22
The best way to describe the following week was pretty shit. I was busy with SWOTVAC, which was a week of no classes before exam season. The upside was that it was a distraction from Nick. The downside was that it wasn’t exactly enjoyable, studying from morning to night, trying to revise everything I’d learned in the past twelve weeks, and stressing over whether I’d not only pass my exams but do well enough to maintain a high-grade point average so I could get into the medicine course I wanted, two years from now.
I spent most of my days studying with Elena and Atticus and tried not to seem too down around them so they wouldn’t worry about me. Not that they were the type to walk on eggshells. They were the kind of people who’d throw eggs at Nick, or turn the eggs into an omelette, which they’d give to me with uncharacteristic solemnity.
On Sunday evening, Elena and I sat on opposite sides of the dining table, studying last minute before our first exam, which was the following day. Mine was in the morning; hers was scheduled for the afternoon.
The table wasn’t filled with textbooks and loose paper—all our notes were digital, and so we only had our laptops as well as five mugs filled with varying levels of now-cold coffee.
“Making another one,” Elena announced, standing up with a mug in her hand. “Want one?”
“Decaf, please,” I said, handing her an empty mug. I wanted to fall asleep at a reasonable time, but the taste of coffee made me feel productive.
She took my cup and walked over to the kitchen, tinkering with the coffee machine.
I stared at nothing, and once again, thought of Nick.
I couldn’t regret anything. I’d done everything I could, laid all my cards on the table. I hadn’t heard from him since the day I stormed over to his studio. That was answer enough.
“What’s wrong?” Elena asked, walking over with two mugs. She set mine in front of me. “Don’t tell me it’s Nick. If he ruins your exams, I’ll kick him myself.”
“You will not kick him,” I said. “Besides, I thought you liked him.”
“I do. I did.” She took her seat opposite me. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked hesitantly.
“I’ve already talked about it enough.”
“Yeah, but I can tell there’s something on your mind. It’s distracting.”
“How is it distracting? I’m not making any noise.”
“I can feel it,” she said. “It’s worrying. I’ve never seen you like this.”
I shrugged, my gaze falling on my laptop screen, where I’d been reviewing my notes on vertebrate evolution.
With an exam, the amount of effort I put in would directly affect the outcome. But with Nick, I’d done the best I could, and I’d still fallen short.
“It’s just frustrating,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. “I tried so hard to be perfect, and it still didn’t work.”
“I don’t understand why you need to be ‘perfect’,” Elena said in a firm but not unkind voice. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to love someone the way they are.”
“That’s not how it works,” I replied. “Sophie dumped me because I was bad in b— because I wasn’t good at affection,” I amended. “You’re meant to become a better person for your partner.”
“And you weren’t good enough?” Elena asked.
I flinched. “You don’t have to say it like that.”
She frowned. “But you are good enough.”
I looked down at the dining table, my eyes tracing the grain of the wood. “You have to say that because you’re my sister.”
“Hayden—”
“No,” I interrupted, because I didn’t want to hear platitudes. They would only make me feel worse. “I don’t mind working on myself. It just sucks to fail.” I leaned against my chair. “Maybe I didn’t try hard enough.”
She was silent for so long I thought she’d leave it. Then:
“I love you the way you are.”
If we were in any other situation, I’d look at her like she was insane. We weren’t the type of family that said I love you to each other. Hell, Lisa was the only one who used the L word regularly.
“Dad loves you too,” Elena continued before I could reply. “And Lisa.”
“Not Mum.”
“What?”
“Not Mum,” I repeated, louder.
“Mum… Mum loves us.” Even to my ears, she sounded unsure.
“Then why did she leave?” I demanded, all of my stress and anger and sadness spilling out. I shouldn’t have been taking it out on Elena—intellectually, I knew that—but she was the one who brought up the bullshit love-someone-the-way-they-are comment. “She left because we were annoying children that drove her crazy.”
“Mum left because she was severely depressed,” Elena said in an even voice.
“No. She left because she was sick of us. Dad even said so.”
“He did not say that.” Elena had gone very still, which was more scary than when she was loud. Not that I cared enough to be scared.
“Yes he did,” I said. “He sat us down on the couch after school one day and told us it was our fault she left, because we were so naughty.”
Elena clearly didn’t remember, and that made me feel twitchy with irritation. It was a core memory of mine, even more so than any birthday or Christmas. How could she not remember? How could she let herself forget something so pivotal? It felt careless.
Elena’s expression turned to pity, which just made me angry.
“Hayden,” she said quietly, “Mum leaving was not our fault. Dad might’ve said that—”
“He did. Not might’ve— did .”
“Okay, he said that, but he was just upset. Mum didn’t leave because of anything we did. She was extremely unwell. Obviously we didn’t know that at the time, but sometimes I think back, and it’s obvious how miserable she was. And not just miserable—she was… well, on edge.”
She did lose her temper a lot. Once, she left us in Kmart because we wouldn’t stop crying, then returned an hour later and asked if we’d learned our lesson. Then there were the times she locked herself in the bedroom while Elena and I would batter our tiny fists on the door, begging for her attention.
“Did Dad actually say she was depressed?” I’d always suspected, but no one ever talked about her, so no one confirmed it.
“Yes. She went to see doctors, you know. First it was post-natal, but then it just continued. It might’ve been a side effect of some other disorder.”
“Dad told you this?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“I think I first asked when I was twelve. We talked about her over the years.”
“Why did no one tell me?” I demanded.
“You never asked.”
“Because no one ever talked about her!” I’d raised my voice again and took a moment to compose myself.
“I’m sorry, Hayden,” Elena said. “I’m sorry you’ve thought it was your fault the whole time.”
“Not just mine. Ours.” I limply gestured at both of us.
Elena let out a strained laugh. “Right. Can’t let you take all the credit.”
My mind was reeling. All of my adrenaline from earlier disappeared, leaving my body feeling like a sack of flesh and bones.
I closed my laptop lid. “I’m gonna get ready for bed.”
“Are you okay?” Elena asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.” I held up the mug of decaf she’d made for me. “Thanks for this.”
I took the mug and my laptop to my bedroom, then went into the shower, both because I needed a wash but also because I wanted to stand under steaming hot water.
Afterwards, in bed, I thought of Mum. She had been thin, which I supposed was fashionable for the early 2000s, but looking back, there’d been a sickliness to her gaunt face. I reached for my bedside table, grabbed my keychain, and looked at the photo of her. It was one of the rare photos of her smiling.
I picked up my phone and called Dad.
“Hayden,” Dad said when he answered. “Bit late for you to be calling.”
“You weren’t asleep, were you?”
A short laugh. “No, I’m not that old yet. How is exam preparation going?”
“Fine,” I said. “I want to talk about Mum. Was she depressed?”
The following few seconds felt like hours. “She was. Can I ask what brought this up?”
I swallowed thickly. “Do you remember when you sat me and Elena down on the couch and told us that Mum left? And you said that it was our fault?”
He didn’t reply. The silence was excruciating, so I hurried to fill the silence. “I was talking about it to Elena, and she doesn’t remember it at all. But I remember. I swear I didn’t make it up. You stood in front of us and said we’d driven her away. This entire time, I’ve thought it was our fault she left.”
“Of course it wasn’t your fault. You were children.”
“Then why,” I began, using all my power to stop my voice from breaking, “did you say it was?”
There was another silence. I imagined Dad closing his eyes or scrubbing his face.
This was the kind of conversation you were supposed to have in person, but I’d purposely chosen not to video call him. It would be easier to speak without seeing his expression. And without him seeing mine. My eyes felt very, very dry.
“You have to understand,” he began, “that I’d had an extremely difficult day. No, an extremely difficult year. I’d spent all day at the clinic, and then I received a phone call from your school. A concerned teacher was asking why you and Elena hadn’t been picked up. I thought your mother had had a nap and lost track of the time—she used to do that often—but I couldn’t get in touch with her. So, I picked you two up, and we arrived at an empty house. Your mother had packed her stuff. She’d threatened to leave several times, but I never thought she was serious. We tried everything, you have to understand that. She was on medication, and we’d taken her to psychologists, but she didn’t like any of them.”
“She never liked us,” I said quietly.
“Oh, Hayden.” Dad sounded sad in a way I’d never heard before. “She loved you. She was so excited to have children, you know. Looking back, I think she thought it would be some kind of cure. But it didn’t fix things. It just exhausted her.”
“Because we were annoying?”
“No,” Dad said. “Because raising children is exhausting. And…” he made an uncomfortable noise. “Our arrangement may not have been ideal for her. She stayed at home to look after you two. I went to work. I needed to make a living to support our family.”
“You said it was our fault,” I said. “I didn’t imagine that.”
“No. I did say that.” Suddenly, Dad sounded like a tired old man. “My emotions got the better of me. I regretted it, of course, but I never expected those words to stay with you as long as they did.”
“So it’s my fault for internalising what you said?” I asked.
“No. No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He sighed. “Lisa is better at these kinds of conversations.”
No kidding. But that didn’t mean he could weasel his way out of this. If our family could’ve talked like this earlier, everything would’ve been so much better.
“I’m sorry, Hayden,” he said, and there was an ache in his voice I’d never heard before.
Dad was old enough, rich enough and respected enough to demand everything go his way. He almost never said he was wrong, and he almost never apologised.
“Your mother leaving was not your fault. It wasn’t. I promise you that.”
“Why didn’t she stay?” My voice was as fragile as glass. “Why didn’t she love us enough?”
“It’s not about love. She was sick. I know it’s not a neat answer. I know you might wonder why she didn’t try harder, but to her, she did try her best. She just couldn’t do it anymore.”
I nodded, realising belatedly that he couldn’t see me. I swallowed—my throat was tight and painful, the way it got when I was on the verge of tears. “Okay,” I managed.
We ended the call soon after, with Dad making me promise to reach out if I ever wanted to talk about anything. I kind of wanted to laugh because he and Elena had been more sensitive and emotional in one night than they had in the past six months.
That night, I thought I’d find it difficult to fall asleep. I thought I’d ruminate on bad memories—of Elena in her primary school uniform and her hair in braids, of Mum’s tired eyes and long red hair.
But to my surprise, I fell asleep easily. It was like a weight I’d never noticed before had been lifted from my chest.