Page 125 of Heartfelt Pain
Only Dad is completely still as Mom slams the gun on the counter. It’s not lost on me—how the family with a penchant for violence ogles the weapon as if we’ve never seen one before.
“Will it be death or divorce?” Mom waves at him and then at the gun. “Go on. I know what it will be. You refuse to give me a divorce like I’ve asked, so do it. Kill me!”
No divorce is one of our fucked up family mottos. I personally think it’s outdated but Dad and Max cling to it.
Turns out Mom is of my school of thought.
“Yelena.” Dad says her name like it’ll change anything. But it doesn’t calm her down. It won’t change her mind. I’ve been a part of this conversation for only ten minutes and I already know it.
“Pick up the gun,” she challenges.
“Don’t pick up the gun!” Grandma waves her hand like this will all go away. “Sit down, have a stiff drink and talk this out.” She murmurs under her breath in Russian. “You two are adults. You’ve got children. A life. Come to an agreement. Enough with the dramatics.”
“Let us talk of agreements.” Mom may as well be a blizzard sweeping in. Ice clings to her words.
Dad eyes the storm head-on. “We agreed to a marriage,Yelena. For almost thirty years we’ve made this work. We can keep making this work.”
“We cannot.”
“Well not with that attitude,” Grandma snipes.
Noise rattles in Mom’s throat. For all her quiet, pretension she rarely boils over. But her heel slams into the tiled floor. It’s unthinkable, speaking to the matriarch of the family in such a way, but Mom growls.
“Oh, how nice it must be to fall in love with the man you’re forced to marry!” she shouts at Grandma. Dad is too taken aback to interrupt.
“If you’d tried harder,” Grandma yells back, lifting a fist to emphasize.
“Tried harder? Please tell me what this means? How could I have tried harder? Did I not do everything asked of me? Did I not raise his son as my own.”
Lennie takes ahold of Elijah’s hand, anchoring him.
“Did I not give him two more sons!” Mom continues. “Did I not ensure they were fed, and bathed, and knew they were loved as much as they were.”
“That’s debatable,” Elijah says.
Mom scoffs, a dry bitter laugh coming from her. She raises her hands, in a flare of dramatics I’ve never seen from the woman. “Yes, please tell me how hard your childhood was, Elijah. Were you not the one whispering in your father’s ear about how I was the wicked stepmother. Where is my thanks? Where is my thanks, Elijah, for ensuring your girlfriend’s mother never castrated you!”
Elijah opens his mouth, but Mom is laughing again. Max and I share a startled look.
“You think your father kept you out of Gia’s clutches?” Mom asks. Lennie pales at her mother’s name. “Your father has worried about you turning out to be a serial killer sinceyou were born! He didn’t give a damn if she took away your ability to reproduce!”
Like we’re a well-trained school of fish, all our eyes blink up at Dad. Somehow Dad appears more shocked at this revelation than when Mom took out the gun.
“I am not your mother,” Mom tells Elijah. “I am not Emma. And there are no words for how much I can apologize to you for that.”
Something swells in Mom’s chest. Elijah blinks when her voice breaks.
“I am sorry that she was not here for you! Here to witness your achievements and your strange habits. She would have loved them nonetheless. I am sorry I am not Emma.” She directs this to Dad, who even after all these years can’t help the softening of his face at the mention of his first wife.
As a family, we’ve always known the truth. Now we are witnessing it first-hand.
“But I went into this, knowing I could never be your precious Emma. And we did make it work.” She takes a dangerous step closer to Dad. “We always made it work because we always agreed the boys come first.”
The last word echoes in the silence.
“But you broke that rule,” Mom says, pointing. “We always said we would not harm the boys. You broke that when you forced my son to play your games! To put his heart on the line and for what?”
My jaw aches, the tension in my forehead building. I realize what she means.
