Page 63 of Told You So
She looks at me again. “You know as well as anyone that change is scary,” she says, but I’m not sure what she means. “You have how many certificates now and how many degrees? All because you’ve been putting off graduating.”
I frown. “This isn’t about me,” I remind her.
“Isn’t it? Your heart is broken, and I don’t blame you, sweetheart.”
While she may be partially right, I have too many questions about them to focus on me. “Then, what are you scared of?”
She takes a contemplative moment, what feels like a lifetime. It’s enough time for me to realize I’m not around as much as I should be, that she feels alone, and I probably could have prevented that much at least.
“I’m scared of failing at a different life,” she finally says. “I would like to think I can do anything, and that I could start over if I wanted to, but I’m not as young as I used to be, and I’m not nearly as brave.”
“Ma, you’d rather stay here and be miserable than even try? I’m older now, and you can have it all—the job and you have me...Is it him—do you still love him?”
“No,” she says, easily. “I fell out of love with your father the moment I found out he was having an affair, or maybe it was before, given how easy it seemed to be to deal with it, looking back.” She eyes me closely, but I can tell she’s contemplating, maybe even reliving the past few years before she continues. “Of course, I felt betrayed, but I remember feeling a little bit of relief, too, which isn’t healthy,” she muses. “We worked a few things out. There are rules, and while I know you think that’s stupid or wrong, it’s helped, believe it or not.”
“He doesn’t even live here, does he?” It took me a while to figure that out, but it’s glaringly obvious as all the pieces start to fall into place.
“No, not really. He sleeps in the guest bedroom downstairs, occasionally—”
“When you have to keep up appearances,” I say, raising my hand to stop her. “I get it.” I lean across the table and clasp her hand in mine. It’s soft and delicate. “I want a better life for you than this.”
With crinkly ocher eyes, she offers me a small smile. “I know you do, sweetheart, that’s why I didn’t tell you. I don’t want you worrying about this. When I’m ready, I’ll figure everything out. I have my freedom too, you know? I have my friends and this place, which keeps me more than busy. And it’s filled with happy memories I couldn’t bear to part with.”
“But, Ma—”
She leans forward and cups my face with her hand.
“This was our decision,” she reminds me. “My only regret is not telling you myself.”
I shake my head, helpless and angry and hurt. Yesterday, my biggest concern was what size railings I needed to order for Sam’s office loft. Now, I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking truck.
Thirty-Two
Nick
Sitting on my balcony as dusk descends, I light a smoke for the first time in two months and let the cool night air calm my senses. Light barely filters in over the mountains, and I try to think if I’ve ever felt more conflicted than I have today, than I do in this moment.
I know I have every right to be pissed off after three years of bullshit lies, but do I get to hate my dad when my mom has been just as deceiving? Would I still hate him right now if he’d told me what happen three years ago, or just be disappointed instead of both? Either way, he’s not the man I thought he was.
I take another drag of my cigarette and revel in the simple, familiar things, like the burn of the menthol in the back of my throat. I’ve gone two months without a smoke. I almost caved a couple times, but today I didn’t try to fight it.
Leaning my head back, I shut my eyes and exhale into the breeze. I feel like there’s a paper I should be writing or book I should be reading, but that’s as far as my memory serves me. A crow caws from the redwoods that line the back of the lot and the final patch of setting sunlight is warm against the cool night air.
A recognizable rumble accelerates up the street, and I know there’s a lifted, red Chevy pulling to a stop outside my house. I didn’t think I was up for company, but knowing Reilly’s here comes as a relief. When the engine shuts off, I stab out my cigarette and make my way to the front door.
Bobby peers up at me as I step out onto the landing. He climbs out of the passenger seat and lifts a six-pack and a brown paper bag. “Party time!”
“You up for visitors?” Reilly asks and tugs the hem of his shirt down as he steps up to the curb. I don’t answer because it’s not really a question. They’re both already on their way up the stairs.
“Who told you?” I ask as they make their way to my front door. I haven’t told anyone about my dad, too ashamed or angry I guess.
Bobby ignores me and steps inside my apartment.
“Alison told Sam—”
“Ah, my mom,” I finish for him. “Got it.”
My apartment is dark, still closed up from my being gone for the day. Marilyn and Monroe’s tank is the only offering of light.
