Chapter 33 #2
someone took photos of my diary and put them on the internet and it went viral.”
Mara nods sympathetically. “I know a lot about how you’re feeling, actually. And I’m so sorry it happened to you like this.”
I cry a little more, and Mara says all the right things, and promises me that as soon as she’s able to reach Nicky, she’ll
tell him to call me.
“Thank you,” I say to her, more than once.
Once we hang up, I see Mom texted me back ten minutes ago.
MOM:
Is everything okay? I’m at the movies, but I saw you called.
I hesitate. I could do the same thing I did with Luke. I could tell her no, it’s okay, enjoy the movie, call me when it’s
done.
ME:
Can you come home? Something happened
I text her the link to the TMZ article, too.
A few minutes later:
MOM:
I’m leaving now. Hang tight. I’ll be there in fifteen.
Mom is back in twelve minutes flat. I bet she made Todd let her drive, because if he had been driving, it would have taken
them at least twenty. Mom’s the speed demon.
When she comes in, I’m still on the couch with Thisbe, my arms wrapped around my knees.
“Oh, honey,” she says, and the sympathy in her voice unravels me. Partially because I have the prickly feeling that I don’t
deserve it. This is entirely a mess of my own making.
She hurries over and sits next to me, putting her arm around me. For once, I let her. I lean against her shoulder.
“Do either of you want a sandwich?” comes Todd’s voice from behind us. “I can run out for lunch. Everything okay, Claire?”
“No. I mean, I’m fine, I don’t need a sandwich.”
Todd stays standing there. “So what’s going on?”
“Can you just leave?” I say to him. I turn to Mom. “Please?”
“What’s going on?” he demands again, less kindly this time.
“You can tell him. I don’t care. Just please, I need him to go.”
Mom looks at me, sizing me up. “Okay.” Then she stands and says to Todd, “I’ll walk you out.”
Once they’re outside, I go into the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I strain to listen to their conversation.
They’re arguing. That much I can tell. I take a few steps closer to the front hall.
“I know,” Mom is saying. “I get it, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but this was her decision. I was going to tell you as
soon as—”
“As soon as what?” Todd says. “As soon as you decide whether or not to accept the marriage proposal you’ve left dangling for
over a week now?”
“I’m sorry,” Mom says. “You know it’s more complicated because I have kids, and—”
“Kids? They’re basically adults. Hell, Claire had a whole career I didn’t know about.”
Mom says something else I can’t hear. Then she says, “Don’t go like this. We can talk it through—”
“I’ve got things to take care of back home,” Todd says tersely. “We can talk later.”
I go back into the den and sit down. Todd’s a jerk, and he could have expressed his hurt better, but he does have a right
to be upset with Mom. Because of me.
When she comes back in, I immediately say, “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”
To my surprise, she says, “No. It isn’t. Not even remotely. Your childhood was so hard—I let your childhood become so hard—that you had to invent a new identity for yourself to get away from it. I should have been so much more involved than I was.”
Hearing her say that . . . I don’t know. Something inside me gives.
“So why weren’t you?” It comes out so much more forcefully, so much harsher, than I mean it to. “No, don’t tell me. I already
know. Because you disapproved of it so much. Disapproved of me.” She stares at me, her eyes wide. I keep going. “Do you know
how hard it was for me as a little kid, going to work, feeling like I was disappointing you every single day?”
I don’t know what I’m expecting from her in return. Tears, maybe. Shouting. The silent treatment. The world to split in half,
I don’t know. But Mom doesn’t look angry or surprised. At all. If anything, she looks . . . relieved.
“No,” she says. “I didn’t know. Because you’ve never been willing to talk to me about it. You’ve always put on such a brave
face. But that’s all I’ve wanted. Is to talk about it.”
“So let’s talk about it,” I say, motioning for her to continue.
“I never disapproved of you. It was the whole child star thing. Your dad and I fought about it so much. I didn’t want you to act yet.
I didn’t want that childhood for you. I wanted to wait, to only have you take classes and do local theater, to press pause on the auditions, until you were older and understood it all better.
I wanted to protect you. I wanted you to have a childhood, a real one.
” She shakes her head. “And you were only a kid, what did you know? I should have listened to my gut. I should have forced my involvement.”
“What? What do you mean ‘forced’?”
Mom looks at me. “You didn’t want me anywhere near Bricks.”
“Wait—what are you talking about?” I say. “Of course I wanted you to be involved.”
A sea of emotions crosses her face. First, confusion. Then this kind of horrified realization. She closes her eyes for a long
moment before opening them again. “Your father.”
“What do you mean?”
“He told me you didn’t want me around the set, that having two involved parents was embarrassing to you. But I think he knew
if I started talking to people, got involved in the accounting, it would all unravel. It always seemed strange to me that
you didn’t want me or Nicky around for anything to do with your show.”
“Dad said it was because Nicky hated the crowds and cameras.”
“Nicky?” Mom says. “The Nicky who choreographed his own signature touchdown dance?”
I want to say I can’t believe it, that Dad would never do that, but that isn’t true. I can believe it, and I do. “I always
thought it was because you weren’t proud of me.”
“Oh, Gus. No. Never.” She comes to sit down next to me and takes my hands in hers. Her eyes are filled with tears. “I was
so proud of you. I am so proud of you, every single day.”
I lean into her, putting my head on her shoulder, amazed at how good it feels to hear her say that.
She wraps her arms around me and squeezes.
For a moment, I consider telling her about what happened with Brett, and how Dad knew about it the whole time and still didn’t do anything to stop it.
But I don’t want to go there right now, on top of everything.
So for now, I decide to tell her something else that’s true.
“Mom?” I say.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t like Todd. And I don’t want you to marry him.”
At first she goes totally still, like I’ve hurt her feelings. And maybe I have. But then she lets out a long breath. “Well,
thank you for your honesty. I appreciate that. At least it’s out there now. For both of us. In a strange way it feels good,
doesn’t it?”
She’s right. There’s a certain peace when something you’ve been dreading finally comes to pass. Like, I can relax, because
the thing I’ve been most afraid of has happened. And I’m still alive.
Now I just have to figure out how to pick up the pieces.