Chapter 8 #2
I get in my car and drive. I make it to the end of the road before my chest starts to heave.
When I pull onto the main road, every fiber of me falls to pieces.
My heart feels like it’s shattering. And it’s not because of how nice the night was, it’s the reason why it was nice.
My mom always told me that I was her first true love, and now I know that she’s a liar.
If she loved me, she wouldn’t have dragged Bear and me through the mud.
If she cared about me as a person, she would have cooked every night.
I’m not mad that Tyr showed up out of nowhere and is inspiring her to be better.
I’m hurt that she couldn’t be better without the outside reinforcement.
What does that say about her? What does it say about me that I’m being so emotional about it?
I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand and sniffle.
It does nothing to relieve the resentment inside of me.
It’s a muscle that I’ve built year by year.
And I thought this year was going to be the tipping year.
By the time I’m exiting I-94, I have no self-restraint to hold it back anymore.
I ugly cry and sob while hitting my steering wheel.
“Why?” I cry. I lean forward and focus on driving. The tears are making everything blurry.
I am crying because she could’ve done it.
She could’ve done it the whole time.
She could cook chicken. She could ask me a follow-up question about what I was studying.
She could hug me. She could’ve done it, and instead she did it tonight because she found a man.
I was twelve years old, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen years old, desperate for this version of her. And it took him to do it.
But I’m crying because this is the high, and I know it doesn’t last forever.
When the crash happens, I will be the only one left standing.
She’ll depend on me to pick up the pieces, and I can’t do it anymore.
I’m tired. She’s completely sucked me dry without acknowledging that she has.
That’s what hurts the most. How can she drown the one person keeping her afloat, and then a man swims along, and suddenly she’s on a boat, staring down at me?
I pull into the parking spot behind the apartment building, and I turn the car off. My face is hot. My eyes are swollen. My chest hurts in the only way a mother can hurt it. I look in the mirror and wipe my tears from my face.
I’m not better. I’m just done.
The apartment is loud. I can hear it through the door — music, laughter, two voices going. I unlock the door and push it open. Mara is talking over the music to Gianna as Gianna applies mascara. They look cute in their outfits. It smells like the perfume Gianna uses when she’s going out.
Mara looks up. “Lucy, oh my god, this is perfect timing. You need to get ready and come with us.”
Gianna stops to look over. She whips her head in my direction. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I close the front door behind me.
“Lucy, what happened?” Gianna asks while Mara turns down the music.
I reply, “Nothing happened. The dinner was good.”
Gianna blinks. “Then why are you crying?”
“I’m not.”
“Babe,” Mara says.
My face heats, and tears fall from my eyes. I quickly wipe it away. I don’t mean to. I thought I was done. I was done. I told myself no more tears.
Gianna stands up and crosses the living room. She wraps both arms around me without saying anything. Mara joins. The three of us are standing in the middle of the kitchen with a Doja Cat song playing low and Gianna’s mascara smudged on her left lid because she didn’t get to finish.
After a minute, I step back and wipe my face with the heel of my hand.
“I’m fine. I’m fine. Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Mara says.
“What happened, Lucy?”
I take a deep Camdenth. “Her boyfriend made dinner. My mom was happy. Bear cleaned up without being bribed.” I stop. “It was a normal family dinner. And I can’t—” I don’t finish. I just can’t comprehend what’s happening.
Gianna gets it. She has known me for three years and watched me come back from that house every Wednesday. She knows that my family and I do not have dinner together. Ever.
“It’s okay.” Gianna shakes her head. “Sorry, it’s not okay, but it will be.”
“Yeah.” Mara is still standing close. She has my elbow with one hand. She is in jeans and a top that is closer to a bra than a top.
Gianna pulls back and looks at me. “Okay. You’re coming with us.”
“Where?”
“To the Hawthorne House.”
I only know the term because she has mentioned it a million times in the past few years.
“It’s going to be so fun,” Mara says.
I wipe my eyes. “I can’t go to a party right now.”
“You can.”
“Lucy, yes,” Mara says.
“I cannot go. Not tonight.”
“You absolutely can.”
“G,” I plead.
“You’re going to put on something cute. You’re going to take a shot. You’re going to dance for two hours. You’re going to forget about your mom, her new boyfriend, and your brother for one night. And in the morning, when it all hurts again, you’ll have had a night.”
I stare at the ground. “I already had a glass of wine.” Which explains why I can’t stop crying.
Gianna nods. “I can smell it on you. I haven’t been drinking, so listen to me, alright? Go get ready. We leave in ten.”
“We’ve got you, girl.” I look at Mara. Mara has the kind of face you cannot say no to when she’s being earnest. She is being earnest. She is also wearing what is, I’m sorry, a bra.
I think about my bed. I could crawl into it right now and finish this much-needed cry alone in the dark.
But the photo on the fridge grabs my attention.
Benson Reeve will be at this party. It’s his house.
I still have a paper bag of chocolate from him that I could eat by myself.
His smile shines across the room, and I can’t think straight. My heart starts thumping.
“Come on,” Gianna begs.
“Okay,” I mutter.
“Yes!” Gianna grabs my wrist and pulls me toward my bedroom. “We’re picking your outfit.”
“I have to put eyeliner on you,” Mara says.
“I haven’t even showered.”
Gianna says, “Take the quickest shower of your life.”
Twelve minutes later, I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom.
I’m in my dark jeans and the black top Gianna made me buy in July that I haven’t ever worn.
My hair is down and a little damp. Mara applied eyeliner on me like she’s been doing everyone’s eyeliner since high school.
My cheeks are pink, probably from all that crying.
“Ready?”
I look at her in the mirror. Her mascara is fixed now. She has on the silver hoops she always wears when she’s going out. “I don’t know.”
“It’ll be okay.”
I look down, feeling a bit emotionally numb now that the tears have subsided.
Mara jumps up from my bed. “Let’s go.”
I pick up my phone off the dresser, put it in my back pocket, and follow them out the door.