Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Billy Adams loved it when his mother went on a rant, and tonight she had outdone herself. In fact, she'd been on a pretty good streak of tantrums and hissy fits ever since Whitney's wedding. The first thing to set her off was the wedding itself--she hated the groom. Never mind everyone else in town thought he was a decent fellow. Then, she'd really gone nuts when the wedding had to be moved ahead because Whitney had gotten herself preggers. But all that was nothing compared to what happened at the wedding.
Genevra Adams' little fantasy world had blown apart when she saw her older son, David, kissing his boyfriend right in front of everyone at the wedding. Hah, Billy thought, served her right. He'd always wondered how she'd stayed so clueless about David. But then, she was clueless about all three of her kids. And her husband.
The night after the wedding, the 'rents had gone at it tooth and nail. Yelling, smashing china and glassware, throwing shit at each other. It was good. Even scared the crap out of Gaston, Billy's caregiver, who wasn't used to such displays.
Things were quieter now that Billy's dad, Blake, had left. The old man had called her bluff on that one. He'd packed up and stormed out a couple of hours ago. Billy and Gaston were in the games room, playing 8-ball. Gaston was winning, which was annoying.
"Billy? Billy! Where are you?" Genevra was coming down the hallway, her high heels cracking like little gunshots.
Billy glanced at Gaston. "Don't say a word."
"Dude, she's your mom. I gotta let her know where you are." Gaston turned. "In here, Mrs. Adams."
Genevra marched into the room. "It's after ten o'clock. Billy, you should be in bed. The doctors still want you to rest."
"Mom, I'm not five years old." Billy leaned over the pool table to take his next shot.
Genevra ignored him. "Gaston, please see to it that my son is settled for the night. Now."
"Mom . . ."
His mother reached over and picked up the cue ball. "As long as you are in my house, you will do as I say."
Billy glared at her. "Go to hell." He stalked across the room, turning at the door. "I'll be eighteen in six weeks. No stopping me then, Mommy dear."