Swim Until You Love Me

Part XII

I looked around the room. Empty beer cans and pizza boxes littered the place. We hadn't exactly bothered cleaning up.

"Are you drunk?" she asked me.

I felt attacked. "Mom, chill. We're all adults here. And Belly isn't drinking."

She sighed. "Well, tell me about this whole Adam situation."

We explained everything that had happened.

Mom pursed her lips. "Steven, Maddison, can I talk to you?"

We looked at each other with wide eyes and then meekly followed her upstairs.

Once we were out of earshot, she turned and shook her head, her jaw tight. "Do you really think you've helped matters by meddling?" she asked. "This isn't our business."

I was shocked. "It is our business. Susannah would have wanted us to save this house!" I told her.

"Don't talk to me about what Susannah would have wanted," she snapped. "Now get your things. We're leaving."

"What?" Steven said.

"We're not leaving. And why isn't Belly getting yelled at? She's here too," I said.

"She's young and easily influenced. You're responsible," she said.

"Mom," Steven said calmly. "The house might not be ours, but we have some great memories here. And we're not ready to say goodbye- neither are Conrad or Jeremiah. Not yet. And you aren't either."

Mom stared at him.

"Please convince Mr. Fisher to hold off selling the house. We'll sell it when we're ready. And if we're never ready, there's no harm in that," I continued. "Please, mom. You're the only one he listens to."

She sighed. "I don't know if I can say anything to change his mind. Adam and I don't see eye to eye on a lot of things. I can't stop him from selling the house if that's what he's set on."

"You have to try."

She nodded, "Alright."

*****

The next day, Mr. Fisher was coming over for breakfast.

Steven and I were on cooking duty. Mom hated cooking; dad would usually do it. But Steven and I didn't mind it.

I cooked a lot for the boys when Susannah was sick. They always seemed to like it.

Jeremiah was setting the table, and Conrad was squeezing grapefruit.

When Mr. Fisher arrived half an hour later, we were ready for him. He walked in and looked at the table in amazement. "Wow," he said. "This looks great, Laurel. Thank you."

My mother smiled. "Let's sit," she said.

We all sat down then.

I watched Mr. Fisher pile a mound of eggs on his plate, and then four strips of bacon. Mom poured Mr. Fisher a tall glass of grapefruit juice. "Freshly squeezed, courtesy of your eldest," she said. He took it, a little suspiciously. I couldn't blame him.

"Listen, thanks again for coming to help, Laurel. I really appreciate it." He looked at us kids, smiling. "These guys weren't too keen on listening to what I had to say. I'm glad to have a little backup."

Mom smiled back at him. "Oh, I'm not here to back you up, Adam. I'm on their side."

His smile faded. He put down his fork. "Laure-"

"You can't sell this house, Adam. You know that. It means too much to the kids. It would be a mistake." Mom said, calmly.

Mr. Fisher looked at Conrad and Jeremiah and then back at Mom. "I've already made up my mind, Laurel. Don't make me out to be the bad guy here."