Page 210 of Tell Me I'm Enough

Something about coming home, about knowing I was going to be stuck in a house filled with memories of my mother for weeks, about knowing the boys are watching me closer than ever at this age, and about missing a girl I know I fucked up so badly with, has made me want to get my shit together.

I hate the way I feel every day, and I know alcohol is just masking it. I’ve started to hate myself more and more every time I take a drink. Yet I hadn’t been able to stop.

This break is my chance to fix that. Even if I’m regretting it in this moment. I know Ineedto do this.

Icando this.

Iwilldo this.

My hand trembles as I open up my luggage, pulling out a clean hoodie to throw on.

I’m sitting on the floor, barely being able to lace up my own damn shoe. My hand is shaking so badly that I can’t hold on to the lace long enough to loop it around the other one. I almost throw the shoe across the room, frustrated, when Easton walks in and sees me struggling. He doesn’t say anything, just walks over to me and sits on the floor, pulling my shoe over to him and tying it for me.

Don’t fucking cry, Mason.

Don’t let them see the cracks.

“There,” he says, finishing tying the laces.

I smile down at him. “Thanks, bud. I—I just had too much caffeine this morning. Makes me a little jittery.”

“That’s why you never let me have your cool energy drinks?” he asks all innocently.

I nod. “Exactly. You can’t play ball with shaky hands, can you?”

“No, I would drop the ball.”

“Come on!” Asher shouts from the doorway.

He comes barreling in and jumps on his brother’s back.

Easton shoves him off, laughing.

“Alright, you wild animals,” I tell them, standing up. “Let’s go have some fun.”

* * *

I wake up every morning before them, mainly because I don’t sleep much.

My body feels wrong, like there’s buzzing under my skin, like my muscles don’t know how to relax. My hands shake when I pour the boys’ cereal. My jaw aches from clenching it all night. There’s this constant pressure behind my eyes, like I’m on the verge of a headache that never fully forms.

I keep pushing through, though, even when I feel like I’m going to break—mentally and physically.

I’m doing this for the boys.

I’m doing this for Simone.

I’m doing this for the version of me I keep promising myself I’ll become.

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t want to call Simone, tell her she was right—she’s always right. Tell her that I’m such a fuck up and don’t even deserve her as a friend. Tell her I love her when I know it’s selfish of me to. Tell her I want her,reallywant her, and I’m going to do everything I can to be worthy of having her one day.

But I haven’t, and I won’t. Not yet. I want to be worth her time. I want to bring more to her life than the mess I always carry around with me.

The kitchen smells like the toast I burnt this morning because I forgot it was in there. I just scrape it off and pretend it’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.

“Are we doing pancakes today?” Asher asks, sliding into a chair at the island, hair sticking up in every direction.

“Tomorrow,” I tell him. “Today’s cereal day.”