28. Chapter 28
28
Two Different Versions Of The Same Story
The fact that I can work from my bed in my pajamas is the best thing ever.
Today, I’m working from home because since Leo and I had sex in the office, I’ve been avoiding it. I talked to Imogen, and she was okay with it since I told her I was feeling a bit sick.
I’m not sick, just terrified.
Terrified of my own feelings brewing inside of my brain, heart, and vagina. Feelings that involve Leo Zimmerman. I thought I could have casual and meaningless sex with him, but for some reason, my heart has decided against that.
It’s pissing me off.
Not only that, but I have to pick Lizzie up today because my dad is staying late at work. He called me yesterday and asked if I could take her to dance, and of course, I agreed. Not only am I always ready to help my family out, but since my sister and I have been split about our situation, I feel like I haven't seen her enough lately.
I thought our talk fixed it, but I’m not sure it did. I’m scared our mother is filling her head with empty promises and vacations that will never happen.
I shake the thought out of my head and get back to work. Today, I’m splitting my time at home on the work for a client at Loft Media and social media posts for an author's new release announcement. I wish I could do author services full time, but that’s not in the cards for me at the moment.
About half an hour later, my phone rings—an unknown number. I answer it in case it’s a client.
It’s not.
“Ella,” is all the person on the other line says.
I take a deep breath before I answer. “Mom.”
“It’s nice to hear your voice.”
“It’s nice to hear what you sound like. I seemed to have forgotten after all these years,” I snap. Normally, I’d regret my outburst, but not to her. Not after all these years of being a ghost.
“I guess I deserved that,” she sighs across the line.
“Is there something you need?” I’m not in the mood for small talk.
“I’ll be picking up Lizzie today. I wanted to let you know so you don’t waste your time coming out here. I know it’s a bit of a drive.”
I know she thinks she means well, but her passive aggressive tone pisses me off. “It’s never a waste of time when I get to my sister, though that’s something you’ve never understood.”
“Ella, I understand your frustration with me, but your refusal to give me a chance is ridiculous. I’ve seen Lizzie multiple times, and she’s giving me another chance. Why can’t you?”
I move the phone from my face, pissed off she has the fucking audacity to say that to me—to one of the two daughters she left behind all those years ago. “Because I know what it’s like to watch you leave.”
“I made a mistake, Ella. I’m back to correct it. Why can’t you let me prove myself to you? Why can’t you give me another chance?”
I sit up, her tone making my body enter fight or flight mode. “I’m fresh out of those. The last one expired when you left and didn't bother to contact us until we no longer needed you. It’s not fair to me, Lizzie, or Dad.”
“Now, honey—”
“You can’t call me that. You don’t deserve to call me that. In case you forgot, you’re the one who left us, and I was the daughter who had to pick up all the pieces. You’re not my mother, not in the ways that matter. You’re a stranger who happened to give birth to me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It is, though. I know you think I’m insane for holding this grudge against you, but you weren't fucking there when I was growing up. When Lizzie cried all through the night after she got her heart broken for the first time and wanted her mom, you weren't there. I was. When Dad lost one of his jobs, I stepped up so we could keep the house. Where were you? Where were you when I came out and realized I like girls too? Where were you when I had my first heartbreak? Or when I graduated from college? Where were you when I needed my mom? I have no idea, because you fucking left.” I take a deep breath. “Have fun with Lizzie, but if you break her heart, I have no room in mine left for you.”
I hang up on her because I can’t keep listening to her spew lies and bullshit into my ear for another second.
When I was younger, I used to think about what would happen if my mother had come back. I used to think up fake conversations and arguments of things I would say to her. Sometimes, I’d yell at her. Other times, I would cry and explain how she hurt me.
Most of the time, it ended the same way. I was alone, staring into my mirror, my shower head, or my car.
At least I won every time.
I wish Alissa was home, because after that conversation, I need someone here. I need someone to tell me what I said wasn't too much, wasn't too mean. I need to know I’m enough as I am, even though I basically raised myself. I need to know I can be loved despite always feeling like I’m too overbearing.
But over the years, I brushed off those thoughts. Even if they stabbed into my body like a knife, I acted like I was fine. I felt like I had to—for my sister's sake.
I feel like there’s a dead piece of me inside. I never feel like I’m good enough for anything or anyone. It’s hard—feeling like that on the inside when on the outside, I appear so confident, so self-assured.
When I finally grew up, went to college, and left my dad and sister, all I felt was guilt. I was constantly checking in on them, as if our family was going to fall apart if I wasn't there. I felt like a horrible sister and daughter for leaving, even though I know it was what was best for me.
That never stopped the guilt, though.
And as I sit alone in my apartment, feeling so broken after one phone call with my mother, I pick my phone back up and call the one person I know understands.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hi, I know you’re at work, but can you come over after your shift?”
“I’m on my way.”
Half an hour later, I hear a few knocks on my door. When I open it, I’m surprised. “How did you get here so fast?”
“Well, it would’ve been faster, but I stopped for takeout.” Paige’s face brightens up my home as she sets the food on the table.
“But it’s the middle of the afternoon, P. You didn't have to leave work early for me.”
She takes both of my hands and leads me over to sit down. “Yes I did, Ells.”
“Why?”
She simply looks at me and answers as if it's the most casual thing in the world. “Because you would do the same for me.”
My eyes start to tear up. Never in my life did I think I deserved the level of friendship the girls give me. Never did I think anyone would stay around for enough time to be able to reach this amount of love we share.
I was always the friend that was doing too much, the one who was too loud, too sparkly. All throughout high school, I toned myself down to fit myself into a person other people could handle.
When I got to college, I promised myself I wouldn't do that. And if people didn't like me, then they weren't the ones for me.
But Paige and Hads love me for everything I am. They love me because I’m all those things, and not once have they tried to dim me. Not once have they made me feel like I was difficult to love.
Paige places a plate in front of me with all my favorite things on it—pan fried potstickers with chili oil, extra spicy Szechuan tofu, steamed vegetables, and white rice.
“We can eat in my room if you want. I need some comfort with my comfort food,” I say as I grab my plate and head to my room. “Also, why did you get Chinese food when you hate it?”
Paige sits on my bed with her own plate. “It’s your favorite, and I grabbed some tacos on the way too.” That makes me cry. “Wait, Ella, no. I didn't mean to—”
“No, these are good tears.”
“I figured by your tone of voice it’s been a rough day. I thought this would cheer you up, and if you keep crying, I’m going to cry!” she sniffles. I look over at her, and she’s already crying.
“I feel like a mess,” I admit.
“You’re not a mess, Ella. You’re a human,” Paige says as she bites into her taco. “And I’m another human here in case you need to talk, vent, scream, cry, or sing. I’m good with anything; just let me know what to do, and I’ll do it.”
I laugh through my tears. “Maybe all of the above.”
“Just tell me which to start with and we’re good.” She smiles at me.
I bite into my food, and this is helping me feel better already. “Venting, I think.”
“What happened?”
“I was supposed to pick up my sister from school and take her to dance practice. I do it whenever my dad needs me to, since she can’t drive yet and he works overtime a lot.” I pause to take a deep breath. “But my mom called me. She told me she was picking her up, and we got into an argument.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. It was a conversation years in the making, and I don't know, it left me feeling unsettled. I feel like I’m the problem and shouldn't feel how I do. I want to give her a chance, but in my heart, I feel like I can’t.”
Paige puts down her plate. “Ella, your feelings are valid no matter what they are. Your mom hurt you, and she can’t waltz back in here and pretend the past decade didn't happen.”
A few tears fall. “I know, P. But my sister can forgive her, so why can’t I?” It's the question that has been bugging me ever since my sister told me she was thinking about giving her another chance. It was so easy for her to move on and forgive our mother, but I can’t—or won’t.
My feelings about my mother are a rock that has grown in size over the years, and now, I can’t seem to push it out of the way. It’s accumulated so much hatred over the years, and no amount of erosion and apologies can make it get smaller.
Her absence was everywhere—in every empty chair, in every conversation where someone asked me about her, at my high school and college graduation, the ache of the empty chair where she would’ve sat if she was there, but she never was.
Now, she’s back, and the ache is stronger and heavier than before.
“I used to think forgiveness was easy,” Paige tells me.
“How so?”
She scrunches her brows, as if she’s contemplating how to translate her thoughts into words. “It felt so easy as a kid—forgiving someone. It felt more natural to me than anything else because I didn't know what was happening to me wasn't normal. I used to think all of it was my fault, so when the adults in my life asked for forgiveness, I gave it to them because I trusted them. They were my parents, you know? As a kid, you think your parents are superheroes, and they make all the rules because you don’t know any better.”
My heart aches for all Paige has been through. Her face is so bright despite all the memories I know are flashing through her mind, but her eyes ache for the small version of her that simply wanted to be loved. I wonder if I have the same look on my face when I talk about my mom and childhood, or if I’ve become way too good at hiding it.
“I forgave my dad whenever he hurt me, and I forgave my mom for never noticing me—it’s their first time living too, you know? But as I got older, I started to realize forgiveness was the easy part. Anyone can dole out forgiveness, but the part you don’t forget is how they kept walking away—how they kept hurting you time and time again.” She grabs my hand in hers. “Ells, you can forgive your mom, but you don’t have to suddenly forget about all the ways she let you down by not being there for you.”
"I know, but—”
She cuts me off. “You’re not a bad person if you choose to not forgive her. Only you went through what you did. Don’t let somebody else’s willingness to forgive someone cloud all the feelings you felt. Don’t let how your sister feels now make you forget about all the hurt you went through. You two lived different versions of a similar story. Your feelings are different, and that’s okay.”
I wipe a few tears from my eyes. “Thanks, P.”
She catches me off guard when she wraps me in a hug. “I know what it’s like to grow up with the weight of the world on your shoulders.” She pulls back and looks me in the eye. “But the one thing you taught me is that I don’t have to carry it all on my own.”
I nod my head. I’m the worst at crying on someone else’s shoulder, but I’m glad I called her today. I needed someone who understood, and Paige understands me like no other.
“Only you can decide what to do, Ells, but you’re never alone. Hads and I can make another pros and cons list, Grant can hype you up in whatever decision you make, Oliver will support you, and Alissa will give you a shot of tequila when you decide what to do. We’re all here for you because you’ve been there for us so many other times.”
“You guys are my friends; of course I’m going to be there for you.”
“You’re also our friend, Ella. Just because you're the mom of the group doesn't mean you don’t get to cry and struggle like the rest of us.” Paige takes a bit of her food, a tear dropping onto the shell. I realize my potstickers probably have tears on them too.
True friendship is crying about your problems over comfort food.
“I love you so much.”
She smiles at me, and it’s like the sun came out after a dark, rainy day. That’s what Paige does for the people she cares about. She brings light when the darkness creeps up and surrounds us. “I love you too, Ells. Now,” she gets comfortable on my bed, “turn on that one reunion episode I like to quote.”
I smile, already knowing which one she’s talking about. Paige doesn't prefer reality television like Alissa and I do, but she knows a few episodes from some internet memes.
And for the rest of the day, we eat shitty food and laugh until she has to go home to Oliver.
It has been hours since Paige left, and all I’ve done is stare at my ceiling and cry.
I don't know why I can't make myself do anything. That phone call froze me in time, and now, I can’t move until I cry out all my feelings. Not only is this thing with my mom stressing me out, but I’m behind on some deadlines for authors, and I hate being behind.
But maybe tonight, I need to feel all my feelings so they get the fuck out of my body. Maybe rotting in bed and crying is what I need to do just for tonight.
I eventually run out of tissues and have to sneak to the bathroom to get more, and of course, when I leave my room, I run into Leo walking out of our shared bathroom. I hope he can’t notice my eyes or the dried tears still on my face.
I put my head down and walk past him.
His hand shoots out and grabs my arm. I don’t bother looking up at him when he speaks. “Is everything alright?”
“Mhm,” I lie. “Peachy.”
I can tell he doesn't believe me, but he lets go of my arm. I hate that I miss the small contact.
He says nothing as he walks back to his room. Thank God . The last thing I need to add to my stress is whatever feelings I’m having for him to bubble up even more. I’m counting on the fact that when he’s out of here, they’ll go away.
I tiptoe back to bed and get halfway under the covers before I feel another presence in my room. Correction: lurking in my doorway.
“I told you I was fine, Leo,” I say as I hide my sniffle. “Go away.”
“Why? Because I’m the last person you would want to see when you’re like this?” He’s talking quietly, and I can’t decipher if he’s trying to be nice or what.
“Well, yes. And it’s late. We have work tomorrow.”
“I don't care,” he says as he comes over to the side of my bed. I can’t bear to look at him. I’m scared he’ll take one look at me and laugh. His hand comes over to my face, and he turns it so I’m looking at him.
I know what I look like to him—weak.
“What’s making you cry, love?”
“You don’t care,” I say. “Go back to bed, Leo.” I try to flip over and ignore him until he goes away, but his hold on me doesn't budge.
“You don't have to tell me, but I’m here, Ella.” He gets up from where he was kneeling and actually sits on my bed. He pokes his shoulder out at me. “If you need a shoulder, I’m here.”
“I don't need you to come in here and make me feel better. Just because we’ve had sex a few times doesn’t mean we do things like this for one another. You’re not my boyfriend, Leo. I don’t need you to do this.”
“And if I want to?”
Does he mean that? “Well, I can’t stop you.”
His lips curve into a smile. “I’m stubborn, Ella.”
“I know.” Right here, right now, staring into Leo Zimmerman’s eyes, I feel comforted. I feel safe. I feel like I’m able to need him—to want him—but only for this moment.
“Come here,” is all he says, his arms wide as I lean forward, my body moving of its own accord. “You don’t want to talk about it?”
I shake my head against his chest.
“Okay, then I’ll just keep talking so I hopefully piss you off and the real Ella comes back. Where should I start?”
I laugh into his chest. Weirdly enough, his presence now is kind of helping. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.”
“Why would I do that?” I can practically hear his smirk from here.
“Because it’ll make me feel better.”
He all but pushes me off him, and the two of us laugh. This feels weird, but part of me never wants this moment between us to end. Tomorrow, we’ll pretend this never happened and get back to our regularly scheduled bickering.
Before I think he’s going to leave me hanging, he speaks. “I’ve been feeling homesick recently. But not for England—just for my parents.”
Oh. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. I assumed he would lie and tell me something fake and then leave. This feels real.
“What do you miss most about them?”
“Seeing them, I think. Over the phone isn't the same, and with my dad’s condition, I worry about him. All I do all day is worry I’ll pick up the phone and he won’t be on the other end of it.”
“I strangely relate to that,” I say before I can stop it.
“Yeah?” he questions, leaning back on my bed on one arm, the other across his leg.
I nod. “My sister. All I do is worry about her.”
“She’s younger than you, right?”
“Yeah. She’s graduating high school this year, and I feel old.” This is flowing too easily, and for the first time ever, we’re having an actual conversation. No bickering, no emotional walls up, nothing of the sort.
For the first time, Leo Zimmerman and I are talking like normal fucking people.
“It must be hard being away from her.”
I’m about to tell him he has no idea, but he does. “It is.” I grab my blankets and pull them up my body, suddenly feeling way too self-conscious, way too normal with Leo sitting on the edge of my bed.
Maybe Leo and I are more alike than I thought. Maybe that’s why we always butt heads. He might be the male version of me, just without the mommy issues and great tits.
The two of us stare quietly at one another, and I don’t know what it is with us and darkness, but somehow, our relationship feels more authentic when the lights are off.
“Do you feel better?” he asks me, his hand finding mine as he leans forward.
I nod, not wanting to admit out loud that he helped me tonight.
“Good,” is all he says as he gets off my bed. Before he leaves, he turns around. “Let’s do this again sometime.”
I roll my eyes at him before he closes my door and leaves.