Chapter Four
Anya
I wake up to the smell of bacon and coffee, and I hear distant voices coming from the kitchen, then I look at my phone, 7:30 A.M. I grumble, and pull the covers over my head, hoping that will dull the noise and smell. I must’ve fallen back asleep because I woke up to the sound of knocking on the bedroom door. I pull the covers down and check my phone again, 9:43 A.M. Okay I guess I might as well get up I mumble to myself. “Anya are you awake?” my Nana says as she opens the door. “I am now” I groan. She walks into the room with a cup of coffee and sits on the side of the bed. “I’m sorry for waking you up, but I thought we would have that talk before your parents start blowing up my phone again.”
Again?!
I sit up, my heart pounding with anxiety. "Wait, what do you mean again?" I'm wide awake now, dread filling me at the thought of my parents showing up any moment, demanding I come home. Nana pats my leg reassuringly, "Don't worry. When your father called around 3 A.M., just as you arrived, he asked if you'd made it here and if he could speak with you." Panic takes hold. I'm sure Nana sees it on my face. "Oh, don't fret, dear. I told him you were fast asleep and promised you'd call when you woke up." I glance at my phone, seeing 15 missed calls and numerous texts from both mom and dad. "Let's go to the kitchen for a chat, then you can deal with your parents," Nana suggests, tapping my leg again before heading down the hall. Grabbing my coffee, I follow her, my mind racing with worry.
I sit at the table, Nana opposite me, her coffee cup in hand as she waits patiently for me to begin. With a heavy sigh, I launch into the events of last night, omitting the more scandalous details—after all, she's still my Nana, and there are some things I'd rather keep to myself. As I recount everything, from my argument with my parents to the encounter with Joe, I can see her processing it all.
"Okay, I understand your perspective, but you're putting me in a difficult spot with your parents. It's already a delicate situation," she remarks, taking another sip of her coffee. I slump forward, feeling guilty. "I know, Nana. I didn't mean to drag you into this mess. I just didn't have anywhere else to turn, anyone else who would understand why I needed to leave," I admit, picking at the remnants of bacon on my plate.
She nods solemnly, and we lapse into silence for a moment. Then, she speaks up again. "Anya, I meant what I said last night. You're always welcome here, but living under my roof means following my rules. You'll still need to keep me informed about your whereabouts and plans. Do you understand?" I nod, a sense of relief washing over me.
"I understand, Nana. And I have no problem with that. My issue with my parents was that, no matter how much I told them about my plans, they'd still refuse out of fear that something terrible might happen to me," I explain, finishing my coffee and placing the cup in the sink. "I refuse to live in constant fear of what might happen."
"I understand, Anya, and you shouldn't live your life in fear. So, you can stay here as long as you want. But, you still have to call your parents and let them know you're alright," Nana says, sliding my phone toward me before heading to the sink. I feel a wave of anxiety wash over me at the thought of speaking to my parents after last night. "I'll be right back, Nana. Just gonna step outside for a few minutes," I announce as I head for the door.
“You know those things will kill you," Nana calls out from the kitchen.
"Yes, Nana, I know," I reply with a smile, already feeling the need for a cigarette.
"Okay, just doing my due diligence as your grandmother," she shouts back, and I chuckle as I step out into the fresh air.
I finish my cigarette and take a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation ahead. With trembling fingers, I dial my dad's number. "Hello?" His voice sounds tired, worn out.
"Hey, Dad," I reply softly.
"Anya?" He sounds surprised, maybe even relieved. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I assure him, though my voice wavers with emotion.
There's a long pause, filled with unspoken tension. "I'm sorry," I finally offer, breaking the silence.
Then I hear my mom's voice in the background, raised in anger. My dad speaks to her, his words muffled through the phone. Finally, he returns to the call. "I'm putting you on speaker, hang on," he informs me.
I mutter to myself, "I need another smoke for this," and light another cigarette as I wait.
Then my mom's voice explodes through the phone, full of hurt and frustration. "WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME! TO US! ANYA!" Her words pierce through me, and I instinctively pull the phone away from my ear.
My dad intervenes, trying to calm her down. I can hear her sobbing now, and it breaks my heart. I hate hearing her cry, knowing that I'm the cause.
After a while, my dad and mom both return to the call. "Anya, why? I just want to know why?" my mom pleads.
I take a moment to gather my thoughts, wiping away tears that have begun to fall. "Because I felt like I was suffocating," I confess, my voice trembling with emotion. "You keep me in the house and won't allow me to go out and be with my friends. I know that sounds childish—."
“You’re right it is childish, you don’t get what you want, so you run away from home!” My mom interrupts, her voice sharp with anger.
“Let her finish,” my dad interjects, his tone firm but calm.
I clear my throat and take another deep breath, trying to steady myself. “I know it sounds like something a teenager would say, but even when I told you guys that I had no problems telling you where I was gonna be and who I was gonna be with, you still said that it was too dangerous for me to go anywhere I wanted,” I explain, trying to keep my voice steady.
My mom scoffs incredulously, “What are you talking about? You come with me to women’s bible study, you leave to go to church, and you even went to the birthday party last week after church.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, feeling my patience wearing thin. “Mom, those are all things you wanted me to do. The women’s group are all women your age, the birthday party was for one of YOUR church friends, and I don’t like going to church anymore because everyone there looks at and treats me differently ever since Paul. So, no, I could not do things that I wanted to do,” I explain, my voice tinged with frustration and hurt.
“Well, why didn’t you just talk to me about it?” my mom snaps, her frustration evident.
“Because then I would still be stuck at home. So, I figured I would rather tolerate the fake people at church and deal with the sideways glances from your friends, than stay at home bored out of my mind,” I reply, my tone edged with frustration.
“They are not being fake, Anya! Everyone at church cares about you,” my mom insists.
“No, Mom, not everyone,” I say firmly, feeling the tension rising. I pinch between my eyes again, feeling the start of a headache.
“How can you say that!” she exclaims.
“Mom, not everyone at church cares! Because shortly after the whole Paul situation happened, I was in the bathroom stalls and I overheard a few of the elders, I won’t say names. But they were making comments about how I, ME! They used MY name! Talking about how I embarrassed the church and how I could let that man manipulate everyone!” I take another calming breath. “So no mom, they don’t care about me.”
I wait a few minutes, the silence heavy on the line. “Look, I’m sorry that my actions hurt you, and I am sorry that I’ve disappointed you. But I need to figure out my life, on my own terms, and in my own way,” I finally say, my voice softening with sincerity.
My dad clears his throat once more and then lets out a breath, “Okay, we can accept that.”
“Thank you,” I say with a breath of relief.
“You can have Nana bring you over here if want, so you can grab your car,” my dad replies.
“Okay, we’ll come by today…and dad?” I pause.
“Hmm?” he responds.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely.
“Yup,” he replies simply.
“See you later, dad,”
“Yeah…uh…see you later,” my dad responds before hanging up. I sigh, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me. My life is a mess, I think to myself as I finish my third cigarette and head back inside. Nana is sitting on the couch reading a book, and Pop is at the computer. They both look up at me as I walk in.
“How’d it go?” Nana asks, setting her book aside.
“It went as well as to be expected,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
They both nod in understanding. “So, what’s the plan?” Pop inquires.
“They’re allowing me to go by and get my car, so that’s a plus,” I answer, feeling a glimmer of relief.
“Well, that’s good. Now you don’t have to worry about finding someone to take you to work,” Nana replies, offering a comforting smile.
I exhale a mixture of relief and nervousness. It's a relief to have my car back, but I can't shake the nervous feeling that this decision is going to change everything. Sitting down on the edge of the couch, I run my fingers through my hair, trying to gather my thoughts.
Nana leans forward, her expression thoughtful. “Have you thought about what you're going to do next?” she asks gently.
I shake my head, feeling overwhelmed. “Not really. I just needed to get out of there, you know?”
She nods sympathetically. “It's okay to take things one step at a time. You've already taken a big step by leaving. Now, you can focus on figuring out what's best for you.”
I appreciate her words of wisdom, but the uncertainty still gnaws at me. “I just wish I knew what I wanted,” I admit, feeling a pang of frustration.
Pop looks up from his computer, his eyes filled with concern. “You'll figure it out, kiddo. Just give yourself some time.”
I offer a weak smile, grateful for their support. “Thanks, Pop. Thanks, Nana.”
They both smile back at me, their love and understanding comforting me in a way that words can't express.