Page 61 of Told You So
Walking around the foot of the bed, I crawl on top of the comforter next to him and pull up the folded blanket at the bottom to shield me from the cold. “I’ll lay right here, for a little while.”
Nick doesn’t turn over or say anything else, he just lets me be, and I watch the way his body moves with each breath. It’s like a lazy metronome in a room of silence.
If I hadn’t been spending so much time with him over the past couple weeks, I would think my being in his bed like this would be so far out of my comfort zone, I’d turn tail and run. But whatever’s between us now becomes easier and more comfortable each day, and this, being in here with him, feels right.
“I saw my dad with a woman today,” Nick whispers, and I hear the raw emotion in his voice. Having met his mother just this morning, my heart breaks for her, and I can only imagine Nick’s devastation, whether it’s for him or his mom, or both.
“I’m sorry, Nick.” I roll onto my side, staring at his back. There’s a hitch in his steady breaths, and I know all too well what that means. Scooting closer, I wrap my arm around him. Neither of us say anything more. We just lay there in silent company until he finally falls asleep.
Thirty
Bethany’s Journal
April 19th
Today was unlike any day I’ve ever had. It was a revelation of sorts. Not only did I discover that I’m not a complete failure, like my parents seem to think, but I’ve discovered my true feelings for Nick, complicated as they may be.
Tonight, I saw the real Nick that hidesallbehind all the smiles and playful banter. That’s the guy I want to know more. I can’t help but think that with the family issues he’s going through, and knowing how fucked up my own are, he might confide in me again. I hope he will. For whatever reason, he seems hesitant to lean on his friends, which surprises me. So maybe, I can give him something this time, the way he’s given me so much the past couple weeks.
His mom thinks I have dyslexia. I’ve tried so hard for so long to be as good as my parents want me to be, at least as far a school is concerned, but I always miss the mark. At least now it makes a bit more sense. I wonder if my parentseverhave ever considered my having a learning disability and they just pushed the idea away, not wanting it to be true. Or, maybe they’ve never considered it and think I enjoy my father’s disappointment.
At least I feel better, knowing what I do, and that whatever happens, whether I’m dyslexic or not, it won’t matter to Nick. He’s one less person I have to be someone I’m not for.
-B
Thirty-One
Nick
I’m not sure how many minutes pass, or if it’s been closer to an hour, but I sit outside my parents’ house, thinking how I barely recognize my life the past twenty-four hours. When I woke up this morning, it took me a while to remember going to Lick’s and why there would be a bottle of whiskey, ibuprofen, and a ginger teabag sitting on my nightstand. Then I remembered Bethany. I pull out my phone and re-read our conversation.
Me: Thanks for last night. I didn’t even have to kick you out this morning
Bethany: You’re hilarious...and welcome.
Bethany: How are you feeling?
Me: Decent. Thanks for leaving me your hangover remedy.
I’ve wanted to ask her a million questions about last night and let her know how much I appreciate her taking care of me, but nothing I type feels adequate enough, and I can’t bring myself to press SEND. I put my phone away and decide to worry about it later. I have a mother to worry about right now.
I stare up at my bedroom window—the one I gazed out of as a child, watching my dad work on his cars. I stare at my mom’s rose bed, imaging her bent over it with a giant hat and too much sunblock on her face. I stare at the green, perfectly landscaped lawn where my dad and I practiced my pitching—where he taught me how to hold a bat properly and how to throw a proper punch. I stare at the driveway, where we helped Reilly rebuild the Rumbler. We were a normal, happy family. Now, it all feels like complete bullshit.
I can’t get the image of that woman’s hands on him out of my mind, and I try not to think about how many times he’s probably cheated on my mom—just once? A dozen times? All with that woman? The thought that there might be others makes what bile’s left in my stomach churn.
Does she really know he’s cheating on her?
Reluctantly, I get out of the Explorer and make my way inside. This is going to be one of the most difficult conversations I’ve ever had, and I try to brace myself for it, even if I have no idea how to. I’m not sure if my dad called to give my mom a heads-up or not. I don’t know if it matters.
Grabbing onto the doorknob like it’s a lifeline, I slowly open the door and step into the entry. The house is quiet. I know she’s here, her Mercedes is in the driveway, but the house feels empty. Every single thing is in its proper place, but I see it now for what it is: spotless and unlived in, cold and unwelcoming. It feels lonely.
“Ma...” I step further inside and shut the door behind me. “Mom!” I call more loudly. When I notice the screen door is open in the kitchen, I make my way to the back. The kitchen is spotless, the granite countertops barren and the vase that’s always filled with flowers is empty and turned upside down by the sink.
If I were still living at home, she’d be starting dinner by now. She’d have the radio on and the sound of pots and pans would be echoing through the house. Her light footsteps would patter around on the tile floor and she’d curse when she didn’t think I was listening.
“Mom?” I say again, stepping up to the screen door.
“Nick, sweetheart?” she says, and I can hear the surprise in her voice as she pushes her chair away from the patio table. Her eyes are wide and she smiles when she sees me. “Sweetie, what are you doing here?”
