Chapter 19
The front door slams shut behind me and I fall against it. Warm air heats my goose-bumped skin, and I thank the gods Mom keeps it warmer at home than at the hospital.
“Was work that hard?” Mom’s voice reaches me seemingly out of nowhere.
Then I catch the changing colors spilling out of the living room into the hallway.
I breathe in the warm air and reluctantly make my way over.
When I hang around the doorframe, I find her in the pajama set I got her for Christmas last year—soft pink top and bottoms with Hello Kitty all over them—lying on the couch with her hair a mess around her face. At least she hasn’t been drinking.
“Huh?” I ask.
“You sound like you just got home from the coal mines.” Mom taps the remote to pause whatever she’s watching. Looks like one of those crime dramas.
“Just tired,” I say. I haven’t told her Hayden woke up yet or that it’s got me on edge.
“You sure?” she prods. She sounds more alert today, even better in a way.
Her brown eyes appear nearly black, interrupted only by a single little star from the TV’s reflection. She looks tired, but not like usual; her cheeks and the heavy bags cradling her eyes don’t seem to droop as much tonight. She seems more herself, and here I am with everything falling apart.
I want to go to my room. Talking about my problem—well, problems—isn’t high on my to-do list. Explaining it all again seems like a daunting undertaking after Kaitlynn’s barrage after we left the hospital.
Yes, I heard. He’s actually bi! I just don’t want to get into it right now.
Then there’s the other thing. Mom already carries so much on her shoulders.
She doesn’t need another worry. Not from me. Not more than I’ve already put on her.
“It’s just the Hayden stuff,” I mumble, and start down the hall.
“Hayden? Your boyfriend?” She sits up, and I stop and twist to face her.
Her arms seem frailer, but that’s probably just in my head. She fumbles with the blanket next to her, finally pulling it away and patting the newly empty space for me to sit. Internally, I sigh. Here we go. The way her brow creases makes me feel bad. I don’t want to worry her, but I do need a mom.
“Yeah.” I resign to the inevitable.
“What happened?” she asks.
The real question is what didn’t happen.
I feel like the whole world opened up and devoured me.
Is this the end? Is it all falling apart?
In the car things felt surreal, almost like that feeling you get when you’re speeding on a roller coaster and anything is possible, except without the assurance of a harness to keep me safe.
Maybe Hayden and I could be a thing, but now…
Now my mind is racing with the lies I have to sort out but refuse to deal with.
When I don’t answer, she pushes, “Is he awake?”
“Yeah. Few hours ago.” I fake a smile.
I fasten my gaze on the glass jar of winter iris and snowdrop blooms I put together last week.
They’re thriving, growing. Even the single white Christmas rose in the middle is going strong.
How lovely it must be to simply exist without worry.
Not to be aware there is so much to worry about.
To simply be. To grow and blossom. To be beautiful without effort.
Somehow that is living under the same roof as I am.
I, however, I’m not blooming. I feel like I’m withering away instead.
“That’s great!” Mom’s face brightens a little, but I ruin it with the fake grin I give her. It’s like my face just can’t hold in what I’m feeling. “And…”
I shrug. It’s not the amazing feelings I thought I’d be feeling when he woke up. Is that my fault too?
“Uh…” I briefly make eye contact before drifting off into the corner, where a tall brown and red vase sits atop a little table.
It’s always made me think of the desert, the way the red waves between bands of deep sandy browns.
I wouldn’t call it beautiful, maybe different?
I can’t remember how many times Mom had to threaten to ground me for a whole year if I touched it.
It’s from Germany, some potter in her hometown. “Yeah. It’s awesome.”
She’s asked about him a few times. Wanted to know how we met, how long we’d been “dating.” All of the basics. Most of it I made up on the spot.
Mom’s looking at me as if I’m an alien. “Did you get to talk to him?”
I nod. “A little.”
“That’s nice. I bet his family is happy,” Mom says, but all I can think about is how dirty I feel. How am I going to make this work?
“Yeah,” I say again. I say it too much.
This junk is too much. It isn’t life or death, at least I don’t think it is.
Gods, what if it is? No. Of course it isn’t, that’s silly.
Still, this isn’t what I should be dealing with.
I should be worrying about finishing my English paper, passing my math exams next week, finding an actual boyfriend.
Not building a story around how I’m dating a hot jock I’ve barely carried a single full conversation with who’s been in a coma for two weeks, who only now woke up and thinks he’s experiencing amnesia—all because of me.
“Night, Mom,” I say before I can break into tears.
My emotions are welling up behind my cheeks.
It’s a confused mess of feelings, all culminating into this weird nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach.
There’s worry for sure. A little jealousy floating alongside it.
Then terror. Lots of terror surrounding what’s going to happen when people find out.
And shame. Shame is the centerpiece. It’s what has my stomach churning.
“Nacht, mein Schatz.” She grins.
She doesn’t use her familial language often since I only know a few phrases.
All my relatives on her side speak English, so it was never important for me.
Sometimes I’ll overhear Mom FaceTiming my aunt back in Boblingen and have to remind myself they’re not mad at each other.
German’s weird like that, but this one is sweet.
It’s one she’s said since before I can remember. Night, my little treasure.
“Gute Nacht,” I say good night back.
I start down the hallway, but my chest is stiff and every step and breath seems harder than the last. Since when do I lie to my mom? It’s become too easy and I don’t like it. I huff and turn around. She’s standing there, watching me. Was she waiting for me to turn around?
“What’s going on, Mackenzie?” Mom smiles caringly.
It’s not often I hear my full name from her. Usually it’s Kenzie, that’s it. But my full first name—that’s usually only from people who don’t really know me, or from Mom when she’s worried.
I huff, letting all the air drain from my lungs, and take in one long breath. Am I actually going to do this? Am I really going to unload this all on her? Yeah. I am. I force my lips to curve and push up my dimples in one of those sad smiles. Please don’t think less of me for this, Mom.
“Hayden’s not exactly my boyfriend,” I admit. Oh shit, I did it! She’s the first person—okay, second person—I’ve actively admitted it to. Well, maybe Kaitlynn, but that’s different. She doesn’t count.
Mom’s head tilts and her eyes squint. The massive weight bearing down on me doesn’t lift. I don’t feel airy or free. None of those things happen, but maybe a single little ounce falls off. I’ll take it.
“What do you mean?” Mom asks slowly. “You said…”
“I made it up,” I blurt. It sounds a thousand times more pathetic when the words blare from my lips and are immediately absorbed by our little suffocating hallway. “I don’t even really know him.”
“But…how? Why would you make up something like that? Kenzie…” Her words cut, and each question stings as her voice rises an octave and comes at me quicker. “Doesn’t his family think you two are a couple? His brother was even here.”
“They do,” I admit. And Zachary…why do you have to bring him up? I was trying so hard to block him out. “And yeah. Zachary thinks so too.”
“But you’re not?” Mom asks again.
“No.” I bow my head.
“Why would you lie about that?” she asks again. The subtle accusation in her tone is painful.
I don’t want to answer. The more I think about it, the worse I feel and the more frustrating it all seems. How did it ever seem like a good idea, like somehow it would all work out in the end and I’d be happily in love with Hayden Marcus? Who was I trying to impress? Myself?
“It j-just sort of happened,” I stutter.
Oddly enough, it’s not entirely a lie. It did just sort of happen.
I hadn’t planned any of it. I mean I had thought of a few scenarios to get him to date me before any of this ever happened, but none of them included lying to a nurse and his family to convince them I was dating him after he fell, hit his head, and went into a coma at the shop.
Even then, I didn’t go into the hospital scheming, concocting a way to make him think I was his enbyfriend.
No! I just went because I was worried. He fell and passed out at my work.
Right in front of me! The boy I was…am—I think—head over heels for.
I just had to follow the ambulance. Why did I do that?
But the worst was that foolish sentence.
Those outlandish words I muttered to Regina.
I sealed the deal with that first lie. Or maybe it was the spell, I don’t know anymore.
“It just happened?” She leans against the doorframe like the question is exhausting.
The disbelief is building in her eyes, the disappointment, and I hate it so much.
“How does something like that just happen, Mackenzie? Wie? People don’t just assume your Freunde.
And if they do? Du sagst ihnen, dass du das nicht tust.”
She stops herself and breathes. It’s not common to hear her become angry and revert back to German, but when it happens I know I’ve crossed a line, as if I didn’t already know that.
“You tell them you’re not!” she says in English this time.