Chapter 9
I turn my eyes to the front door, trying to focus. What time is it?
Someone persistent is ringing my doorbell.
I look down at the bottle of vodka between my thighs. I pull myself out of the couch and roll the empty bottle under it. I hear my mother’s voice calling my name from behind the door, and Sheryl is with her. Looks like the good women in my life have come to see about me. I haven’t answered my phone in two days, not since my last employer fired me.
“Well, hello there,” I say, opening the door.
At the sight of me, my mother’s face tightens, and I realize I must look bad. “Why didn’t you answer your phone,” she says, fixing my shirt as if she can tuck my life back into place. “Oh my, would you look at this place?” She smiles nervously and gives Sheryl a discreet look I
