But there’s no use having a pity party for myself if everyone else is having fun. I eat a few more petiscos, then head over to the bar.
I’m waiting in line when my phone starts vibrating.
It’s my father.
Immediately my heart lurches. He hasn’t called me once since I’ve been here, nor texted, and we’ve only emailed twice. I quickly do the calculation in my head, trying to figure out what time it is back in Houston, but my mind refuses to do the math.
I quickly answer it, walking away from the line and to a less crowded corner of the room.
“Dad?”
The line is scratchy and I quickly glance at my phone, seeing it only has one bar.
“Dad?” I repeat again, my pitch higher.
“Ruby,” he says, sounding echoey. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? I don’t know what time it is there.”
“It’s almost midnight,” I tell him. “It’s fine. What’s wrong?”
He sighs loudly. “It’s your mother.”
Everything in me stills. I stop walking. “What happened?”
“She overdosed.”
My hand flies to my mouth, a gasp escaping. A couple walking past me give me a funny look.
“She’s dead?” I cry out softly, lost in the moment before he tells me yes or no and everything changes forever.
“No,” he says. “She’s alive. In the prison hospital.”
I exhale hard, breath shaking, flooded with relief.
“She’s alive…how the hell did this happen? How did she get drugs in prison?”
“Ruby…come on. You’re not that naïve.”
“What was it? What drug?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“I don’t know.”
I hesitate, the words waiting in my mouth. “Do you want me to come home?”
“I never wanted you to go in the first place,” he says sharply.
“Okay, but I’m here now.”
“And that’s where you’ll stay. I don’t want you coming home Ruby.”
Fuck, that stings.
“So you didn’t want me to come here and now you don’t want me to come home?”
“Do you have a plan for when you come home? Are you going to get a real job? Are you going to straighten up and act like an adult for once in your life? Where are you going to live?”
“With you?” I whisper, feeling so pathetic.
“That’s not an option,” he says. “You know Sharon and the kids have moved in.”
The mention of his girlfriend makes me feel even more forgotten. “Okay, well I’ll rent a place somewhere.”
“With what money? How is your blog Ruby? Making any money? Are you even working at all?”
My mouth opens and closes, feeling like my tongue is laden with sawdust. “I need to go home. I need to see my mom.”
“Ruby,” he says harshly. “She’s not your mother anymore. She’s chosen her path. It wasn’t you.”
Everything inside me runs dry, empty, hollow.
“Then why did you call and tell me this?” I ask, my voice cracking.
“Because you deserve to know. You need to know. I can’t be burdened with this alone. This is your responsibility too.”
I don’t even think.
I hang up the phone.
Squeeze it in my hand like I’m trying to break it, my head lowered, trying to breathe. I can hear people passing around me, looking at me, but I don’t care. I don’t care.
Ever since I was born, it’s like my father has been trying to blame me for my mother’s drug habit, all her mental problems. I know what he thinks, that my birth was the cause of all this, that somehow I became too much to handle, or her postpartum depression spiraled out of control, which then led to her abusing drugs. I know what he’s always inferred, and I believe it too. I know it’s my fault.
“Ruby?”
It’s Marco.
I look up as he puts his hand on my back. “Are you okay?”
I nod, straightening up. Then I shake my head. Because I’m not okay. Not even a little.
“My dad just called me,” I say, my breath coming out ragged.
“Oh? What did he say?”
“My mom overdosed.”
Marco stares at me for a moment, trying to make sense of what I said.
“Overdosed on what?”
“I don’t know. Drugs. She’s in prison.”
“She’s in prison?” he exclaims, then immediately looks around. He puts his arm around my shoulder and leads me down to one of the corridors that head toward roped-off rooms. He looks around again and then frowns, whispers. “What the hell are you talking about? What did she do?”
“Possession of drugs. This was years and years ago. I was only six.”
“She’s been in prison since you were six?” he cries out. “How is that even possible? Drugs aren’t even criminalized here in Portugal.”
“How nice for you,” I say blankly. “She’s been out on parole a few times, but she always fucks it up.”
“Well, shit.” His brow furrows. “You never told me this before.”
“Because you’d think differently of me. You are already. I can see it.”
“I’m not,” he says, but it’s unconvincing. There’s a shift in his eyes. “Listen, I’m really sorry Ruby. That must be rough.”
Rough? My mother overdosing in prison is rough?
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “You’ll be okay, right? You see that guy there?” He points at a tall dude in a suit, girl on his arm. I recognize him as the winger from Benfica. “That’s Paulo Moreira. He’s a free agent right now. This is my chance.”
“You’re leaving me?!” I cry out in a hush.
“I’ll come find you later,” he says, walking off. “You need some time to process all that, yes?”
I stand there dumbfounded, watching him approach the player.
What the actual fuck?
As the two of them shake hands and start talking, I realize there’s no point in me staying here like a good little girl, waiting for her boyfriend to pay her attention, or, hell, maybe give me some comfort when I’m obviously going through something?
Fuck this shit.
I’m out of here.
Nine
Luciano
“What do you think, Luciano?” Teresa, the wife of Benedito Cadete, Sporting’s goalkeeper, asks me.
