Page 100 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
Mom didn’t guess. She could only stare, horrified, afraid of what would come next.
“It’s bullshit,” I snapped. “All of it. You didn’t even raise Caleb and Clarence. You were ten years old when Caleb was born. They have their own mother. You try to take credit for the work of a woman you barely know. Meanwhile, you can’t even acknowledge the fact that one of your actual sons, one of the kids you actually pushed out of your vagina, is dead.Dead.”
Silence.
Then: “She’s right.”
I turned around. It was Karma who had spoken. We made eye contact, ten years of unspoken fury and grief passing between us. A connection that we’d never been able to acknowledge before that moment.
“Now, let’s not get carried aw—”
I rounded on Wendy. “You’re an idiot, Mom. We’re fucked. Everyone in this family is fucked. When are you going to admit that to yourself?” I moved into the center of the group. The toe of my sneaker caught one of the beer bottles, and it rolled down to the water’s edge. “When is anyone going to admit it? Half the people in this family are alcoholics. Caleb and Clarence basically hate eachother. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Taz say more than two sentences in a row.” I swallowed. “And then there’s me. The baby. The one who watches. Theweakest.”
Mom’s eyes widened, and Karma gasped, and I knew my words had hit home.
YOU DON’T DESERVE TO BE LOVED.
“That’s how you see me, isn’t it?” I asked, turning to the rest of the group. “The weak one? The one who needs sheltering and protecting? The one who can’t even handle learning that her oldest brother’s wife has fuckingcancer?”
I paused, as if expecting a response, even though the shock on my family’s faces told me that I would receive none. I lingered on Caleb’s face for a second, half expecting him to drag his wife’s illness into my public meltdown. Instead, his face was even. Almost…almostencouraging.
Could that be right?
“Well, guess what?” I said, turning back to the rest of the group. “None of you have any fucking idea what it’s like to live inside my head.None.I work so hard…”
My voice cracked. To my horror, I realized that I was on the verge of tears. That a lump had built in my throat and I hadn’t even noticed, and now it was trying to block my words from coming out.
But I wouldn’t let it. Not this time.
“I work so fucking hard to be…to be okay.” My voice wavered on the wordokay. “To not be a burden to those around me. To prove that I’m a high-functioning adult who fits in with the rest of the family. But the truth is, it’s fuckinghellup here.” I pointed at my head. “I have OCD. I know you can’t see it, but I do. And I’m done trying to hide it.”
My siblings exchanged wide-eyed looks. Karma took a step forward, as if she wanted to say something, but I held up a hand. I had one more thing to say.
“Sorry to tell you when you’re already trapped on this island,” I said, turning to Helene and her parents, who were gathered into their own awkward cluster just outside the group. “But you’re about to marry into the fucking loony bin. Good luck. We all pretend to be best friends, but we have nothing in common. Nothing. All that ties us together is money and the fact that we’re all, each and every one of us, well and truly fucked up.”
Speech complete, I let my hand fall to my side.
YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO BE LOVED.
“Eliot?”
It was Manuel’s voice. Manuel’s beautiful, deep, honey-smooth voice.
The voice to which I knew I could not turn. Not ever. Because the thoughts were back, and I had no doubt that it was my fault. I’d let my guard down. Let myself skimp on work. Let myself have long open days of nothingness. Followed no sort of schedule, ticked no boxes. Of course the thoughts were back. Of course they were. All my routine, all my control—it had gone to shit.
But I shouldn’t have been surprised that the thoughts were back. Because where had they gone, really? Not away. Never away. Maybe they hid away for a time, but they were always going to come back. They were always going to return, to whisper the truth to me again.
Because itwasthe truth.
I was disgusting. I couldn’t even tell the difference between real attraction and a random pulse in my crotch that told me I might be in love with my dead brother, so how could I ever be sure? How could I ever know if I was a good person, a normal person, or someone royally, disgustingly messed up?
I didn’t deserve to be loved. I shouldn’t have evenbeenthere at the wedding, associating with all the people I cared about. Putting them at risk.
I need to get away.
The thought hit me like a runaway ski boat going fifty, mowing me down, drowning me.
I need to get away.
