Page 25 of Late Nights & Love Lines
I place the notebook next to Seren on her bed and sit at the foot of it. Her little body shakes with silent tears, but her hand slips out and draws the notebook to her. I hear pages being flipped and hitches in her breath, so I move a few inches closer and place a hand on her back, hoping she’s read my note.
“My mother loved me once—in her own way,” I say softly. “After my father died, she lost herself. She became indifferent. It’s the indifference that hurt the most.”
Seren stops shaking, so I push on, even though she hasn’t poked her head out from her blankets yet.
“After that, nothing could hurt me. I took her indifference and made it my entire personality.”
“What did you do?” she whispers.
“Well, my situation is different than yours, but I think some of the feelings we’ve experienced may be similar.”
“How?” She still doesn’t pull her blankets down, but the tremor in her voice is lessening.
“You have a dad who loves you and will do anything for you. I had a cruel monster parading around as a doting stepfather. I haven’t experienced love since I was ten years old. But you can. You have your dad, and Pappy, your brothers. It’s easy to want to punish everyone around you, to make them experience the pain you’re feeling, and I don’t even fault you for it. You’re going through a tough time, but you can learn to handle all those big scary things while still allowing people to love you.”
I tap the notebook that has slipped out from beneath her blanket and she finally peeks out at me. “Write it down. Get it out. Sing about how unfair it all is until your voice is raw. I think you’ll be surprised by how much it helps. Musical therapy is a thing for a reason.”
“How did you handle it if you didn’t play anymore?”
When she scoots back to sit up, I flash her a wobbly smile. “The difference there is that I couldn’t play anymore. That choice was taken from me with a sledgehammer to my piano.”
She gasps and her eyes well. If she blinks, I’ll be forced to witness her tears as they fall.
“Things can be taken from us, Seren. But it doesn’t define who we are.”
“What did you do after your piano was ruined?”
I ran. I ran as far from home as I could get because I had no doubt the rage building in that house would be what ended me if I didn’t.
She doesn’t need to know that though. Instead, I say, “I left as soon as I could. I didn’t have anyone to lean on, but it was my only option. You have a lot of people who love you and a lot of people who want to help. All you have to do is ask.”
“I hate my mom,” she blurts, and immediately tucks herself under her blankets, but it’s too late. I saw the truth, the pain, and the confusion that confession causes her.
“I understand that emotion more than you could know,” I say. “She hurt you, and forgiveness is something that takes time.”
“She doesn’t care about my forgiveness.”
What do I say to that? I haven’t asked much about her mom, and suddenly that’s feeling like a massive error in judgment on my part.
“I hate my dad too,” she whispers so quietly I could almost convince myself I made it up. But when her body trembles, I know I didn’t.
Her statement makes my skin prickle. “Why do you hate your dad?”
“Because he didn’t make her stay. He didn’t try to fix us. Daddy always fixes us.”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus.
“Sometimes things can’t be fixed, sweetheart. But you will be happy again. I promise you.”
“Are you happy?”
Her question catches me off guard. Happiness isn’t something I’ve ever reached for. Survival is my way of life.
“There’s happiness to be found every day,” I say instead. I’m already in too deep with her. These are conversations for people who stay, for lifelong nannies who never plan to leave. They’re not for me—someone who only knows how to move on.
“You’re not so bad, I guess,” she mutters.
“Neither are you, kid.” I give her a crooked smile.
