For several months, the house had felt empty,
lifeless
. Since Rick left for college, all Diane could do was mope around the house, trying to find meaning in her usual routine of cooking, cleaning, and watching mindless morning TV-shows, but, it was nothing like it used to.
Every day at about three in the afternoon her glance fell to the front door; and every single day her heart dropped to the floor, when the door remained shut and Rick did not storm into the house, his head filled with new knowledge and his stomach rumbling.
Now, it was only she and her husband—and their relationship had been strained for years, and only gotten worse since it'd been just the two of them.
Therefore, she was all too excitingly counting the days (and hours and minutes) for Rick to come home for the holidays. At the same time, she couldn't shred off the heart-wrenching feeling of dread; Rick hadn't contacted her for a long time and the few times she'd called, he was distant and cold—terrifyingly unlike him.
Had
one
semester been enough so drastically to change him? Back when he lived home, they talked all the time. Rick had never been distant, cold, never acted out, never...
She drew a deep breath—coughing from the strong rising steam—and stirred the pot; she'd almost driven herself insane pondering on what might have happened to her Ricky and how different his voice sounded over the phone.
It's nothing but him growing up, becoming the person he'll be for the rest of his life
, she kept thinking during all the lonely hours of each day, and night.
Having never been to college—pregnant at seventeen and hastily married to her high-school boyfriend, who rejected a football scholarship to work at his father's garage—she could only imagine college's transformative powers and, consequently, her brain magnified everything to outrageous proportions.
She took the pot out of the fire and brewed coffee; about an hour till Dan came home and she blankly stared at the window, almost seeing Rick playing in the backyard, a happy—if a little too reserved—young boy.
Her biggest fear, in regards to college and Rick, was whether it was similar to high school (and junior high, and middle school, and...), but, without a principal to call her, without her being able to talk to other parents.
Rick, after all, was an adult now—in the eyes of the world at least—and no dean or professor would call her, if some jocks decided to pick on him. Perhaps, it was therefore Rick had sounded so cold on the phone; and wherefore he never called.
He didn't want her to know about him having a hard time; she sipped on her coffee and a couple of drops dropped on her apron.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, as countless tormenting thoughts raced through her mind regarding the hardships Rick could be facing, which forced him even deeper inside his cocoon, now that she wasn't around to help and support him.
The key hit the lock and she jumped up, somehow letting herself believe it was her son having come earlier to surprise her.
"Honey, I'm home," Dan said in his usual extravagant manner.
"Hey," she offered him a faint smile and coldly accepted his brief kiss. "How was your day?"
"Same old shit," he groaned, instantly dropping the act. "Dinner ready?"
"Yes," she nodded and moved slowly towards the kitchen.
Without exchanging another word, he took a seat while she served; they ate, in perfect silence, barely even glaring at each other.
Perhaps, Rick's homecoming would bring warmth back into their little house—especially since this could very well be the last Christmas they spent in it. Bank demanded their payments and Dan was perfectly incapable of making them; it was only a matter of time till a final notice arrived in their mailbox.
"What's wrong?" He raised his eyebrow, when she failed to drown a heavy sigh.
"Nothing, I'm just..."
"Stop worrying!" He cried in exasperation. "We'll figure it out, we'll...just, don't let Ricky see you like this, okay? Don't let him know we're having problems."
"How about his tuition fees? His..."
"We'll make it," he said sternly. "Things are bound to get better."
"When?" She retorted dryly. "I can't get a job; I tried, but...I've no experience, and I'm too old for..."
"You've been
looking
for work?" His eyes almost popped out of their sockets and his fork clanked loudly against the plate.
"Of course I have!" She protested. "A second paycheck would certainly help!"
"I told you," he bit the corner of his lips and clenched his fists, "I don't want you working; there's no need for that. We'll do okay, I promise. Business will pick up; things are getting better, we'll be back on our feet in no time.
"This is just a rough patch."
"It's been a rough patch for quite a while now..."
"I'm going to my office, to
work
," he announced coldly.
She watched him storm out askance; she buried her face in her palms and struggled not to scream.
Nothing else to do, hence she did the dishes, hardly feeling the scorching water.
Rick's homecoming would fix things; it was the one thing she had left to believe in.
* * * *
Day had finally come and Diane simply couldn't sit still even for a fraction of a second; too much to do, it felt, as she kept wiping the furniture's surfaces, rearranging various decorative items, and, in general, paced to and fro while constantly glaring at the clock.
With Dan at work, she'd have ample time properly to talk with Rick—like they always did. The clock had seemingly frozen, each minute felt like a damn century.
The sound of an idle car engine stirred her up and she rushed to the door; her jaw dropped to the ground, when she first laid eyes on Rick.
Almost didn't recognize her own son, when he waved at her with a bright smile; much leaner, modern
hip
clothes, muscled up...and in his eyes she saw a glint of happiness, and something undecipherable, she never had encountered before.
Partly, she rejoiced; she hugged him tightly and planted kisses all over his face, before inspecting him carefully. In some deep, nearly subconscious, level, she was horrified of the changes.
Especially
the faint, yet discernible to her investigative glance, redness on his nose.
"How are you, mom?" He asked, clearly impatient to get inside.
"Now that you're here, I'm good!" She grinned. "Your room's untouched, by the way."
"Great," he winked.
Momentarily alone in the living room, she scratched the back of her neck, desperately attempting to wrap her head around the changes Rick had seemingly undergone.
She rubbed her closed eyelids, desperate to stop thinking about it; two weeks were plenty of time to learn everything about college, about what's going on in his life. No reason to ruin the joyous moment with wild speculation.
"So," he asked, when they sat in the kitchen—she with a cup of coffee, he with a glass of wine— "how are things here, mom?"
"Pretty much as you know them, honey," she sighed heavily and a sharp needle went through her heart momentarily, when he chugged his glass down and instantly refilled it. "Since when did you..." She couldn't finish the sentence, just pointed at the rapidly emptying glass.
"Oh, you know...college and all; I just enjoy the taste once in a while, that's all," he shrugged inconspicuously and, with a faintly trembling hand, put the dry glass down.
"So, how's college?" She ran her fingers through her hair and cleared her throat.
"Good," he said sharply.
"That's it?" She asked, befuddled. "
Good
?"
"What else is there to say?" He shrugged and refilled his glass to the very top. "I mean...it's college. Going to classes, some partying in the weekends...yeah, it's good.
"Things are all right here?"
"Nothing's changed." She lowered her glance and dug her nails in her jeans, suddenly fearful he
knew
of their dire situation.
With just a nod as response, he tilted his head back and the wine glided down his throat; in near horror, she observed him smacking his lips with bright satisfaction, as he slammed the empty glass on the table.
"So, what are we eating tonight?"
"Veal," she smiled, as she flipped the frying ribs. "Thought I should make something special!"
"
Special
?"
Her heart sank to her stomach, when she noticed his bewilderment.
"Yeah, well...now you're not around," she attempted to explain, "we're trying to eat a bit more...healthy, you know?"
"Healthy," he rebuked hoarsely, "or,
frugal
?"
"What are you talking about?" She asked, wishing for a way to prevent her lower lip from twitching.
"Never mind," he shook his head. "Got any more wine?" He asked, his head buried inside the refrigerator.
"Why don't you wait till dinner? One pre-dinner bottle ought to be enough; don't you think?"
"Just one more glass, to...work up an appetite. That's all," he shrugged and masterfully cracked the bottle open. "Not big on wine, huh?" He chuckled, rather dryly, and held the bottle up.
"Why?" She asked, curiously.
"Most bland, drugstore wine I've seen," he retorted simply and stole a sip out of the bottle. "Tastes almost as bad as the box-wine my roommate buys—he's quite the deadbeat.
"Almost didn't get a student loan, due to his father's credit history."
She swallowed down loudly, keeping her eyes glued to the steaks; did Rick...
know
, or, even suspect?
Dread swarming her heart, she remained perfectly silent, choking down all comments regarding the speed, and ease, with which Rick drained the second bottle.
Dinner went by very slow and rather uneventfully—Rick polished two more bottles off and by the end of the dinner, his nose having turned scarlet, he stumbled on his words, and, when time came to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, he staggered out of the kitchen.
"Did he
really
just drink almost two bottles on his own?" Dan asked, dumbfounded.
"Yeah," she sighed heavily—glad she'd thrown the other two bottles away. "Just wanted to relax from the trip, I guess."
"Two bottles..." Dan said under his breath. "I should have a talk with him!"
"Not now." She grabbed his arm and pushed him back down on the chair. "Let him get some rest, clear his head up."
"Fine," he exasperated. "
