Chapter 16 Dinah
Dinah
Jessica: Started my period. Guess you’re in the clear.
Ian: Good. We’re having a party on Saturday if you want to stop by. If you’re off the rag by then, come find me there.
Jessica: Nah, I’m good.
Ian: Don’t be a bitch. Stop by and have a beer.
Mom: can you stop by Ralph’s on the way home? I have a prescription that needs to be picked up.
Jessica: sure
Mom: thanks. Also, please grab some half and half and onion salt.
Jessica: Ok
@Jessbesslikesamess liked a status
@Jessbesslikesamess commented “haha, ikr?”
@Jessbesslikesamess commented “okay whatever”
@Jessbesslikesamess saved a post
@Jessbesslikesamess commented “omg I want one so bad”
@Jessbesslikesamess commented “I heard they’re closing it on the 14th. My friend works there, so it’s legit.”
@Jessbesslikesamess sent a friend request to Ellie Histick
SMED is like digging through someone’s underwear drawer—a very deep underwear drawer where you have to sift through backyards of sand for each find. Over 70 percent of all internet activity is part of the database. Lots of sand.
For Jessica Bishop, there are over fourteen million entries. It’s not terrible. I’ve dealt with cases that had a hundred million and more. As a fresh pot of coffee brews, I create a flag for communication related to her mother and use it to notate anything that might hint at their relationship.
It doesn’t take long to see that they were close. I yawn as I go through their texts, which make up an almost constant stream of check-ins, questions, and boring back-and-forth.
Reading it all is like eavesdropping on a conversation with Marci and my mother. All happiness and hearts. Oh, I love you so much. Oh, I love you. See you in a few hours. I can’t wait! Counting the hours. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
I didn’t have this with our mother. The hard right turn my life took at sixteen ... that severed the lifeline between us. She wrote me off after that, and I’m still raw and hurt over how my entire family handled the fallout.
Is that how you treat someone you love? Is that what love from a parent looks like?
I mentally divorced my family after that, at least as much as a good Italian girl could. We have all the appearances in place now, but I know, behind the hugs and the kisses, the weekly dinners and the friendly chastising, how fragile my connection with them really is.
Paper thin. Douse it in water or blood, and you could break it with one gentle poke of your finger.
Was Jessica and Reese’s the same?
I scroll through the texts and click on a photo Reese sent Jessica. It’s a plate of brownies, a heart carved in the top of one. The message sent with the photo: Made these for you. Good luck with tomorrow’s civics exam!
I pinch my lips together and move on.
Joe once published an article on the unhealthy effects of a parent-child bond that is too strong, especially once the child reaches adulthood.
His research is deep and well documented.
Adults who are still dependent on and connected to their parents experience problems in their own marriages, poor connections with their own children, and a reduced ability to think and problem-solve for themselves.
A pair of headlights sweeps over my office window. After locking the computer screen, I close my notebook and slide it into the desk drawer. Pushing away from the desk, I stand and collect my coffee cup.
I flip off the room’s light switch and head downstairs to greet my husband.