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Back Little Universes Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

Does this mean it all starts again? The using and the lying and the detoxing and the days when there is even less light in my sister’s eyes? And will it be the wave’s fault—or mine?

“Do you know who’s going to be blamed for you drinking when they get home?” I ask her. My vocal cords are masking my fear with the sound of anger, a higher pitch than usual, and I’m grateful for that. “Not you. Never you. It will be my fault. And maybe it is. You told me to lay off, and I did, but I shouldn’t have. I should have followed Mom’s rules, and now—”

“Oh, like you’d actually get in trouble.” Maybe she is still drunk and this is why she says: “Besides, I wouldn’t worry, because they might not even come home.”

I stare at her.

“I didn’t mean—” Hannah stops herself, looks around in a panic, then lunges toward the wooden fence that forms a lazy barrier to our front yard.

Three knocks.

The thing about working the problem is that you can’t work all the problems at once. And I don’t have time to work the problem of my sister.

I need to help my parents come home.

there is no point to me.

Bathroom Stall Door

Peet’s Coffee

Westwood, Los Angeles

5

Hannah

On this first night, we sleep in Mom and Dad’s room. I lie on Mom’s side and Mae lies on Dad’s and we hold hands and watch CNN, which is the only light in the room. It’s on mute because they keep replaying the cell phone videos where everyone is screaming.

We made up. It took ten hours, but when she offered to braid my hair, I knew we were okay.

It wasn’t like the vodka just fell into my mouth. I know I made a choice, the wrong choice. But it’s hard to explain to my sister about why I did it. Hard to explain to myself. I’m not saying Mae’s lucky for what happened to her before she officially became one of us (Mom says she’s always been one of us, and I agree), but I think it made her strong. Maybe knowing you are safe and loved and that all your needs will be met is the trade-off for my weakness.

If Mom and Dad were here, it would all begin again, right away: the random drug tests at home, more meetings in the Circle of Sad, extra appointments with Dr. Brown. As it is, Mae keeps checking my pupils, and her nostrils flare so much I know she’s checking for whiffs of booze on me.

“It was just one time,” I say. “A slipup. It won’t happen again.”