Cut Both Ways Read Online Free Page B

anything like that, I don’tknow. More proof that my brain is broken when I’m hungover. My mom’s quick with the remedies, that’s for sure. Whether you stain something on the floor mat of your car or have some weird allergy or need more vitamin D, she’s got just the thing for you. She’s kind of a whirlwind of products, my mom.
    I gulp the pills with the rest of my juice as she crosses her arms over her chest, stands there, looking at me.
    â€œYour dad doing okay?”
    Fuck. Not that again.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œNot drinking again? You’d tell me if he was, I know, but I can’t help asking . . .”
    â€œNo,” I say. Thinking of the beers he’s had every night after we finish working. Which isn’t the same, isn’t the thing she’s talking about. Because he’s handling it now. It’s not like before. Plus, we talked about it and he admitted he had been out of line. He knew he was fucking up; he knew I knew, too, so he fixed it.
    â€œHe’s doing just fine.”
    She looks at me like she wants to believe me but doesn’t. Like she feels sorry for me. I stare at her collarbones, the knobs under her neck sticking up through her purple yoga shirt. She wears a gold necklace with birds and gemstones on it, one for Taylor, one for Kinney. Jay gave it to her for Mother’s Day. I gave her a card. Because I never have any money. It wasn’t like I was going to ask her for money to buy her a Mother’s Day gift.
    â€œI gotta get going,” I say. And then I duck back to my room to collect my stuff. And then I wait until they’re all in the backyard,filling up the above-ground pool thing and yelling and Kinney screaming that her iPod can’t get wet and I slip out the front door to my car and drive back to Minneapolis.
    When I get back to my dad’s, he’s at home. Which is weird; lately he’s always running around, tracking down something on Craigslist. A bay window, a screen door, a set of kitchen cabinets. He’s always got something he’s chasing after and it’s never anywhere convenient. It’s always off in Victoria or Elk River or halfway to Rochester. So I’m surprised to see him sitting in the kitchen, eating waffles with Roy and Garrett.
    Roy’s the college kid my dad hired to help with remodeling. And Garrett is one of my dad’s oldest friends; they’ve been friends since before my parents even met. Roy’s usually here at any time of day—my dad keeps strange hours and Roy can roll with that—but Garrett doesn’t come around often. Garrett lives out in the middle of nowhere, between Oak Prairie and Minneapolis, on a hobby farm with his girlfriend. Plus, he runs a twenty-four-hour diner in Shoreview. He’s a nice guy, and up for fun, but he’s always pretty busy between the farm and the diner.
    But what’s weird is that Roy and Garrett are both smoking. Inside. I mean, Garrett smokes; so does Roy. That’s not new. But my dad has never let anyone smoke inside before. Even after my mom left.
    Except this house isn’t exactly the same place anymore. It’s not exactly “inside,” either, with all the ripped-out insulation and removed walls and windows, too.
    â€œWilliam,” Roy says, nodding. He calls me that: William. I have no idea why. I’ve never corrected him.
    â€œHey, kid,” Garrett says. Slaps me on the stomach. I clench up, not because it hurts, because Garrett isn’t that kind of guy, but it reminds me of Angus.
    Angus over me, Angus’s hand on my stomach, Angus’s hair flopping over his face.
    â€œWe working today?” I ask. I look around. There’s a few rubbery-looking waffles on a plate; Garrett and my dad are drinking cups of coffee out of the coffeepot we used for camping; Roy’s brought his own travel mug because he’s snobby about coffee. Behind my dad, the sink’s full of dishes