Page 55 of Everything We Thought Was True
“Hello?” I answered.
“Lena, honey, it’s Mom.”
Relief flooded through me upon hearing her voice. “Mom...” I slumped down on the linoleum floor, cradling the phone to my neck, and started crying immediately.
“It’s okay, sweetie. How’re you doing?”
“Not good, Mom. I miss you.”
“I miss you too. And your brother.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Ronnie’s house. I needed some time to think.”
I felt both comforted and angry that my mom had been at a place I knew so well. She was within reach yet felt so far away.
“When’re you coming home?” I asked.
“Soon. I’m not ready to come back just yet. But within a day or two—I promise.”
“Can I come there and see you? I can get a friend’s mother to drop me off maybe.”
“No, sweetie. And please don’t tell your father where I am. I want to be alone right now.”
“Okay. But, Mom... you have to... you have to leave Dad.”
There, I’d said it—the thought that had been going through my mind ever since my mom picked up that plate of spaghetti and peas and threw it against the wall. It was as if the crash had woken all of us up to the reality of what was really going on.
“I don’t blame Dad for... for being what he is.” I could hear her breathing softly into the phone, listening intently like she always did. I could picture her face as she thought about what I was saying. It gave me the courage to continue. “But you have to leave him, Mom.”
“Lena, it’s complicated. I’ll be home soon. Please tell your brother I called and that I love him and will see him soon, but don’t tell him where I am. He’ll be tempted to tell your father.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “Okay. I’ll tell him you called but not where you are.” I didn’t want to hang up.
“I’ll see you soon, honey. I love you.”
“I love you, Mom.” I sobbed on the last word and slowly hung up. My tears dripped onto the linoleum, where our dog, Libby, licked them up. I grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, smelling her fur and missing Mom something awful.
The next day, I came home from school and saw my mom’s Cadillac in the driveway. I raced into the house and heard a sound coming from my parents’ bedroom—theclick-clickof the suitcase latches opening then a thud as the lid hit the floor. Barging into the room, I found my mom calmly packing my dad’s things, with a glass of wine in her hand. I couldn’t remember my mother ever drinkingwine or liquor in our house. The most I’d ever seen her drink was a sip of wine at my grandparents’ house during a holiday dinner.
“Are you kicking Dad out finally?” I was so relieved that she was packing his things and not her own. I didn’t feel the least bit guilty that I’d picked a side and stood firmly in my mother’s corner.
She nodded then turned back around and kept packing. My stomach fluttered with nerves, but I was reassured. Mom was back to stay.
When my dad came home a few hours later, he walked in wearing a somber expression and headed straight upstairs to my parents’ bedroom, barely looking at Anthony and me as he passed us in the living room. I went up to my room and tried to read a book in bed. But I couldn’t focus. I heard voices and muffled sobs for what seemed like hours. Eventually, my dad appeared in the doorway. He sat on the edge of my bed, and then, incredibly, told me the truth. My father came out to me when I was thirteen years old. To this day, I was still a bit in shock that he’d done that.
After my father left my room, he went downstairs to speak to Anthony. Then I heard him cross the first floor to the back door and close it. The sound of my dad’s car as it pulled out of the driveway then sped away had a ring of finality. Silence settled over the house like a cloak. When the three of us sat down for dinner later that night, my dad’s absence was noticeably different. This time, it didn’t feel like he was late coming home from work. It felt as if he’d never been there. Already, my dad seemed like a different person—someone I’d known once a long time ago.
And here I was, all these years later, sending insider information to the wedding officiant so my dad could tie the knot with someone else. I was grateful that my dad and I had grown closer over the years. But I also felt like a traitor. I had to reconcile my acceptance of my father for who he fully was with my deep allegianceto my mother.
Why does being a pivotal part of my father’s wedding, a joyous occasion, make me feel like I’m taking sides, even after all this time?I felt like we were still playing some decades-long game, and I didn’t know which team to root for.
Chapter Thirty
TERESA - JOHNSTON, NY
1983
