2. Chloe
TWO
CHLOE
THEN
Yesterday was my birthday, though it doesn’t feel like it. I sit in my closet instead of spending time with friends or family. It’s the farthest room in the house from the living room, where my parents are arguing.
They argue a lot. I don’t think I have ever seen them speak to each other at a normal volume. Each interaction always ends with one of them raising their voice at the other and, eventually, the other storming away.
My dad has been storming away recently, not returning for a few days. One time, I didn’t see him for almost two weeks.
My closet is quiet. I feel safe in here.
I put pictures of me and Anni on the wall, and I have a big, soft beanbag in the corner that I’ll curl up on, reading books for hours.
No one ever comes to check on me. I sometimes think my parents forget I exist. Only when Anni calls my house and my mom comes into my room to give me the phone is she reminded that she has a daughter.
But this year, I got a cell phone for my birthday.
So now I can talk to Annika without leaving my room, and I see my mom less and less.
My dad is rarely at home anyways. Always traveling for work.
My closet only muffles the arguing. Sometimes, when my parents scream, I hear the argument clearly past the sliding mirrored doors.
“I’m done, Heather.”
“What do you mean you’re done?”
“I mean, I’m not coming back. I’m gone. You did this.”
“Fuck you, Steve. You did this to yourself.”
I hear shuffling and reemerge from my closet and leave my room. I tiptoe until I’m through the hall and can see around the corner, where my parents are in the living room. There’s luggage by the front door. My mom is on her knees on the floor, crying.
“Stop crying. Pick yourself up and take care of your daughter.”
“She’s your daughter, too!” my mom yells back at him.
“She was never one I wanted, that was all you,” my dad says, and I feel like I’ve been kicked. Are they talking about me? Why wouldn’t Dad want me?
My dad sees me out of the corner of his eye and starts walking toward me. “Chloe, get out here.”
He grabs my wrist and pulls me to the living room. He’s hurting me. He never hurts me like this.
“Stop, it hurts,” I say, and he lets go.
“Chloe, I need to tell you something.”
“No! Don’t tell her!” my mom yells from the floor. My chest is heaving, and tears form in my eyes. My face feels hot.
My dad looks down at me and says, “Chloe, I’m sorry, but I’m leaving for good. I have a family that needs me.”
“What are you saying? We need you,” I say in a wobbly voice.
My dad kneels so he’s at eye level with me.
I’ve always thought I looked more like my dad than my mom.
We have the same small, upturned nose and blue eyes.
My mom has blonde hair like mine, but I inherited my curls from my dad.
His eyes don’t look like mine anymore. They are squinting, and his dark eyebrows are furrowed together.
“I’m leaving you and your mom to be with my family.”
“But we are your family,” I say to him, grabbing his arm. “Please, Dad, don’t leave me.”
“I’m sorry, Coco.”
“Don’t call me that,” I whisper, but I don’t know if he hears me. He stands up and turns away without saying anything else. My nickname, which only my parents would call me, feels like a lie now, like something that has lost its meaning.
I watch my dad collect his bags and leave through the front door.
As it closes, my mom breaks down into a sobbing heap on the floor.
I try to put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but she swats me away, so I run back to my room and into my closet.
I curl up in my beanbag and close my eyes.
I close them so tightly, hoping this is all a dream, that this didn’t actually happen.
I open my eyes and leave my closet. The sounds of my mom sobbing are muffled through the door to my room. This is real life. I curl up in my bed and grab my phone, texting Annika:
Me:
heyy u there?
Anni
U don’t have to ask if I’m there every time u text
i will just respond
Me
lol idk how this works!!
what up?
can i come over?
ugh, i wish. my dad took me and my bros to the hardware store
i’m trapped here! D’:
is ur mom home?
No, she has a doc appt
everything ok?
yah, im just bored
txt u when i get home
k :)
I let my phone slip out of my hand and fall on the floor. I don’t know when it began, but I realize I’m crying. I’m crying because of how lonely I feel, because my mom is crying, and because I don’t know what my dad meant when he left. I’m so confused, and crying feels like the only thing I can do.
The sound of country music wakes me up. It’s so bright outside. I look at the rainbow clock on my nightstand. I slept until one in the afternoon. It’s a good thing it’s a Sunday.
I get up and use the restroom. I almost forgot what happened yesterday until I passed my parents’ room and saw clothes and furniture everywhere.
My dad left us. Left me.
I go back to my room and crawl back into my bed, reaching for my phone. I forgot to charge it, so the screen remains black when I open it. I wonder if I can keep sleeping for the next two weeks. I don’t want to see anyone.
A couple of hours later, my mom comes into my room. She’s holding a light blue box.
“Hey, honey pie,” she says, sitting on my bed, raking her fingers through my hair. My eyes feel puffy when I look up at her. She has redness around her eyes and nose. Her hair is pulled into a tight ponytail.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How are you feeling? I think you caught a bug. You’ve been in bed all day.” She presses the back of her hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up!”
“I feel fine,” I say, pushing her hand away.
“I got you a gift. Consider it a belated birthday gift.” She hands me the box, and I don’t open it immediately.
I know this isn’t for my birthday. When I was about seven years old, I caught on when they’d give me gifts out of nowhere.
They’d argue, I’d lock myself in my room, and I’d get a toy.
My Barbie dream house is from when my mom burned the Thanksgiving turkey.
They got me a hot-pink Coach handbag when my dad got mad and flipped the dining table.
“Open it, honey.” She pushes the box towards me.
I sit up in bed and take the lid off the box. A charm bracelet lies on a white layer of stuffing. It’s beautiful. It has gold chains and little colorful animals. One is a turquoise dolphin, and the other is a green turtle. I love it, and I hate it.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, swallowing down the sick feeling in my stomach. “I think I did get a stomach bug or something. I don’t feel great.”
“Yeah, just rest, Coco, so that you can be better by tomorrow.” She kisses me on the forehead and takes the bracelet out of the box. She slips it around my wrist and clasps the chain.
I want to cry again, and I pull the covers back over my head as the bracelet jingles with each movement. I don’t know if any day could be worse than the day I found out I no longer had a family.