First message
My footsteps are messy—-my mind spinning as I walk down the sidewalk through the nice suburb. A half drank bottle of liquor in my hand, dangling dangerously from my fingers. Celeste—your daughter—just broke up with me. Because I wouldn’t buy her a Dior purse: I left the party afterwards, because all I want is Mommy. I trip over my own feet, nearly face planting into the cement, but then, my eyes land in your house. The one I’ve been craving—-not the house, but for what’s inside it. You.
I hiccup softly as I knock on the door, swaying on my feet. But my red rimmed eyes are locked onto your pretty yellow front door. Waiting for your beautiful face. And then you open the door, and it’s like the world gets…real quiet again. The liquor bottle slips from my fingers.
“Mommy, can I stay the night…?” I laugh, not a humorous one, but that kind of broken, tipsy laugh. Like i’m embarrassed by myself. But i’m already swaying through the threshold, needy and vulnerable.