We bought sodas at the concession stand and made our way to the bleachers.

“Hey, Rachel!” a few voices hollered.

“Hi, Mark! Hi, James!” she yelled back with a bright smile, her sullen mood masked instantly.

“You know people?” I questioned in disbelief.

“Where do you think I sit during your games?”

“Oh,” I mouthed, never considering it before. I was shocked when more faces recognized her. She knew more people in my school than I did.

“Hi, Rachel,” Casey burst out, cutting across the bleachers to get to us, with Jill right behind her. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching Evan,” my mother explained. Casey nodded like it made sense.

“Hey, Emma,” Jill greeted, sitting next to Casey, who opted to sit next to my mother. I was starting to feel like a stranger even amongst my friends―who evidently preferred my mother over me.

“Where’s Jonathan?” Jill asked, making my eyes widen.

My mother shrugged evasively, not looking away from the court as they were about to tip the ball. The cheering erupted around us as the ball flew into the air.

She chanted along with the rest of the school, like she was just another student. I was a spectator, not only to the game, but to my mother’s popularity―it was beyond strange.

As the half progressed, she became more boisterous and made remarks that sent those around her into fits of laughter. I grew suspicious as she became more verbal. Something was off. Her popularity grew the more vocal she became. The boys scooted in around her. I would have been nudged out my position next to her if I wasn’t her daughter.

During halftime, my mother disappeared into the bathroom with Casey and Jill. I followed a few minutes later to find her dumping the contents of her flask into their fountain sodas. Her flagrant personality suddenly made sense―I should've known better.

“Casey, you were supposed to lock the door,” Jill scolded with a huff.

“Sorry,” Casey responded guiltily. “But it’s just Emma.”

My mother watched for my reaction. "You're not mad, right?"

I looked from one face to the other as they waited for me to say something. I shook my head and stepped into the first stall without a word. I leaned against the wall and listened as they giggled and Casey gushed about some cute boy sitting behind them.

"Do you want us to wait for you?" my mother called out.

"No, it's okay," I responded, trying to keep my voice steady. My insides were a slithering mess. I couldn't believe I'd caught my mother feeding my friends alcohol so they could get drunk together. I took a breath and tried to clear my head, to think of how to keep this from escalating out of control.

I pulled out my phone and sent Jonathan a text, Are you still coming?

If Jonathan didn’t show up, then I knew my mother would just keep drinking, and the more she drank, the more unpredictable she'd become. This was going to be horrible.

My phone beeped. On my way. There in 15.

I contemplated waiting for him so I wouldn’t have to return to the bleachers alone. In the end, I trudged back to my seat beside my inebriated mother and her giggling clique. I kept glancing over at them, watching as they laughed and gossiped.

Finally, I saw Jonathan along the sideline, scanning the bleachers to find us. My mother stood and waved frantically, making her easy to spot. He climbed the steps closest to me and excused himself across the row. I scooted over so he could sit between me and my mother.

Before he could say anything, she leaned over and kissed him. He pulled back in surprise.

“What?” she snapped as he pulled his brows together.

“Are you drunk?”

She shrugged with a smirk.

“At a high school basketball game? Really, Rachel?” Jonathan didn’t even try to sugarcoat his disapproval.

My mother huffed with a roll of her eyes. “What happened to you? You used to be fun.” She turned her back to him and started cheering along with the girls.

Jonathan turned toward me. “So, what happened?”

I shrugged. “She’s afraid you don't care about her anymore.”

“Why?” he questioned emphatically. “Because I had to work?”

I didn't answer, and sunk further into the bleachers―not sure how to make this whole thing go away.

My mother reached into her purse and took out her mini Altoids tin.

“Are you serious?” Jonathan accused as she popped a pill in her mouth.

“Well, if you’re not going to be any fun, then I need something to make me happy.”

“What was that?” I asked, having seen her pop the little white pills too many times to count, without really knowing what they were. Jonathan only shook his head in disgust.

He observed her silently as she grew more and more enthusiastic, drawing more attention. His jaw set and the tendons in his neck tightened.

About five minutes later he muttered angrily, “I'm sorry, Emma, but I can’t― I can’t do this.” Jonathan stood up and passed by me toward the steps.

“Where are you going?” my mother yelled after him. He didn’t look back. I could only watch after him in shock as he paced down the sideline and out the gym doors.

“Where is he going?” she demanded in a panic.

“I don’t know,” I replied uneasily.

“Make him stop,” she pled, about to cry. “Please, Emma, you have to stop him from leaving.”

She sniffled and her eyes flickered, coated with tears.

“Okay, okay,” I comforted desperately. “I’ll stop him.”

Jill turned toward my mother and her smile changed to a look of concern. "Rachel, what's wrong?"

"Please help her calm down," I begged Jill before I rushed down the steps and out of the gym. Jonathan was nearing the exit when I caught up with him.

“Jonathan!” I called after him. He turned at the sound of my voice. “Where are you going?”

He waited for me to near before he said, “Emma, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be responsible for her every time she gets paranoid and emotional.” He sounded defeated, releasing a heavy breath.

“Please don’t leave,” I begged. “If you do, I am so afraid she’s going to make a huge scene, and I don’t know how to handle that.”

Jonathan hesitated, deciding what to do. My stomach was a mess just thinking about the potential breakdown my mother was on the verge of having in front of the entire school.

“Are you leaving me?” my mother asked from behind us. “I knew you were.”

“Rachel, stop,” Jonathan stated firmly. “Not here.”

“Then where? What does it matter where it happens? I know you don't want to be with me anymore, no matter what you said last night.”

“Mom, let me drive you home,” I urged. “I’ll get our jackets.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, stumbling slightly as she took a few steps toward Jonathan. I remained still, frozen by her harsh tone. Her eyes watered as she took another step in Jonathan’s direction. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you too.”

“Let Emma drive you home,” he requested lowly, glancing toward me to make sure I was still okay with driving her. I nodded slightly. “I’ll meet you there and we’ll talk. Okay?”

“Why can’t I leave with you?” she sulked, starting to sniffle.

“I know you’ll want to talk as soon as we get in the truck, and I can’t. I’ll meet you at the house where we can sit down and talk.” Before she could say another word, he left. Tears started draining from my mother’s eyes. I sighed and tried to remain composed, despite the crushing feeling in my chest.

I texted Jill to hold on to our jackets. I’d get them from her later.

“Come on,” I encouraged softly, not sure if I should touch her or not. “Let’s go.”

She trailed after me to the car. Her legs lazily crossed in front of each other as her balance waivered.

My mother stared out the window the entire ride to the house. I kept my eyes on the road, not wanting to watch her suffer beside me. Jonathan’s truck awaited us in the driveway when I pulled in. I hesitated to get out of the car, watching her stumble up the steps.

I really wanted to leave, to not witness what was about to happen. But I couldn't. I had to be here for her, no matter what happened. I pulled out my phone to text Evan, Had to drive my mother home. Sorry I missed you―call me when you can.

The cool temperature started settling in around me, so I took a deep breath and headed into the house. As soon as I opened the door, I wished I hadn’t.

“This isn’t going to work,” Jonathan told her. “How do you expect me to talk to you if you’re going to continue to drink?”

“Fine,” my mother yelled, throwing the wine glass on the floor, shattering it and spraying red wine all over. “I won’t drink.”

The shattering glass paralyzed me with the door handle still in my grasp.

“Rachel!” Jonathan hollered. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I quietly shut the door behind me. But I wasn’t quiet enough.

“She’s what’s wrong with me,” my mother pointed. My eyes widened as I looked from my mother's finger to Jonathan's disgusted stance, his hands on his hips. I opened my mouth in confusion, not understanding what I'd done to warrant the spiteful look on her face.

“This has nothing to do with Emma, so don’t even start.”

“Why do you keep calling her that?” she snapped. “Her name is Emily. And she's going to take you away too, just like him.” Her words cut into me like slicing barbs. I had no idea where the hostility was coming from, but it was incapacitating. I remained frozen, unable to find the words to soothe her or defend myself.

“You’re not making any sense,” Jonathan argued. “I’m not staying here to listen to this.” Jonathan walked toward the door.

I had nearly made it to the top step when more glass shattered in the kitchen.

“What the fuck, Rachel?!” Jonathan turned quickly at the sound. “You don’t throw a fit every time you don’t get your way.”

“Don’t leave,” she whimpered, followed by the sound of glass crunching.

“Don’t move,” he urged. “You’re stepping on glass.”

Jonathan disappeared into the kitchen and emerged carrying my mother in his arms, her head resting on his chest and her face slicked with tears.

“Will you stay?” she slurred. Jonathan didn’t answer, but continued up the stairs and into her room.

I exhaled, my chest tight from the tension that consumed the house. I considered following after him to help her into bed, but I couldn't bring myself to face her. Instead I crept down the stairs to investigate the mess. I stopped in the doorway, scanning the kitchen with a shake of my head. Trying to avoid the wine that covered most of the floor, I carefully stepped over the shards of broken glass and pieces of the wine bottle. As I reached for the broom, my phone rang.

I pulled it out to see Evan’s name displayed. I took a deep breath before answering, “Hi.”