she’s awake still.
“You mmm …?” she starts asking, but mumbles off and hums to herself in her drifting state. I keep my lips shut since the only thing I’m capable of is a shrieking sound and punching something out of frustration about how the night turned out.
Knowing me well she gets my hips, lines them up with hers, and bear hugs me from behind. The moment feels like the same sort of relief I felt when I had stepped off the bus from school camp, awaiting my ride home, back when Mum noticed things like that.
• • •
I should want to sleep but Mum is sure to roll in, figuratively or literally, in the next hour or so and I need to catch her before she sleeps or else she’ll forget the night ever happened. Scout is next to me. Twisting to see her face, I note her expression is slack, her breaths soundless as she rests. The sheets fold over her like a set director has placed them to look pretty, not like they’ve been literally slept in. I want to be like her now, but I also want to own this mad sensation firing up inside me. How could Mum do that? After Seth and Tristan were born she stayed clean for us and for her husband, Chester. It wasn’t for long, but still. That’s one year pre-birth and one post-birth—but who am I kidding? I know Mum’s type.