The Billionaire's Matraich

CHAPTER 4

Grief didn’t show itself all at once.

It slowly crept in.

At first, the house ran on momentum. People were still calling regularly. The food kept coming in, and there were never dirty dishes because someone else was always around and willing to wash them. My mum stayed in bed most mornings, but she would get up eventually usually after her friends came. She spoke when spoken to. Ate when I placed food in front of her.

It looked like a coping mechanism, but it wasn’t.

By the second week after the funeral, the silence has grown heavier. The visit from visitors had ended and everyone went back to their lives. There was no more food coming in, and the used dishes stayed longer in the zinc before it was washed. It was just the three of us, moving carefully around one another, like one wrong step could make the whole place collapse.

I resumed work as usual immediately after the funeral, contrary to various counsel that I take more time, but with the whole thing with the bank, time wasn't my friend. Drayton was really supportive, he always picked me up in the morning, took me to work, and then brought me back. Our conversations grew smaller and the awkward silence began to linger.

“ I need some space” my mouth kinda blurted out on the ride back home from work.

“Do you need space for a short while or a really long time?” He asked me.

I became mute.

“Why are you doing this? I've made it very clear how much I want you so why do you keep pushing me away?”

“I got a lot going on now, Drayton, and I really can't afford any distractions,” I answered

“ I'm sorry, but that's BS. We both know that you've been one foot in and one foot out with us; you're using your dad's death as a convenient excuse.”

I looked up at him with shock in my eyes.

“What did you….”

“ I'm very sorry, I didn't mean it that way,” he said, cutting me off before I could complete my statement.

I didn't say anything anymore because, honestly, he was kind of right, but I couldn't admit that. We continued in silence till we got to my house gate. I took some time before putting my hand on the doorknob.

I turned looking at his brown eyes and the sad look on his face. I unfastened my seatbelt, leaning towards him, and kissed him.

“ I'm so sorry, Drayton,” I said as I opened the door and got out of the car. I shut the door and stepped into the compound, closing the gate behind me without looking back. Tears rolled down my face, but I cleaned them up, telling myself that was the right thing to do, and walked into the house.

I noticed the bottle as I walked in. I noticed bottles around more often these days before I noticed the drinking. She kept it behind the kettle which was a good hiding spot if you're trying to hide something without it being noticed by anyone for a long time. I used to hide rolled joints there for emergency times in case I ever ran out and I needed a smoke.

The bottle was half-empty. I stared at it longer than I should have, I was starting to worry.

“Mum?” I called.

She was sitting on the couch, straight, staring at the television like she was engrossed in the show, but she wasn't really watching it.

“Did you open this?” I asked, lifting the bottle slightly.

“It helps me sleep,” she responded with her eyes still on the television.

That was it.

I felt like arguing.. kickback. Wanted to remind her she hadn’t touched alcohol in years, not since before my brother was born. I wanted to say something responsible without sounding like I'm judging or trying to “mum” her but I didn't. I didn't have the strength to bother about that at that moment.

Instead, I put the bottle back.

It didn’t feel like the right moment.

Weeks passed, and her attitude started to shift little by little, and I couldn't ignore it anymore.

The bottle moved from behind the kettle to the counter, to the cabinet. Then to the coffee table. It was obvious she wasn't trying to be discreet anymore. More bottles appeared. Then another. She never acted out; she was good at keeping her composure, no matter how much she drank.

She just faded.

She forgot things. Burned food. Missed calls. Always slept through the morning but would be up all through the night.

I picked up more shifts.

I told myself it was temporary till she could find her footing again.

I told myself a lot of things.

My brother started coming to me instead of her.

“Can I have cereal for dinner?”

“Is Mum okay?”

“Are you coming to my school thing tomorrow?”

I learned his schedule better than my own. Packed his lunches. Signed forms. Laid out his clothes at night because mornings became unpredictable with mum.

Some days, Mum was almost herself. She laughed softly at something on TV. Asked about my shift. Helped with homework.

Those days made the bad ones hurt more.

The missed pickup happened on a Tuesday.

I was at work when my phone rang. I almost ignored it, especially because it was an unknown number.

I answered at the last second.

“Is this Nora Michaels?” a woman asked.

“Yes, this is she.”

“This is your brother’s school. We’ve been trying to reach your mother.”

“He’s still at school and she's yet to come pick him up,” she continued. “School ended over an hour ago.”

I don’t remember hanging up. Only running.

The building was practically empty when I arrived. My brother sat on a bench near the office, his backpack beside him as he swung his legs.

He looked up and forced a smile. “I knew you’d come.” as he ran towards me and hugged me.

“ I'm so sorry you were kept waiting this long, and I'll always come for you, never forget that,” I said.

I signed forms with my hands shaking. Apologized to the lady who was with him. Promised it wouldn’t happen again and we headed home.

On arriving home, Mum was asleep on the couch. The bottle was near her feet.

I was in rage! But I didn’t yell, and I couldn't cry.

I stood there, my brother’s hand in mine, and I felt something shift inside me like a switch button that just went off.

That night, while I was cleaning the kitchen after dinner, Mum woke halfway through, frantic and agitated.

“I am so sorry, Nora, I passed out, and I didn’t hear the phone,” she said.

“I know,” I said.

“I’m truly sorry.”

I wanted to say that wouldn't do, it wasn’t enough. That this couldn’t keep happening.

Instead, I said, “We’ll figure it out.”

It sounded like a lie.

I slept less. Thought more. Ran numbers in my head while I worked. Rent. Food. School fees. Expenses were piling up.

Every room reminded me of my father. Mum wasn't ready for us to pack up his things yet.

The grief didn’t disappear.

It just changed its form.

There were some nights when resentment crept in, and I hated myself for it.

I resented my mum for breaking down the way she did forgetting that we also lost our dad.

I resented my dad for leaving.

I resented myself most of all for feeling that way.

I was standing in my brother’s doorway, watching him sleep, then I und

erstood that if we remained here, this house would eat us alive.

Remaining in this house was gonna just break us more.