27. Ava
AVA
One day until OA Con
Declan’s words play through my mind all day, and the more I think about them, the more I want to believe that they’re true.
Can I really do it? Can I step inside that convention center and face my father in what used to be our most treasured setting?
The only way I can tolerate his presence over the summer is because his apartment in Manhattan is memory-free. It hasn’t been tainted by betrayal.
I feel nauseous just thinking about it.
And yet…
I can’t help but wonder.
By the time Stasia drops me off after school, I’m like a vibrating ball of nervous energy. I want to go, like, really freaking bad. And you know what? It’s not fair.
Why should I be the one cowering at home when he’s the one at fault?
Why do I continuously give up the things that make me the happiest?
You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.
I step inside the house. Take a long look up the stairs toward Mom’s office. Her car is in the driveway. Chances are I’ll find her in there.
My hands clench into fists.
If I can’t be honest with the parent who stayed, how can I expect to face the one who left? You can do this, Ava. Declan’s right. You are stronger than you think.
I march up the steps with focused strides, nerves jangling and chest tight. I can’t keep doing the same things and expect different results. If I want things to change, I have to change myself.
Right. I can do this.
I stop outside her door and give it a gentle rap with my knuckles.
Mom’s voice drifts through the door, pleasant but with that distracted edge it gets when she’s working.
I step inside and immediately feel a little calmer, surrounded by the room’s simple decor, the cream-colored walls brightened by the sunlight streaming in from the window behind Mom’s desk.
A green, hanging spider plant—the kind that can survive just about anything—casts long shadowy fingers over the ivory, shag rug.
And there, in the center of it all, is my beautiful, precious mother.
Her black-rimmed reading glasses perched at the end of her nose, her blonde bob tucked behind diamond-studded ears.
Her eyes light up when she sees me, her lips tilting into a smile that stabs at my heart.
How could he walk away from this woman?
Tears prick my eyes, emotion flooding my throat.
How could he walk away from us?
My lips part, but all that comes out is a whimper.
Mom’s out of her chair in an instant, flying around the desk and folding her arms around me.
And the words I’d been working up to say, all of the feelings I needed to voice, melt in her embrace until all that’s left is a twelve-year-old girl crying for her father.
How does it still hurt so much?
“Shh, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Mom’s chin tucks around my neck, her cheek pressed against my hair. Tears drip down my cheeks and pepper the back of her silk blouse. Her arms tighten, drawing me further in. “I’ve got you.”
She doesn’t move, not until the waterworks subside and I garner some small thread of control.
When the tears do cease, and I pull back to wipe the last few stragglers, she grazes the side of my face with her manicured fingers, brushing back the stray wisps of hair that have fallen over my eyes. “Want to talk about it?”
I bite my lip. Nod. Then shrug.
My chest aches from holding it all in, but my heart remains stubbornly wary.
My tongue is somewhere in no-man’s-land.
“Come on, then.” She takes my hand, leading me over to the pale green loveseat that rests against the wall.
I sit beside her, my hand still tucked within hers.
When I don’t say anything, she runs her thumb over my chipped nails.
“Our nail appointment is in just over an hour. Do you know what color you’re going to get? ”
It’s an innocuous question, one meant to soothe and distract while I gather my wits. But it’s that very question that breaks the dam and loosens my tongue for the first time since the great Dad-cleansing bonfire of five years ago.
“I don’t need to get my nails done,” I breathe out in a rush. “Because I’m not going to prom. Tyler’s going with Maya Diaz. One of the seniors.”
“He’s what?” Mom pales, then flushes with righteous indignation. “How dare he ditch you the day before the dance. Of all the low-down, rotten things to do. No wonder you’re crying.”
“No, Mom. That’s not it at all. In fact, I’m relieved not to be going.” I suck in a breath, lift my chin. Meet her justifiably confused gaze. “I never actually wanted to go. I was only doing it to make you happy. I…I do a lot of things because I think they’ll make you happy.”
A frown tugs at her lips. “What do you mean?”
I force myself not to close my eyes, to keep my gaze steady on hers.
“I don’t really like shopping or standing around watching other people play sports, and reality television makes me want to claw my brains out with an ice cream scoop.
” When she doesn’t react, I take a breath and press on.
“I miss reading manga and making costumes and dressing up for conventions.” I swallow.
“And I especially miss hanging out with Declan.”
Mom blinks back at me, the confusion on her face increasing. “Declan Greene? From down the street?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “He was my best friend before”—I hesitate, force the words out—“before Dad left. I stopped hanging out with him because I thought… I thought he would stir up too many memories of Dad. For both of us.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Mom’s arm wraps around me, pulling me into her side. “I knew your dad’s leaving was hard on you, it was devastating to us both, but I had no idea you gave all that up to protect yourself.”
“It wasn’t just for me, Mom,” I say. Soft, yet firm. Bolstering myself with what little courage I can scrape together. “It was also for you.”
Mom’s grip slackens, her face going blank. “I don’t… what do you mean, it was for me?”
Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to shut my mouth and hide under covers until this all blows over. That I’m poking at old wounds that would be better left alone. But if I don’t talk about this now, I may never find the courage to do it again.
“It’s just, after what happened with Dad leaving and you shutting down, I’ve been worried about you slipping back into that depression.
I mean, ever since we torched Dad’s stuff that night, you’ve worked really hard to pick yourself up, and I am so, so proud of you for that.
But”—I grimace, giving her a little shrug—“there were cracks. Little moments when something would remind you of Dad and the life we used to have together, and I’d see the depression fighting to sink back in.
So, I figured I’d do whatever I could to protect you from those reminders. ”
I glance up at Mom, and she looks dumbstruck.
Guilt wrenches at my heart, but I force myself to continue.
To purge the wound once and for all. “Only lately I’ve realized it isn’t enough.
I gave everything up, molded myself into the daughter you always wanted, and still there are cracks.
And I just… I don’t think I can hold them all together anymore. Not on my own.”
I slump deeper into the couch. “I’m tired of living entirely for someone else. I want to be me again.”
She covers her mouth, hand trembling. “You never said anything. Never asked for anything, just went about your way as usual. I didn’t realize…
” Her eyes close, tears slipping past her lashes.
When she opens them, it’s to cup my chin and turn my face to meet her gaze.
“Ava Louise Aimes, you have always been the daughter I wanted. Always.”
I try to hold back my tears, but they slide down my cheeks anyway. “I thought maybe I… I was too much like Dad. That you would come to resent the parts of me that remind you of him.”
“Ava, sweetie. Your dad may be a grade-A jackass, but it’s his character that makes him a crappy person.
And you have an amazing character. Best I’ve ever seen.
” She strokes my chin with her thumb before dropping her hands into her lap.
“But in a way, I suppose you’re right. I’m so quick to badmouth anything related to your father.
I can see why you’d shy away from them. For that, I am truly sorry.
” She takes a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh. “I’ll try to do better, I promise.”
They’re the words I want to hear, but they’re still not quite enough.
I have to dig just a little deeper before we’re through.
“Lately you’ve started drinking again,” I whisper, gaze falling to my hands.
I feel guilty for bringing it up, like I’m some kind of snitch, but it has to be done.
Today, there will be nothing left unsaid.
“And crying. In your room.” I force myself to lift my head and look her in the eyes. “I’m worried about you.”
A shadow passes over Mom’s face, and she’s quiet for a long moment.
My stomach twists into a knotted ball.
“It’s the baby.” The words are hushed, drawn from her lips with obvious reluctance.
“Your dad and I never told you, but we tried for a really, really long time to have another child. Part of me even wondered if that was the reason he left. And then, when he shared his news… You’re right.
I haven’t been handling it very well. I’m sorry. ”
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow, wrapping my arms around this sweet woman who is just as messy and imperfect as me.
“I don’t need you to be sorry,” I whisper, squeezing her tight.
“I need you to accept that there are things you can’t always handle on your own and get help.
Go back to therapy. Join a mom’s group. Talk to me.
Be honest about your feelings. I can take it. ”
She sniffs, squeezes me back. “All right, I will. But only if you promise to do the same. Be honest about the things you want. I can handle it too.”
“Deal.”
We sit like that for a long moment, arms entwined around each other in silent comfort, and when our grips finally loosen, and we lean back into the couch cushions, Mom looks at me with the beginnings of a wry smile creasing her face.
“You truly haven’t spoken to Declan in five years because of me? That poor boy, he had such a crush on you back then. I feel like I owe him an apology, as well.”
My cheeks flush beneath her questioning stare. “Actually…”
And then the entire story spills out, from Stasia getting me to go down to Declan’s garage to finding out about Dad’s coinciding appearance at OA Con.
I may leave out a few details—no way I’m telling my mom how firm Declan’s lips are and how my heart breaks into song when we kiss—but I hit all the key factors.
When I finish, Mom declares an emergency ice cream run, which leads to emergency Chinese food delivery, which leads to an emergency, late night Gilmore Girls marathon.
(I reassure her that this truly is something we both love, unlike The Bachelor. That I can live without.)
It’s after ten by the time Mom hits pause on Lorelai’s manic coffee monologue and rolls her head to look at me, face cushioned against the leather couch cushions. “So what are you going to do about the workshop? It sounds like you really wanted to be a part of it.”
“I did. I do.”
“Sooo?”
“So…” I picture Declan at the convention. Add myself in beside him. It looks good—like something worth fighting for. I reach for the laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of us and crack my neck as I flip it open. “I’m going. Just as soon as I find someone with a badge to sell.”
“You can’t just buy one at the convention?”
“Nope. Sold out.”
She nods as if she should have expected this, which she most definitely did not. “Right.”
My fingers fly over the keyboard, pulling up a ticket resale site and scanning the listed offerings.
Mom pats me on the shoulder. “Well, good luck with that. I’m off to bed.” She stands, stretching her arms up over her head. “Oh, and while I realize you’re not going to prom tomorrow, I am going to insist on getting pictures of you in that dress at some point. It cost me a fortune.”
I look up from the screen and arch a brow. “Counter suggestion—you wear the dress, and I take the pictures.”
“Ha!” Mom rolls her eyes, then frowns. “You know, that actually sounds tempting… I’ll think about it.”
I grin, going back to my search. “You do that.”
Soft laughter drifts in her wake, and I close my eyes, savoring the sound of it. I know there will be more bumps in the road eventually, but I feel ready for them now. I feel… strong.
Which is good.
Because after I lock this badge down tonight, I may very well find myself coming face-to-face with the most painful parts of my past. And I’m going to need every ounce of strength I have to get through it.