Page 79 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
“I’ve been seeing a therapist.”
“How come?”
“Because of dad.”
Her face fell. “Jessica. We need to talk about him.” She set her water down.
I looked her straight in the eye. “We do. Why didn’t you ever leave?”
I got the words out and the room didn’t burst into flames. She didn’t come screaming at me. Instead, she sighed sadly. “Because I always thought he would get better. And he never did. Once an alcoholic, always one. He’d get sober for a month or two, then fall off the wagon.”
“I know, Mom. I lived through it. But you enabled him.” She opened her mouth to talk, but I kept going. “Hehitme, Mom. You know he did. You saw the bruises. You let him abuse me. You didn’t protect me. I was just a kid, and I thought that if I would be better, he’d be better. He never was.” I wiped away a tear from my eye, but I kept going, fierce, not fallen. “He did horrible things, and you had the chance—you had a million chances—to leave, and you never did.”
She whispered, “I did.”
This was news to me. I sat back in the chair. “You did?”
“I spent years trying to get up the nerve to leave him. I felt so much shame. I’d married a man just like my father. My mom warned me not to do it, but I didn’t listen. Once he showed how he really was, I was horrified. When we were young, I kept trying to make him better.”
I didn’t know my grandfather was a drunk. He’d died before I was born. “Mom, Dad didn’t change.”
“No. He didn’t. He’d get sober for a while and then fall off the wagon, and we were so scared around him, walking on tiptoes to make sure he wouldn’t go and take that drink.”
“He always did.”
“He always did.”
With a wavering voice, my mom looked at me. “Do you know what happened the night your father died?”
“He was driving drunk.”
“I kicked him out that day. I told him that I wasn’t going to take it any more, that he needed to leave. He left in a rage, went to the bar, and . . . he crashed into a telephone pole on the way somewhere.” A tear trickled down her face. “It’s all my fault he died. It’s all my fault you got hurt. It’s all my fault. All of this is my fault. I thought that if I would be better, he’d be better. He never was.”
“No, Mom. He never was.”
I started to tear up. “I spent my whole life trying to make you love me. Trying to do whatever I could to make you protect me from him, pay attention to me. Love me.”
“I do love you! How can you say that?”
“Then why did you never leave? If you loved me enough, you would have left him.”
“My daughter. You were strong because I wasn’t. You are the strongest person I’ve ever met. I am so sorry I didn’t get you out of there. I am so sorry I didn’t protect you. I was the one who didn’t save you. Not your dad. It was me. I understand if you can never forgive me.”
I sighed. “I need to think about this, Mom. I didn’t know you tried to leave. I didn’t know about your father, my grandfather.”
“What I did was unforgivable.”
“I’ll think about it, Mom.”
She wiped away her tears and straightened her blouse. “The thing I wish most for you is that you don’t repeat the cycle like I did. That you find a good man, who is nothing like your father. And you fall in love with him.”
The door opened, and Mikey walked in, laden with grocery bags. He came over to me and kissed the top of my head, looking concerned at seeing the both of us crying. “Are you Mrs. Torres? I’m Mikey Tate. Nice to meet you.”
Maybe I’d found a good man right there.
How’s it going?My phone lit up with a text from Monica.
I’m about to be a nude model
