41. Stop Crying Your Heart Out
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
stop crying your heart out
ABI
BLACKBURN FALLS, ONTARIO
PRESENT DAY
Logan’s been spending the early part of the afternoon outside, in the pool with Dylan, Marcus, and Kat while mom and I fix up some lunch. I watch through the window as he’s got Dylan perched high on his shoulders, the two of them sneaking up on Kat while Marcus distracts her. There’s a big splash, followed quickly by Kat’s giddy screams, raucous laughter echoing through the yard.
I grin as I slice up some strawberries.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile like that,” mom says softly. “I can’t help noticing he’s good with the kid, too.”
My mother’s never exactly been subtle.
“Is that something you’re talking about?” She asks. “As a couple, I mean.”
“Mom, we just got engaged. Like, a few days ago.”
Maybe it was a mistake coming here.
What happens when mom wants to visit us in Emerald Bay? What happens at Christmas? Easter? Are Logan and I going to put on a big show every time she or my friends show up at my door? Initially I just figured I could come up with some excuse; if they never really got to know him I could just say it fell apart, or work got in the way, or any number of other things. Now, though… I don’t think she’ll rest until she discovers why we ‘broke up.’ There’s no way Logan gets out of this unscathed.
I wish I had gotten over this whole reunion thing; if I did, we could have quietly pined over each other back home with no consequences whatsoever.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Mom asks. “You’ve been a little cold all day.”
Sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint when my anxiety swoops in, and takes every ounce of my personality with it’s arrival. Logan says it looks like a scene straight out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, but I rarely even notice.
I flash her my biggest, brightest, and most reassuring smile.
“Totally fine. I’m just anxious about the reunion tomorrow. Seeing Brendan, and everyone else again? It’s been a long time.”
My mom scoffs, shaking her head. She made it extremely clear how much she hated Brendan, after how much we fought toward the end. Every tearful phone call, every sombre, silent afternoon after a message she never got to see; she loathed him for what he did to me.
“You know, he still won’t even look me in the eye? He parades around town with that horrible bitch, but whenever he sees me he—” She shakes her head, catching herself in her little spiral. “You know, the one I actually feel sorry for is that baby.”
She slices the carrots with a kind of anger that makes me flinch.
“To tell you the truth, I’m surprised you agreed to the whole thing.”
“To tell you the truth, so am I.”
She sets the knife down, leaning up against the counter, her green eyes honed in on me. I probably should have let Logan take my place when she asked for some help. He’s a lot better at keeping up the facade than I am.
“So, why did you come here?”
“What? I told you, for the reunion.”
“You hated high school, and you shot out of this town like a bat out of hell the second you got that job in Washington. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Abigail, but you ran from a whole lot of pain. Why wander back into all of that?”
“Because Brendan couldn’t give me an answer about why he left. I wanted closure back then, and I still do now. I want… I want to stop wondering if it’s actually me. If I’m the fucking problem.”
“Honey, it’s not that complicated. He’s a goddamn loser who didn’t know how good he had it with you. I’m not saying you don’t deserve closure, but I do need you to know that this isn’t your fault.” She cups my face in her hands and I can smell the dirt from the garden on her palms. “And I want you to know how proud I am of you, sweetheart.”
My phone starts to buzz on the counter, and my stomach sinks.
FRANKIE CALLING…
“Hang on, mom. I gotta take this.”
I rush out of the kitchen and head for the bathroom, locking the door behind me. My hands are shaking so bad it takes a few swipes for me to actually accept the call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Abi. Sorry to bug you.”
“You didn’t,” I reply, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Are Wednesday and Lydia okay?”
“The ladies are fine. I actually crashed on your couch last night because we were hanging out watching a movie.”
He sounds anxious, but no matter how bad I want to ask what’s going on, I decide to stay quiet until he breaks. It’s an interview technique that Logan taught me: hold on to the pauses, and people will fill them with the truth.
“The budget committee came back with their findings from the audit, and uh… well, they decided that they’re cutting your contract at the end of December.”
“Okay.”
The words are crushing, but it’s not a surprise.
“Unless you managed to get that scholarship…?”
“I didn’t.”
“Ah, shit. I’m really sorry, Abi. I can work on finding you another position right away. Maybe a research assistant? I know Dr. Barnes needs someone ? —”
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” I manage to chuckle.
I don’t need to be reporting ‘accidental’ ass grabs, or inappropriate comments about the depth of my cleavage, no matter how much Frankie would probably appreciate the ammunition to use against Barnes.
“Figured as much.”
“Actually, um…” I bite my lip. “I may have found another position.”
“Really?!”
Frankie sounds a lot more shocked than I’m assuming he intended, because he immediately clears his throat, resetting his tone to be much more supportive.
“Abi, that’s great! Where is it? I’ll give you a reference if you need it.”
“It’s actually not too far.” I grin. “You might even say it’s in the same building.”
“Seriously?! What department?”
“Anthropology. It’s an adjunct position— the pay is slightly shittier, but…” I laugh. “It means I won’t have to leave.”
Frankie is quiet for a while, and I can practically see the gears spinning in his head before he finally speaks up again.
“Let me talk to the department head. I bet I can get you a leg up on the competition.”
“No!”
I practically shout it out. I want to get this job on my own merit, to have my experience do the talking.
“Frankie, it’s— it’s really okay. Besides, I actually think that’s pretty unethical.”
“Yeah, well, rich parents try to bribe us to bump their kids’ grades up, so I figure we deserve a go at it once in a while too.”
“Uh huh, but what about our integrity?”
The line is silent for a moment, followed by the longest sigh I’ve ever heard from him.
“Alright, alright, integrity wins out again. I won’t say anything, but I am going to write you a hell of a recommendation letter. I hate that we’re letting you go right before the winter season. It’s gonna be Christmas.”
I laugh, tears rolling down my face as the anxiety fills me up, ping ponging all around. Pounding heart, clammy palms, swirling stomach; my body doesn’t know whether to be happy of stressed the fuck out.
“It’s just how these things go sometimes, right?”
“It is. But you’re part of the family, and we don’t let go of our own that easily.”
“Thanks, Frankie.”
“No problem. But hey, how’s Flynn? Not driving you too crazy, I hope.”
My mind flashes back to Logan on the phone with my mom.
I love Abi very much.
Maybe he’s always meant it, or maybe it’s all part of the lie. It’s impossible to know.
“No, he’s great,” I laugh. “He’s always great.”
I want to tell him the truth. All of it. I want to lay it bare.
“Well, just make sure he doesn’t hog the stereo on the trip back. Nobody wants to listen to elevator music or Halloween sound effects for 17 hours straight.”
“Thanks, I’ll do my best.”
“So when’s your interview?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Well, your reference letter will be in your inbox before the hour’s up. If there’s anything you need me to change, just let me know.”
“Frankie,” I whisper through tears.
He’s always been so kind to me, all the way back to moment one.
“It’s the least I can do— and since you won’t let me meddle, I bestow you with the horrible honor of copy editing it. My love be with you!”
“Thanks, Frankie. Really. I’ll let you know if anything needs to be changed.”
“No problem at all, King. Now, sorry to do this, but I’ve gotta go make some other calls I don’t want to make. Talk soon, okay? Let me know how the interview goes.”
“I will.”
I end the call, and stand alone in the unbearable silence, staring at myself in the mirror. This is the woman who has to go out there and pretend things are fine as her world falls apart, who’ll have to suffer through seeing her ex again, smiling through gritted teeth while she lies about how great her life is, all while it sits in limbo.
It’s hard not to grow bitter about that.
I grab some toilet paper and dab at the tears in my eyes before heading back into the kitchen, but the second mom turns and sees my face, I know she’s clocked me.
“Abi? Are you okay?”
I can’t lie anymore. Not to her, at least. It’s too much to carry, along with the fake engagement, the interview… I just need to come clean about something .
“My contract’s up at the end of the year,” I blurt out. “And I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Her brows knit together, her eyes filling with confusion.
“I thought you had… that T word.”
“Tenure.” I nod. “Yeah, I?—”
“Doesn’t that mean you’re a permanent employee?”
Lying to my mom never felt good, but I did it. Lying to Kat never felt good, but I did it. The problem is, the deeper Logan and I spiral into this fiction, the harder it is for me to navigate through it all.
It feels so real, so close I can taste it.
“Abigail…”
Her voice is a warning. and I know the second I open that door, there’s gonna be no going back. But it’s too late to worry about that. I’ve got to come clean or I’m going to be crushed under the weight of it all.
“I never had tenure, mom.”
I blurt it out, all at once, and just as expected the rest starts to go along with it.
“The, uh… Okay, so I do have a job teaching at the university, but I’m not a professor, so— Fuck, this is so hard to explain.”
Shame stings my throat.
“Basically, I got a postdoc at EBU. It’s, um, it’s sort of a researcher-slash-teaching position, but it’s a contracted position. And like everywhere else right now, money’s tight at the university, so because it’s a contract, it can be cut.”
Mom puts her hand on her chest. Immediately, I find myself gravitating toward her to soothe the wound I just made.
“It’s okay! I’m— I’m okay! I’m interviewing for an adjunct position, same school and everything?—”
“What’s adjunct mean?” Mom asks, still visibly confused. “You guys have all these weird job titles and I have to admit, I don’t really know what you’re really saying half the time.”
“Adjunct is like… It’s a part-time teaching position. I can still publish and do research, it’s pretty much the same job I already have, just a little bit different, and in another department— but that’s if I get it. It’s still in Emerald Bay, so I wouldn’t have to move. It’s not tenure, but it’s… something.”
Mom’s eyes narrow, and she folds her arms over her chest.
“So why lie?”
I’ve been trying to figure out the answer to that question for a week now. Not the one I tell myself every day, the real answer.
“I don’t know mom, I was just— I was scrolling through the attendance list for the reunion, diving into everyone’s profiles, and they’re all so… happy? Successful? Like, look at Kat and Marcus: they’ve got Dylan, the bar, their real estate thing…” I trail off, biting my lip to keep the rest of the truth from tumbling out of my mouth.
I know social media is just us putting our best foot forward and capturing our happiest moments. Nobody shows you the mess behind the perfectly framed photograph. The thing is knowing all of that doesn’t mean you won’t fall for it.
I look out the window at Kat, watching her laugh as she holds Dylan up above the water. I love my work, but there’s a part of me that wants the rest as well. The kids, the house, the white picket fence. It all feels so far away, like a dream I keep being torn from. Because of something I did wrong, all those years ago.
“I just didn’t want to come home a loser, mom.”.
She blinks, silent for a moment before she grasps my face, staring me dead in the eye.
“Abigail Autumn King, I did not raise a loser. You graduated at the top of your class two years early. You got straight A’s, you won scholarships all through college, you paved your own way?—”
“I could have published more, I could have put out a better application. I could have applied myself more, and worked so much harder. Do you know what usually happens to gifted kids? They end up fucking mediocre. ”
I feel myself shaking, struggling to speak through clenched teeth.
“I can’t even keep a postdoc position, not even a real?—”
“Abi, budget cuts happen! It’s not your fault!”
I squeeze my eyes shut, hot tears rushing down my cheeks, and it takes everything in me not to sob into her chest.
“Do you know how many people actually get a PhD?” She asks. “Abi, I looked it up. Two percent of Americans. Two! That is not mediocre, and you are not a loser. All those things that other people have, marriage, kids… it can all still happen for you if you want it. You’re only 26, and you’re engaged to a man who obviously adores you. I can see it in his eyes.”
I can’t imagine what she’d say if she found out we were faking that , too.
“Mom—”
She cuts me off with a wave of her hand.
“You’ve always been hardest on yourself, but I know you. You’re a King! If there’s a door that slams in your face, you take a battering ram to it. And if things ever get too hard, or you can’t make it through on your own, you’ve got tons of people who would be so happy to help. All you have to do is ask.”
Mom and I have cried together like this so many times… about boys and about school, about bullies, and about the uncertain future.
Through it all, she’s always been my rock.
“I’m sorry I lied to you, mom.”
It stings so badly that I have to keep doing it too.
“Baby, I don’t care about the lie, I care about why you felt you had to tell it. ” She wraps me in her arms, holding me tight. “Everything is going to work out, and you’ll land on your feet. You always do.”
We hold each other for a long time, mom rocking me from side to side and humming a song I vaguely recognize.
“You know, ever since your dad walked out, it’s been you and I against the world,” my mom murmurs, kissing my temple.
I look up at her, blinking away tears.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Me neither.” Mom brushes her nose against mine. “You’re the one thing I know I did right.”