Page 97 of Told You So
I eye her, waiting patiently for her to continue.
Bethany picks a piece of lint off the knee of her jeans before her eyes meet mine again. “Jesse is not my dad’s son,” she says.
It takes a moment for the words to really sink in and for me to realize what that means. The age difference between Bethany and Jesse makes more sense now and the toxicity of their family becomes a bit more understandable. “I take it your dad knows, then,” I think aloud.
Bethany’s chin inclines a bit and she smiles, but it’s not a real smile, it’s a saving-face smile, like she’s not sure what to believe or think. “He knows, and I’m pretty sure that’s why both of my parents work so much. I think it’s hard for them to be around each other. My dad being away from Jesse so much, though...it only puts more distance between them.”
It makes sense, but I’m not sure what to say, so I sit silently and wait for her to continue.
“My mom says they’re going to get a divorce, which I think is a good thing, for both of them—for Jesse,” she says thoughtfully.
“And for you,” I add.
She nods, but her thoughts are still somewhere else. “Jesse won’t understand, though,” she finally says, and her eyes meet mine again. “What if he thinks it’s his fault they’re separating? He doesn’t know the truth. He doesn’t understand any of this. I’m not sure if my mom is going to tell him or if he should even know, at least not yet.”
“I guess that’s something your mom is going to have to figure out for herself,” I tell her. My reflections about my own family drama have been in the forefront of my mind. “If my mom is any gauge, there’s only so much us kids can control.”
Bethany takes my hand in hers. “Did you talk to you parents again?” she asks softly.
“My dad,” I say with a nod. “It’s official, they’re getting a divorce too.” I let out a breath and realize I’m actually relieved. “It feels right, strangely enough.” A few months ago, I would’ve been devastated. “I can’t believe how much has happened in the last few weeks.”
Bethany squeezes my hand in hers. “At least there were some good things,” she says.
I squeeze her hand back. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” I say playfully.
This time, she winks at me.
Fifty-Two
Bethany
After Wednesday’s classes, Nick and I head back to my house to begin packing my things. Part of me is weary to have him here, knowing my mom will be home after work. Then again, keeping Nick away from my family, as screwed up as we are, would only perpetuate their false ideas of him and make him seem like “just some guy,” which is the last thing Nick is to me.
So, imagine my surprise when my mom came home early from work to help us pack and take a load of things to Anna’s. She and Nick have been cordial, if a little awkward, but seeing them interacting makes me unexpectedly happy.
“You look more like your mom than your dad,” Nick tells me, studying a family photo on my dresser.
“Yeah? I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
Nick glances between me and the photo. “It’s a good thing,” he clarifies. “Imagining you with a five o’clock shadow is more horrifying than sexy.”
The front door opens and closes downstairs, and I assume my mom’s brought Jesse home from school.
I pull the rest of my pajamas out of my dresser drawer as Nick picks up one of my bras from a clean pile of clothes and holds it up to his chest. His eyebrows waggle when he looks at me.
I try not to smile, so not to encourage him. Instead, I shake my head. “Are you planning on helping at all or just distracting me?”
With a laugh, Nick sets my bra back on my folded pile and heads for the door. “Helping, of course. I’ll grab you a few more boxes.” He disappears down the hallway.
“Hey, kid,” I hear him say, and I imagine Jesse’s probably happy to see him. They chat for a bit, but I lose myself to the memories of this room, realizing that I might never sleep in it again. How many endless nights have I laid awake in here? How many tears have I cried? I stare at my journal, poking out of my book bag and wonder where I’ll be in five years and what that version of me will think when reading reflections of the past.
“Hi,” Jesse says, and steps into my doorway with one of his favorite T. rex figurines.
“Hey.” I finish folding a nightshirt. “How was school?”
“Fine,” he says. “Ms. Harding gave me a gold star today for reading out loud.”
“You read out loud? That’s pretty impressive. No wonder she gave you a gold star. Did you get to read whatever you wanted?”
