Page 49 of Hearty

“I’m so sorry that so many people’s actions have made you feel manipulated throughout your life.” Leona’s sincere expression hits me right in the heart. “It’s never been fair, the hurt you’ve had to endure, and I can’t imagine what finding out about that scholarship must have been like for you. You are entitled to every feeling you have.”

Not that I need justification to feel betrayed, but if anyone can give it, it’s Leona. A small part of me sighs with relief that at least one person is giving me permission to be upset and furious.

“Thank you for saying that.” My voice is small, and I find I can’t look at her.

Her hand reaches out for mine, a comfort in a tough situation. “Do you know how many times I wanted to call the state, or adopt you myself? That I wanted to have Thomas go over and remove you from that house? It was terrible, having to watch you go through everything you did and know that the situation was so much more complicated than you just coming to live with us. There are so many systems, so much red tape, and ultimately, it was your decision what happened. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to strong arm you at times. There were nights I wanted to scream at you for going back to your mother’s house rather than coming home to ours.”

The raw sadness in Leona’s voice has tears clogging my throat.

“But I knew that we had to trust you. That if it got bad enough, you’d tell us, right? Now, I’m not so sure. Because, sweetheart, I see you struggling so much, trying to keep all that hurt under wraps, and you won’t ask a single soul for help. And I love you as much as my own children, but you’re being stubborn. And you’re wrong.”

The harshness coming from Leona is such a surprise. It feels like a swift kick to the gut. “Wh-what?” I’m astonished.

The Ashton matriarch has never been anything but unfailingly kind and loyal to me. She’s never given me a hard dose of anything, and to hear her say I’m wrong? Well, it’s the worst feedback I could hear, ever.

“You have always had such a good head on your shoulders. Even when you insisted on doing things on your own, we trusted that you’d do what was best. That you’d let us know if the water was too hot and you needed a hand getting out. But the woman I see now is just posturing for posturing’s sake. You’re sinking, August, and you’re not letting the people who love you most help you out.

“Warren loves you like a sister, like a daughter. My son-in-law would lay down his life for you. Was it wrong how he and Alana went about the scholarship? Absolutely. Am I mad that they paid for your tuition? Not one bit. You deserved every penny of it, and he deserved to take care of you.

“But I know that’s not the only thing going on. Others may not see it, but I have a mother’s intuition, August. You’re not handling this well, and none of that is your fault. Whatever is going on shouldn’t even be on your plate in the first place. But not allowing us to help? That’s the part where I tell you you’re being foolish, and you’re not a fool.”

A tear runs down my cheek because I can’t help it anymore. The thing is, she’s right. Of course, she’s right. I’ve felt horrible about how I spoke to Warren. We’ve never fought like that before, and while I can mask all my pain with fury and outrage, deep down, I’m so horribly distraught and helpless and lonely that I don’t know what to do. Those inescapable feelings are making me turn on the ones who truly have my best interest at heart.

“I-I don’t know what to do anymore.” The words come out watery and broken.

“Oh, my girl.” Leona rushes to me, pulling me into her arms, and I let free a sob.

“My whole life, I’ve done this all by myself. Any problem, any struggle, I got through it. I didn’t lean on anyone, she made me this way. I took a certain sense of pride in being able to be hyper-independent, but it’s not a strength, is it? It’s a weakness. She clouded my vision so much that I can’t even see when someone is trying to help me out of pure good intentions. It’s like she molded me to never accept help because then I’d be doing better than she was. If someone actually cared about me, she would have lost her battle to try to rob me of all love in my life.”

It’s not often that I mourn what my mother-daughter relationship wasn’t. You hear all the time in books or movies about how wonderful having a mother is. My friends would talk about their moms like they hung the moon. They’d call them their “best friends.” I had never and will never know what that’s like. Not only could I not talk to my mother about anything, but she actively schemed against me. The grief of never knowing that kind of love is one that marked my soul, and it would forever.

“But you know the truth. Deep down, you know who is here for you because they want to watch you succeed. You’ve been around us long enough, and away from her for long enough, that if you push past the fear and emotional baggage, you know what’s true. We are here to help. No loans, no favors that need to be paid back. If you need something, we will give it. Simply because we love you. All you have to do is let us in.”

That’s the hard part, isn’t it? Letting these years of built-up walls down enough to allow the Ashtons to see what I was up against. It still feels so uncomfortable, nearly painful, to do so.

But maybe this is the first step. Just admitting that I’m not okay, that maybe I can’t handle this on my own … that’s a step in the right direction. And if I keep chipping away at the cement my mother laid around my heart, I’ll be able to feel that unconditional love I’ve always heard about.

24

EVAN

The annual First Barbecue Fest is in full swing, and almost everyone in Hope Crest has shown up on the riverbanks of the Delaware to celebrate.

A first weekend of summer tradition, the big cookout takes place on the first official weekend of summer. All the residents lug camping chairs, lawn games, coolers full of beers for the adults, juices for the kids, and some speakers out to the canal paths that run on the edge of town. We set up in clusters of families and friends, bringing portable grills and smokers to make a feast of burgers, hot dogs, brisket, corn on the cob, and every kind of fruit or pasta salad known to man.

There are games of catch, flag football, corn hole, and dancing when everyone gets one too many beers or spiked seltzers in them. Usually, by dark, someone is setting off fireworks in one of the boats on the river, and we all stumble home happily. It’s one of my favorite days of the year simply because it’s so easy and carefree.

And my family always insists I don’t have to cook. Actually, when it comes to the grill, Liam is usually the master. He smokes a better brisket than I can, which used to piss me off, but now I like not having to be the chef for a day.

“I think your meat is burning.” I still like to tease him, though.

My big brother rolls his eyes at me. “I make the best meat there is, so don’t fucking start.”

“Little ears, Liam!” Cass scolds him with a baby on her hip.

“And stop bragging about your meat, it’s inappropriate,” I taunt him.

“Your youngest child is a menace.” Liam directs this at my mom as he flips some burgers and turns hot dogs on the fire.

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