There Was No Stopping It

Deal

Eenie, meenie, miney, moe.

Should I stay or should I go?

There was no stopping it.

I looked at the passenger seat and eyed the prescription bottle of Xanax. Picking up the half-empty container, I twisted the cap, my gloved hand trembling as I popped two tablets into my mouth. Throwing my head back, I chased them down with the last of the vodka in my silver flask.

I’d stared at the house for so long that my eyes were dry from lack of blinking. Reaching over, I silenced the radio and leaned my head back, closing my eyes. Quiet enveloped the car’s interior, leaving only the engine’s hum to calm my nerves.

When I opened my eyes again, I was fighting the urge to cry. Snowflakes pinged the windshield, dissolving into tiny drops of water. The warmth of the car was deceiving: Boston was being blasted with a snowstorm. Driving to my mother’s house had been no easy task.

Several roads were buried in two feet of snow or more, and the weather wasn’t going to get any better. The thought of being stranded—with the one person who reminded me of a past I’d rather forget—made me all the more anxious. I was tempted to put the car in reverse and leave. It had been months since I’d seen my mom, and when the phone call came out of the blue the day before, I’d accepted her invitation out of guilt. I knew I wasn’t being fair. After all, what had happened wasn’t my mother’s fault.

Was it?

For months, I’d been distancing myself from everyone. That’s what I did. Whenever I felt overwhelmed with life and the injustice of it all, I retreated. No phone calls, no visits. Just solitude. And alcohol. When that wasn’t enough, drugs. Anything to get my mind off reality.

Time. I just need time.

I quickly popped an Altoid into my mouth. Lifting my chin, I groaned. “All right,” I murmured. “You can do this.” I slapped my thighs and took a deep breath. Before I could change my mind, I turned the ignition key, silencing the engine, then stretched to the passenger side and grabbed the paper bag that was on the floor.

After trudging across the snow-covered walkway, I stamped up onto the porch, snow whipping furiously around the trees of the large, classic Colonial home, as the wind chimes sent out warnings about the storm. For a moment, I was transported back in time, to tire swings and catching fireflies with my dad, and, later, to memories of a life I wished I never had. Although

I’d grown up in this house, I felt like a stranger visiting. My shoulder jolted violently but I wasn’t sure if the cause was the cold air or my nerves. I didn’t knock; instead, I turned the doorknob and entered.

My mother was waiting inside the foyer, smiling. Not a natural smile, but a welcome-to- our-open-house smile. “Taylor,” she said, “you’re here.” The frigid air followed me into the house. The wind was so fierce, I had to use my entire body to close the door. I brushed the powdery snow from the front of my coat and pounded the slush from my boots. “Amanda,” I said, and smiled back in the same open-house way.

She scowled. “Mom.”

“Oh, lighten up. You know I’m kidding,” I said, removing my gloves. “Sorry I’m late.

The traffic in town was wicked crazy.” I handed her the paper bag. “Chinese? Wasn’t sure what to get, so I just ordered a bunch of things.” My lips were cold and dry, making it hard to speak.

“The house looks nice,” I managed, acutely aware of how lame my words sounded. I pulled my hat from my head, avoiding my mother’s eyes. She’d been trying to convince me to cut my hair for years, insisting that it would appear more professional and true to my age. I liked my auburn hair just the way it was—and besides, it was one of the things my husband loved. So I ignored her.

My coat and scarf weren’t completely off when I noticed someone on the sofa in the living room.

The slender, well-dressed blonde waved timidly at me and smiled. “Surprise.”

“Cassie?” I said, my jaw dropping. Like a tidal wave, relief washed over me. When I’d first met Cassie our freshman year of college, she’d been annoyingly perky and always the center of attention—in other words, the complete opposite of me. Luckily for me, she never let up badgering me to join her at social events. I finally gave in and had so much fun that a life-long friendship was forged. Even though I never told her, a friend was exactly what I’d needed, something I’d missed immensely in high school. “What are you doing here?” I said to her. I hung up my things and looked at my mom.

“You didn’t tell me that Cassie was coming. I’d’ve brought more food.”

Placing her hands on my shoulders, my mom nudged me into the living room. Why did I suddenly feel like a lamb being led to slaughter? Clearing her throat, she said, “We, uh, Cassie and I, just happened to bump into each other yesterday at the market. I told her you were coming over and thought she’d like to join us.” The open-house grin returned. “Sorry. I didn’t even think that you might bring dinner.”

I gave my mother a half-hearted, cheek-to-cheek hug, and then turned towards Cassie, who’d stood. “No worries,” I said. “I always love seein’ Cass.”

Once I had finally let her friendship in, we’d been practically inseparable through college. After we graduated, Cassie landed a job as a software consultant for a start-up tech company. When the dot-com industry took off, so had her career. I’d pursued a position in Paris and, over the years, we hadn’t found much time to spend together. Our careers had consumed us.

But whenever we did manage to see each other, we didn’t miss a beat. Until recently.

I gave Cassie a quick hug followed by a peck on each cheek. I hadn’t shaken the

European greeting I’d become accustomed to while living abroad.

“Well,” my mom cut in, “I’ll let you two catch up.” She turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

Cassie brushed her hand along my arm. “How’re you doing? I’ve been meaning to call, but…” Guilt beset me—I was the reason we hadn’t seen each other or spoken in so long. “No. I get it. People don’t know what to say.” Rubbing my arms, I shuddered, wishing the Xanax would kick in. I moved swiftly to the couch, not knowing quite how to change the subject.

Cassie sat beside me, and the concern in her hazel eyes twisted my stomach tighter.

“Seriously, Taylor. How are you, really? No bullshit.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.” I swatted her wrist. “I am,” I said, wanting to believe it.

“Here you go.” My mom had returned from the kitchen carrying a bamboo tray with three tall glasses filled with iced tea.

I watched her set the tray on the coffee table. When she remarried after my father died, at my stepfather’s insistence she’d joined the right social circles to help both of them climb

Boston’s coveted ladders of success. Even though she was gracious, polite, and welcoming, to me she never really fit the role of society housewife or women’s auxiliary club president. My mom always seemed more comfortable baking cookies with me or spending time curled up with a good book. But, like the dutiful wife, she did as James asked in order to keep the peace.

“I thought you girls might like something to drink. I know it’s snowing outside, but iced tea is never out of season, right?” The glasses clinked against each other as she took one and sat back onto a taupe and cream striped armchair.

I stared at both women as I lifted a glass, wishing the drink was something stronger.

Something wasn’t right. My mother’s story about running into Cassie at the store didn’t make any sense. Cassie lived in a completely different part of town—what were the chances she happened to be shopping at my mother’s favorite market? I gulped the tea, set the glass down on the tray and frowned. “All right. What’s going on?”

My mother swallowed some tea and began coughing violently. “Wrong… p...pipe,” she got out, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wheezed and pounded her chest. Finally, she caught her breath.

While Cassie took an exceptional interest in the details of the Oriental rug beneath her feet, I watched my mother impassively, my knees bouncing with anxiety. I knew I shouldn’t have come, and now I wanted nothing more than to escape. Standing abruptly, I bolted into the foyer and grabbed my purse from the hall tree. “I’ll be right back.” I left the two stunned women with only the clinking ice cubes to break the awkward silence.

I couldn’t get into the bathroom fast enough. I shut the door, leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. I had to keep it together. Rummaging through my purse, I took out a zippered pouch that held a vial of cocaine, a razor blade and a short straw. Since the Xanax wasn’t doing the job, I needed another form of relief. Uppers, downers, more uppers, I didn’t give a shit. After hunting through the vanity for a hand mirror, I dumped the powder onto the glass.

A few minutes later, I swaggered back into the living room. I watched, indifferent, as my mother and best friend stared back at me, and fought the urge to sniff. Their wary eyes made me nervous, and I didn’t want to worry them unnecessarily. The drug use was just a stopgap, something to help me bury my emotions. I was in control.

Feeling giddy, I took my glass from the table and raised it into the air. “Cheers, everyone!” Cassie buried her head in her palms.

“What?” I asked. “What?” I repeated, louder.

Cassie didn’t speak. She dropped her hands and looked at my mom, who gestured for me to sit in the chair closest to the fireplace.

I shook my head but obliged. I crossed arms and legs, my top leg swinging uncontrollably. The evening wasn’t working out as I had hoped, and my worst fears were coming to fruition. I felt trapped. Trapped in my childhood home. Trapped in my life.

“Okay, well, Taylor,” my mother began tentatively.

My eyes narrowed. “Wait,” I pounced. “What is going on here?” I slapped my hands against the cushion and glared at Cassie. “Did she put you up to this? If she did—” I tilted my chin towards my mother and scowled. “If you did, Mother, so help me.” My leg swung more violently. Cassie was staring at my leg, so I slid my hand down my thigh, stopping its movement.

“Never mind. Let’s just drop this. Don’t you want something to eat? C’mon,” I said, standing.

“Let’s have some Chinese.” I waved my arms, signaling them to follow, and started toward the kitchen.

“Wait,” my mother said, an edge to her voice. “I want to hear what you have to say.” She stood and took a few steps toward me, then halted. “What did you mean, ‘so help you’—what,

Taylor?” Her angry posture and demeanor hadn’t changed much over the years. Many times when I was younger, she would scold me in the exact same way, her auburn hair pulled into a ponytail at the base of her neck, her hands on her tiny waist. She was still beautiful, tiny lines around her eyes and all. Even so, I didn’t appreciate her confronting me, especially in front of my friend.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” I continued into the kitchen.

She called after me. “What? You’ll what, Taylor? You won’t speak to me?” Her voice turned shrill. “As if that’s anything new!”

My cheeks burned with rage. I snorted, glancing over my shoulder. “Where’d that come from? What’s your problem?” I turned. “Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on? You obviously have something to say, so…” I sniffed, the coke-numbness encasing my teeth, the familiar nasal drip sliding down my throat. I glared at Cassie. “Start talking!” The audacity of Cassie judging me made me want to laugh—after all her exploits when we were younger.

Cassie didn’t flinch. “We’re worried about you, that’s all. We only want what’s best for you, Tay. Really.” Her eyes studied the floor.

“Worried about me,” I repeated, stalking back into the living room. “Why would you be worried about me? I’m fine. I told you. I’m fine.” I looked down at my trembling hands, then around the room. “I need a drink. Mom, do you have any vodka?” I raised my eyebrows. “I could use a drink,” I said, turning and walking into the kitchen.

“I don’t think alcohol is the best thing for you right now, Taylor. Why don’t you come back in here so we can talk?” I didn’t answer. The only thing I wanted was a drink. Cabinet after cabinet, I searched for the stores of liquor I knew she had. James always had a full stock of liquor, vodka to bourbon.

He’d been a legend back in the day—no one could drink like my stepfather. And I knew it first- hand. My hands started shaking harder, and I was finding it difficult to concentrate.

Glass shattering made me jump.

“Fucking great.” I slammed my fists on the kitchen countertop. My clumsiness would undoubtedly send my mom into panic mode.

She rushed in, just as expected. “You all right? What happened?” She looked down at the tumbler that had ricocheted from the counter to the floor, leaving a trail of glass in its wake, then carefully picked up the larger shards and put them into a tall kitchen wastebasket.

The scraping and sweeping of the glass made me shudder. “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

I pulled the garbage can over to my mother. “It just slipped out of my hand, that’s all.” Looking around the kitchen floor, I noticed some slivers scattered about. “Where’s the broom and dust pan? Still in the front closet?” I disappeared around the corner because I already knew the answer. My mom hadn’t changed many things over the years.

In the front hallway, I stared at the closet door at the foot of the steps. My eyes slowly moved towards the second floor, taking in each step. The carpeting had changed, but I could still feel the texture of its original weave. I massaged my knee beneath my jeans. It still burned from scars created so many years ago. Opening the closet, I spotted the broom. As I grabbed it from behind several coats, I became tangled in a scarf that spilled from one of the shelves. Pulling it from my shoulder, I grinned. I couldn’t believe my mother had kept this. It had been a gift from Joey, my first boyfriend. It wasn’t a beautiful scarf—he had given it to me after knitting it in his required home economics class, an endless source of teasing for boys and girls alike. I didn’t know what had become of him after high school, and it struck me that I hadn’t thought of him in years. My eyes grew misty. Sometimes I wished that I could go back in time and relive my childhood. Before James. Maybe then, things would have turned out differently. I shook my head, placed the scarf back on the shelf, and closed the door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cassie enter the kitchen, frowning. Without a sound, I walked in and began sweeping the floor. I caught my mother and Cassie exchanging glances. I needed to buy some time. Long after all of the glass was gone, the floor spotless, I kept sweeping. Swish. Swish. Swish. Hypnotized, each stroke kept time with my runaway pulse.

Grabbing the broom from my hand, my mother yelled, “Stop!” She slammed the bristles against the floor. “Just stop it!” Then, her voice dropping, “Please stop.” I remembered saying those same words years ago, and hearing them again from my mother’s mouth seemed like deja- vu.

Gently taking my arms, she led me to the kitchen table and pulled out one of the chairs.

“Taylor, honey. Sit. Talk to me. What can I do to help?”

“Help?” I muttered softly, blinking. “I don’t need help.” Blinking again, my voice was defiant, cold: “The only thing I need is to be left alone.” I wanted to return to the safe comfort of my solitary thoughts. Cassie knelt in front of me. Gliding her hand down my hair, she said, “It’s okay to need help, Tay.” She placed her hands on my knees. “We all need help sometimes.” Her expression filled with concern. “You know you can talk to us. That you don’t need to hide anymore.”

Looking down at Cassie, my eyes burned with rage. “Hide?” I began laughing, my voice unrecognizable even to myself. “I’m not hiding. Jeezus! I’m fine!” I shoved Cassie’s hands, much harder than I intended, sending her sailing across the floor. I should have felt some remorse for being so rough, but instead, I felt like stone. I stood. This was their fault. They had no right to tell me how I should feel or act. What did they know?

Cassie stumbled to her feet and came right back at me, so close our noses were almost touching. “What is wrong with you, Taylor?” She poked her finger into my chest, startling me.

Cassie was half my height, and in college she’d avoided confrontations at all costs. “You’re acting nuts! You don’t call me back, you barely visit your own mother, you’re on God knows what drugs!” Gripping her own arms, she raised her brows in disbelief. “And you think you’re not hiding? Bullshit! You aren’t the Taylor we know. So, who the hell are you?” She moved closer to examine my eyes, and the disgust on her face made me flush. “You’re so drugged up you can’t even focus on me. You need help, and if you won’t accept it from us, you are going to get it somewhere!” She took my shoulders and shoved me back onto the chair. “And you aren’t going to find it in the bottom of a goddamn vodka bottle.”

Cassie had never spoken an angry word to me. She was always the one who’d pick me up when I was down, make me laugh when I needed a laugh. Then again, I had never shut her out as

I had done the past year. I sat, my mouth agape. Crossing my arms, I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Okay,” I said, finally. “I’m listening.”

Cassie glanced at my mother then returned her attention to me. “All right,” she said.

“Amanda, do you want to go first?”