I'm Just Happy to Be Here by Janelle Hanchett

Author:Janelle Hanchett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette Books
Published: 2018-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

10

Maintenance Whiskey

One week after I left rehab, my mother and I sat in her living room in big, soft easy chairs with the footrests kicked out, constructing plans to prevent me from detonating my life. My plan was that I would live in the house Mac and I had rented before I went to rehab. Mac had moved our belongings from the big Natomas house to the new one, but didn’t get beyond dropping off furniture and stacking unmarked boxes in every room. This was the extent of my plan.

Her plan was: “Devote your life to recovery.”

“Don’t your counselors say you should take time to just focus on recovery before trying to do life again?” It was not an actual question, but I answered anyway.

“Yes,” I said. “And I have, right?” I narrowed my eyes at her, sensing she had an opinion on my life that differed from my own.

“You have, but I think you need to get all this psych stuff in order before you get back with the kids.” As if cued, Rocket bolted out of the bedroom holding a wooden screwdriver and a brown-headed doll with matted hair. When he passed me, I leaned over and grabbed his shirt, yelling “Hey!” and demanding a hug. He spun around in smiles and folded into my arms just long enough for me to get a whiff of the sweet honey sweat of his chubby neck before he ran off.

“I need to be with the kids, Mom, and Mac and I just rented that house. Have you seen the porch? It’s amazing. Right next to a horse ranch.”

“Yes, it’s nice, but you rented that when Mac was still working. He’s in a ninety-day program and you’re out of money. You’re on mental health leave for two more months.”

“How do you know that?” If I told her that, I had forgotten.

“Because your boss and I talk, Janelle. Everybody talks about your health now.” Good Lord, I thought. Everybody is so earnest about everything.

“Weird.” I rolled my eyes, pondering how they all couldn’t see how I had my life handled now.

Since she seemed to make a decent point, even better than mine, I turned my attention to the show we hadn’t been watching but that played in the background because it was comforting—the way it droned on, the hum of canned laughter and commercials with all the happiness they promised. All those beautiful people. All the beautiful things to buy. Like candles and gift bags.

She lowered the volume with the remote, looked at me, and asked, “So, you think all those diagnoses are true? Your dad wonders about them.”

“You talk to Dad?” I asked, surprised.

“Of course. He’s been helping me with the kids.”

“What do you mean?” Now I was utterly shocked.

“What do you mean? I have to work. Mac’s parents work. Your dad works. Everyone works.” She seemed mildly exasperated.

“Wow, that’s really nice of him. Too bad he didn’t do that for me when I was a kid.”

“Well, he’s doing it now,” she said dismissively as she shrugged her shoulders, clearly on his side.

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