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fling my arms so they are resting on his shoulders. I was attempting to hug him, but I must really be wasted because my body isn’t doing what my brain is telling it to do.
    “Come on, D; I just need you to stand here for one second.” He props me upright next to my door.
    I can tell he is getting frustrated, which only makes me laugh harder.
    As he holds me up, his blue eyes lock with mine, and then he leans in to kiss me. It’s an incredible kiss.
    “What was that for?” I ask, excited and ready to go right here on the bench next to my front door.
    “It’s the only way I can get you to be quiet,” he says with a smile as he leans back in to kiss me again.
    “Whatever it takes,” I say through our kiss.
    Without even realizing it, he somehow inserts my key into the lock and miraculously opens the door.
    “We’re in.” He pulls back, revealing the open door.
    “That was a dirty trick. You’re sneaky,” I say as I stumble into him.
    He gives me a sly smile, causing me to laugh again.
    “My hero,” I say more loudly than I intended and throw myself forward, forcing him to catch me.
    “D, come on. You don’t want to wake up your mom,” he says, trying to help me find my footing.
    “Too late,” my mom says as we turn the corner. She is standing in the dark in her bathrobe.
    “Have you been standing there this entire time, listening to us?” I can’t hide my anger.
    She cocks her head as if she can’t believe I’m using this tone with her, especially in front of Marcus, and then she starts to walk toward us. “Hello, Marcus. Thank you for getting her home safely. I’ve got it from here.”
    Marcus’s eyes lock with mine. He knows there is nothing else he can do. There is no way to save me now.
    “You okay?” he whispers.
    I nod. “Go,” I whisper back with a smile so he doesn’t worry.
    As soon as he closes the door, I turn toward my mother, already feeling sobriety washing over me.
    “Don’t bother. I’m going,” I say with my hand up as I walk toward the sliding glass door that leads to our backyard.
    “Get back here.” My mom grips my arm as I try to walk by.
    “Why?” I don’t even give her the courtesy of turning around. I hate her. I hate this exchange. It’s always the same. She pretends to care since she thinks she is supposed to, but as soon as someone more interesting with male genitalia comes around, she forgets I exist.
    I’m done with her, her games, and her fair-weather parenting. I’m done with everything: all of the missed dance recitals when I was kid, the false promises of dinner being on the table, and coming home to an empty house—all of it. A parent should be there through good and bad, not just when it’s convenient.
    If I think she’s bad, my dad has her beat in the parents-not-giving-a-damn contest, so I guess I will have to take what I can get when I get it. Instead of saying any of this to her, instead of showing her just how much her absence hurts, I go through our usual routine of screaming at each other.
    I finally turn toward her and go for the jugular. “What, was no one better available tonight?”
    Then I feel the back of her hand slam into the side of my face. “You little bitch.”
    I just give her a smile. Success. That’s my free pass out of here, and it works like a charm.
    I’m finally in my sanctuary away from home, the only real thing my father ever gave me—my tree house. My dad built it with his own two hands. I still see the blood, sweat, and I would like to think love that went into every piece of plywood that makes up this six-foot by six-foot box in the sky.
    It has been my salvation, my escape, my sanity since I was six. Whenever things get too hard or I need to shut the rest of the world out, this is where I come. As I got older, it became more of my hangover cure. This is where I come to sleep it off. I have a small battery-operated fridge stocked with water, a jumbo sized bottle of Advil, and a full-size mattress that takes