32. Chapter 32
32
For What?
Thanksgiving
“Lizzie, can you start peeling the potatoes?” I ask my sister as she sits at the already set table. She nods, gets up, and goes over to the sink as I check on the turkey.
It still needs about an hour, so I turn my attention to the charcuterie board I brought and swipe a piece of salami. I’m starving; I’ve been cooking all day. I hear my Dad in the living room watching football.
I offered to host at my apartment since Leo and Alissa don’t celebrate American Thanksgiving, but Lizzie insisted on having dinner here this year. I can cook anywhere, but it would’ve been easier to have them at my place since I have a bigger kitchen. It’s fine, though. As long as I’m with them, it’s okay.
Even when Lizzie and I were little, our dad never missed out on Thanksgiving. Even if we didn't have the standard turkey dinner and shit, he always made sure we were together as a family. I’ve learned over the years it’s not so much about the meal or the holiday, it’s about the people who sit around the same table as you—related to you or not.
This year has been tough—mentally and physically. Not only has there been a lot of huge life transitions happening, but I feel like I’m finally getting used to life and all the curveballs it throws.
Even if those curveballs are in the form of Leo fucking Zimmerman and his dick that’s holding me captive.
It’s not just that, though. My heart is slowly turning on me, and I hate that I’ve spent so much time lately thinking about Leo. I hate that I can’t get him out of my head. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many books I read, all I picture when I see the main male character is him. His stupid brown eyes, his fucking curly hair, his accent.
Just as my sister finishes mashing the potatoes, I hear a knock at the door, and before I can grab it, my sister does.
“I’ll get it!” she all but shrieks as she heads for the door. I know my dad mentioned something about one of his work friends coming for dinner since he didn't have anywhere else to go, but when I got here this morning, he told me he canceled.
So who the hell just walked in?
“Come in,” I hear my sister say, an unusual pep in her voice.
My stomach drops, and somehow, I think it knows before I do who just walked into my childhood home.
“Wow, it smells good in here,” a familiar but unfamiliar voice says. “Michael, it’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
I don’t want to move. I can’t move. Because there’s no way my mother walked in the door and is trying to make small talk with my father—the one she walked out on. Somehow, my legs move, and as I turn the corner, I see a stranger taking up space in our living room.
“What is she doing here?” She looks so unrecognizable to me right now. Her hair used to be lighter when I was younger, but now, it’s a dark brown. She’s a lot skinnier than I remember, and her brown eyes look at me with anger brewing beneath them.
Our expressions must match then, but that’s about the only thing we will ever have in common. Thank God I get all my looks from my dad. The only thing I got from her is a crippling fear that I’m not good enough and my eye color.
“Ella…” my dad cautions me. “Today is a day to be surrounded by family, and Lizzie invited your mother. Let’s not argue.”
This is the first time I’m seeing her in person after all these years, and I’m the one being told to calm down? No.
Suddenly, I’m not feeling so thankful.
“She’s the one who has missed out on a lifetime of Thanksgiving dinners, and I’m the one being scolded right now? Really?” I must have stepped into an alternate universe. How is he so okay with this? That’s his wife! They technically never got divorced because she just up and left, and he’s okay with this?
“Ella, please,” is all my sister says as she steps forward and tries to comfort me.
I step back.
“So this is why you didn't want it at my apartment this year? You figured it would be better to ambush me here, in our childhood home where she walked out on us.” I point the wooden spoon I’m holding at her. “Get out.”
“Ella, stop,” my sister says as she grabs hold of our mother’s arm.
“Please just give me a chance, Ella. I’m here now—”
“But you walked out when we were kids! Am I crazy, or did you two just forget about that? Did you forget how she abandoned us to run off and do God knows what?”
“I’ve apologized, Ella. You just can’t seem to accept it.” My mother has a cold look on her face, and everyone else looks confused as to why I’m angry. Am I the only one who remembers how fucking hard it was back then? We had one income with my dad working, and that was barely enough to keep us afloat. Somedays, I was worried we were going to lose the house, and end up on the streets if we couldn't afford it anymore.
“No, I can’t.”
“Why not, Ella? She’s here now and is willing to try—”
I laugh, my emotions overcoming me. I feel crazy right now, crazy for having to tell them how fucking difficult it was, as if they didn't live in it right next to me. “She wasn't willing to try when it fucking mattered most, Lizzie. Since we don’t need her anymore, she comes back.” I turn my gaze to my mother. “Did you get bored? Is that why you decided to go for round two?”
“Ella, stop!” my father yells, but my gaze never wavers.
“Do you need money from us? What is it, Mother ? What do you need from us so badly that you’re attempting this apology?”
“How dare you say that to me?” She shakes her head.
“How dare you try to come crawling back to us after you were the one who walked out? You want to talk? Fine! Please, since we’re all here now, enlighten us as to why you think you’re justified in abandoning your family!”
“I needed to leave, Ella. Maybe one day, you’ll understand that.”
A single tear falls from my eyes as I look at her. “Maybe one day, you’ll understand I needed a mother. That we needed you, and you left.”
“Ella, I didn't know what to do with you! You or Lizzie. I was a terrible mother! You never saw how hard it was.”
The three of them are standing across from me, and for some reason, it feels like it’s three against one. It is, in a way. They both seem to want to try and work this out, to try and be a family again, but since she left and never came back, our family has been split. She did that, not me. She was the one who fractured our family all those years ago.
Now, she comes crawling back. To make amends. To try.
It’s a few fucking years too late.
“If I did it, you could have,” I whisper under my breath.
“What the hell does that mean?” my mother scolds, a laugh bubbling up. “You’re not a mother.”
“Not in the way you’re thinking, but I sure as hell raised Lizzie, and look at how wonderful she turned out. That’s all thanks to me and Dad, not you.”
“How’s that?”
I must be going insane or something. “You weren't here! Lizzie was so young when you left, and since Dad worked two jobs to support us, to feed us, I was the only one here to raise her! I had to grow up in an instant! The moment you left, I became an adult, one who had to step up because my own mother couldn't bear to stay!”
The three of them stare at me as I unpack years of wounds and hurt that have weighed on my body since she left.
Paige was right. Lizzie and I lived two different versions of the same story. Her wounds went away a lot easier than mine did because she had me to help, to guide her, to raise her to be the woman she is today.
I didn't have that. I didn't have someone to do that for me. I had to figure it all out myself, and in a single second, I grew up faster than most kids, all because my mother made her choice and left.
Lizzie’s wounds from our mother leaving faded so much quicker than mine did. Mine still linger. In every relationship who left me, in every friend who thought I was too much, in the back of my mind, I hear whispers of my mother.
It all comes back to her. When she left, she took so much more than herself with her. Every time I do something and think I’m not good enough, I hear her voice in the back of my head telling me I’m right.
Because if my own mother couldn't stay, then why would anyone else? If my own mother—the person who’s supposed to love you unconditionally—left, then why would anyone else stay? I’m not worth it, and ever since she walked out, that’s the one thing I’ve always been sure of.
“Are you even sorry?” I ask her, wanting to know.
She’s looking at me as if I have four heads. “For what?”
For what? “For leaving. For breaking our family to pieces when you left,” I say, my teeth grinding because of how pissed off I am.
I look at my father, his hand on his head, as if he’s sick of us having this conversation, and then to Lizzie, her eyes filled with tears, but about what? I don't know.
But I needed answers. After all these years, I deserved them.
“I gave up my whole life to make sure Lizzie was okay. I got a job as soon as I could to lighten dad’s load. I made meals, I cleaned the house, all the while helping Lizzie grow up, get good grades, and keep my own education afloat. I put myself through college while working and maintaining my scholarship. I did that!” I step a little closer to them, wanting to get my point across. “All while you were off somewhere else, living your life and forgetting the three of us ever existed.”
She shakes her head. “I never forgot about you guys.”
“Then why didn't you come back? Why didn't you stay, Mom?” My voice breaks at the end, and I hate how I sound right now. I’m practically begging her for answers to why she decided to leave. Right now, I’m fighting for the child in me who wanted to get angry but couldn't, for the child in me that couldn't scream or cry when something didn't go her way.
I had to be the easy kid, the one my dad didn't have to worry about, since he was worrying about everything else.
I never had a childhood. I never got to play like a carefree kid. I never had the luxury of fun because I was terrified my dad would wake up one day and leave too, deciding that the effort he was putting in wasn't good enough.
I was terrified that one day, I would wake up, and he would be gone, leaving Lizzie and me to fend for ourselves. Thankfully, that never happened, but it didn't stop the nightmares from coming. It didn't stop little me from thinking she wasn't worth being around.
I was a child when my mom left, but I wasn't clueless. I knew what it meant when my dad told me she was gone.
“All my life, I’ve tried to undo the damage you did when you left. All my life, I’ve tried to protect my sister from the pain you caused, all for you to come back and pretend like you never left.” I step closer to her. “Do you know what it felt like to carry all that weight as a kid? Do you even feel bad for leaving?”
“I did what I had to do, Ella. I did what I thought was best for you three—”
I point my finger in her face. “No! No, you did what was best for you! All you’ve given us are excuses. You might be my mother, but we’re not family. Just because you gave birth to me doesn't mean you know what it’s like to raise a child, to be there for someone unconditionally.”
My entire life, I’ve tried to create as much distance from who I am and who my mother was. If I ended up like her, I don’t know if I could live with myself. But the major difference between her and me is that I stay when things get tough. I don’t run the other direction like she did.
“I’ve tried to forgive you over the years. I’ve tried to look at the situation from every angle, but nothing ever made sense. I sat there as a kid trying to excuse your actions, but when I put myself in your shoes, I knew I never would have run away. That’s where we differ, Mother. If I was in your shoes, running away would never be a fucking option.”
“It was too much, all of it. The school, the homework, working, practices. It was all too much, and you’ll never understand. If you can’t forgive me, then I don’t know where that leaves us.” My mother puts her hand on Lizzie’s shoulder, her other arm snaking through my Dad’s. “If they can forgive me, you should be able to, Ella. This entire argument is because of you. So, congratulations. You successfully ruined Thanksgiving.”
“Now, let’s not take it there, Camila,” my father says, trying to calm the situation down.
“No, I didn't,” I say as I finally put the fucking spoon down and search for my purse. “I know I’ve said some hurtful things, but nothing is worse than leaving two kids and a husband who loved you no matter what.” I take one last look at them as I open the door. “All I wanted was to be a kid. All I wanted was a mother who loved me, who felt sorry for her mistakes. It’s clear you don't feel anything about what you did, so no, I can’t forgive you. And I’m sorry, Lizzie, but I don’t know if I will ever be able to.”
Without another word, I slam the door as my dad calls my name. I get in my car and drive, tears streaming down my face the whole time, because I might’ve just lost my family.