Malibu Rising: A Novel, Taylor Reid [best fantasy books to read TXT] 📗

Jay once whispered to Hud, after June told him to “go bath and shower,” that “Mom starts acting nuts after dinner.”

It got so that by 6:00 P.M., the kids all knew to ignore her. But they also tried to keep her home, lest she embarrass them in public.

Nina had even started pretending to love the idea of driving at the young age of fourteen. She would ask her mom if she could drive them all to the store, if she could take the boys to the movie theater instead of June dropping them all off, if she could chauffeur Kit and Vanessa to the ice cream stand so June could stay home.

Nina was actually terrified of driving. It felt overwhelming and nerve-racking, trying to merge onto PCH with all of those cars flying by. She would white-knuckle the steering wheel the whole way, her heart racing, her confusion rising as she tried to time her turns. When she eventually got them all to the chosen destination and got out of the car, she could feel the tension she’d been holding in between her shoulder blades and behind her knees.

But as afraid as Nina was of driving, she was more afraid of her mother behind the wheel after lunch. Nina sometimes couldn’t fall asleep at night, tallying June’s surging number of near hits, her slow reactions, the missed turns.

It was easier, despite how hard it was, for Nina to drive them all herself. And soon it started to feel to Nina that it was not just easier but rather crucial that she prevent what felt like an inevitable calamity.

“You really like driving,” June said, handing over the keys one evening, after June realized they were out of milk. “I don’t get it. I never liked it.”

“Yeah, I want to be a limo driver one day,” Nina said, immediately regretting the pathetic lie. Surely she could have come up with something better than that.

Hud caught Nina’s eye when he heard her. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “To get the milk.”

“Me, too,” Jay added.

As the three of them headed out, June lit a cigarette and closed her eyes on the couch. Kit was playing with Legos in front of the TV. June’s arm relaxed as she stretched out, the tip of her lit cigarette grazing Kit’s hair. Nina gasped. Jay’s eyes went wide.

“Kit, you’re coming with us,” Hud said. “You need more toothpaste. For your … teeth.”

Kit looked at them quizzically, but then shrugged and got up off the shag rug.

“What’s going on?” Kit asked when they got to the car.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hud said as he opened the door for her.

“Everything’s fine,” Nina told her as she got in the front seat.

“You never tell me anything,” Kit said. “But I know something’s up.”

Jay got in the passenger seat. “Then you don’t need us to tell you. Now, who wants to buy the cheapest jug of milk and spend the rest on a pack of Rolos?”

“I want at least a fourth of the pack!” Kit said. “You always take more than your share.”

“You can have my share, Kit,” Nina said, putting the gear in reverse.

“Everyone be quiet now. Nina needs to concentrate,” Hud called out.

As Nina slowly backed the car out of the driveway and did a three-point turn onto the road, Kit looked out the window and wondered what it was that her brothers and sister wouldn’t tell her, what it was that she already knew.

In the end, it was the TV that gave her the words.

• • •

About a year later, when Kit was ten, she was with June on the couch, watching a TV show. In the scene, two brothers were confronting each other about a murder. And Kit saw one brother take a whiskey bottle out of the other’s hand and call him a “drunk.” “You’re a drunk,” he said. “And you’re killing yourself with this stuff.”

Something clicked in Kit’s head. She turned to look at her mother. June caught her eye and smiled at her daughter.

Suddenly, Kit’s body started to burn with rage. She excused herself and went to the bathroom, shut the door behind her. She looked at the towels hanging on the door and wanted to punch through them, punch through the door itself.

She had a name for it now. She understood what had been nagging at her, scaring her, unsettling her for so long.

Her mother was a drunk. What if she was killing herself with that stuff?

• • •

The next week, June burned dinner.

There was smoke in the house, a flame in the oven, the smell of burnt cheese settling into the tablecloth and their clothes.

“Mom!” Nina yelled, running through the house as soon as she noticed the smoke. June sprang to attention as her children invaded the kitchen.

“Sorry! Sorry!” she said, pulling her head off the table, where she’d fallen asleep. Her movements were stiff, her processing slow.

Kit clocked the bottle of Smirnoff on the counter. She wasn’t sure if it was the same bottle that had been almost full yesterday, but now there was barely any left.

Nina ran to the oven, put on a glove, and pulled the casserole dish out. Jay ran in and got up on the counter, immediately disabling the smoke detector. Hud opened all the windows.

The macaroni and cheese was nearly black on the bottom, scorched on the sides and top. You had to cut it open with a knife to find the familiar pale orange it was supposed to be. June served it anyway.

“All right, kids, eat up. It’s not so bad.”

Nina, Jay, and Hud all sat down as they were told, prepared to act as if everything was fine. They passed around plates, put their napkins on their laps, as if this were any other meal.

Kit stood, incredulous.

“Do you want milk with dinner, Kit?” Nina said, getting up to serve her younger sister.

“Are you kidding me?” Kit said.

Nina looked at her.

“I’m not eating this,” Kit said.

“It’s fine, Kit, really,” Hud said. Kit looked at Hud