Twenty-six
Heath
My heart is still pounding when I drive up to my parents’ house. Mom’s last text message threw me, and she hasn’t responded since. I haven’t been able to calm down since I first saw it on the plane.
The fucking plane . I shouldn’t have popped off on Teagan like that, but I didn’t want to tell her the truth. That I’m worried about my mom, not someone else. Sex aside, she doesn’t know what the weekend meant to me—how much it helped me separate myself from my mom’s problem and my dad’s shitty choices. But sometimes Teagan is just like the guys, self-interested and unbothered. The minute I think she gives a shit about me, she makes it clear she doesn’t. Open to listening one minute, then shutting me down the next like some kind of game. I never known which version of her I’m going to get, and I’m not in a place to play with her.
She has her limits and I understand that. We’ve known each other too long for me not to know why she acts the way she does. She loves to remind me there’s nothing between us but sex, and I’ll respect that, but I just want . . .
I don’t know what I want exactly. I’m spinning around in feelings I shouldn’t have because I’d rather feel anything but this.
When I pull up at the front door, Silas approaches. “Is Dad here?” I ask when I climb out.
“He’s away for a moment,” he answers.
He reaches for my keys but I stop him. “Then I won’t be long.”
The wrinkled corners of his mouth turn down even more than usual, but he nods in acknowledgment. He knows he’ll never see a day when my dad and I willingly spend time together.
Mom has been quiet since Dad came back, returning my texts a bit slower, not asking me to come visit before leaving for Vegas. They were busy making social appearances at his fundraisers, playing the role of Famous Baller and Trophy Wife, but her texts . . . something was off. I couldn’t tell if she was talking about an upcoming event or one that just happened, mixing up words and dates again.
I tried to convince myself it was a typo. When she wouldn’t text me back, I couldn’t take it. Turning off my phone was the only way I could clear my mind. The second we landed, she confirmed it.
Mom: I’m sorry. I think it’s best I go back to the facility
She hadn’t been giving me the full truth. She is struggling again. But going back to the place she hates—the place she knows has never helped her? This was Dad’s doing.
Inside the house, I find Mom standing in the atrium, rearranging the stones at the base of her weeping cherry tree. I watch her for a moment, wanting to believe that everything is okay.
She flinches with surprise when she sees me. Her face splits into a smile. It takes her no time to slide open the door and come to me. “Heath!” She raises her arms to welcome me into them.
I run to her and hug her tight. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Of course I am.” She pulls away to look at me. “What is wrong, son?”
“Your message.”
“Message?” Her head tilts with confusion, making me worry whether she remembers telling me or not.
“You’re going back to rehab?”
Her eyes drop from mine. “Yes.”
“And is that what you want? To go back to a place you hate?”
“Yes.” The shortness of the word hides piles of guilt behind it.
“Why?” She still won’t look at me. I take her face in my hands to make her. “Mom, tell me the truth. Are you taking pills again?”
When she doesn’t respond, that’s the only answer I need. I drop my hands and she takes them in hers. “I’m sorry.”
The truth hits me in the gut like a fist. I hide the swell of emotion behind a clenched jaw, not wanting to add to her guilt by crying in front of her. Hearing her apologize hurts worse than anything I could do to myself.
“I am going back. Your father thinks it’s best if I have time away to relax and think.”
“Relax and think? Because that’s what you need, not support or help.”
She pulls away and I realize my words came out more harshly than I meant.
“I want you to go if you want to, but you can’t keep changing your mind after you’re there. Every time you ask me to get you out, you put me in a position where I have to choose between you and Dad. And you know I will always choose you.”
“It is not your job to take care of me. I am supposed to take care of you, la’u tama tama.” The guilt on her face makes me want to stop talking. “I don’t like it when you and your father argue. You’re too alike sometimes—so strong-willed.”
That pisses me off. “Yeah, well, we did argue. He cut me off this time.”
Her eyes widen. “He didn’t tell me.”
Of course he didn’t. They rarely talk about money, the same way they don’t talk about the root of her issue. “I don’t care about the money. I’m mad that he punished me for trying to help you.”
A voice sounds behind me. “Is that what I did?”
My skin crawls when I turn around. Dad.
His icy glare warms when his eyes shift to my mom. “Say goodbye, Mea. He’s not staying.”
“Couldn’t he—?”
“Say goodbye,” he says again. It’s a power move, telling her I’m leaving rather than asking me to go. I’m nothing to him, and when he ignores the way Mom feels, it makes it hard to believe she means much to him either.
With that as my example of love, it’s no wonder I’m such a fuckup in relationships.
I kiss my mom on the cheek then shoulder check him on my way to the door. He follows, stoking my urge to tell him off once and for all.
“She is going back on Wednesday,” he says to my back. I stop walking. “You can come with me to drop her off if you’d like.”
“If I’d like?” I turn around. “I’d like it if you helped her, not treat her struggle like an inconvenience. But you won’t. Because how the fuck does that serve you?”
He cocks his head to the side, amusedly watching me blow up.
“She’s not getting better because you’re not listening to her.”
“To her?” he asks. “Or to you?”
The way he gets in my head makes it hard to piece together my thoughts. “You don’t respect what I do, but I know what I’m talking about. I help people by treating the root cause, not masking it with superficial treatments. Rehab is superficial. She needs—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Except I do. I talked to professionals, I’ve researched treatments. I want her to get better. Unlike you.” I fight the shaking of my voice. “I wish you would stop being a stubborn piece of shit.”
“And I wish you were less of a disappointment.” His tone is calm and even. That hurts worse than if he’d yelled. “We don’t always get what we want.”
His words stab me in the chest. It makes my eyes burn with tears, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of crying. “Yeah, well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I make my way to the door, not looking back. “Fuck you, Dad.”
I climb into my car and peel out of the driveway. Speeding down the narrow drive feels dangerous and good. The trees flying by faster and faster, the winding road engaging my car’s suspension. When I reach the street, I whip out before I see the oncoming car.
I slam on the brakes, screeching to a stop just a foot before I T-bone them. They blare their horn as they drive by.
My heart pounds for a different reason. The fear pulls me back into my body.
It hurts. All of it hurts.
I dig my fingernails into my steering wheel and scream.
~
After sleeping like shit, I can’t shake myself out of my exhaustion. The stress keeps piling on, leaving me incensed and on edge, one spark away from exploding.
I’m not okay. As much as I want to pretend everything is fine, that I don’t care what my dad says, I do. On top of it, I took it out on Teagan after she was the only person who would be able to understand. The person who can keep my mind off it better than anyone.
I look at my phone, hoping I missed a message from her, but my last two sit on Read.
Me: I have to cancel for Wednesday
Me: Sorry
With my messages being short and anything but sweet, there are five hundred ways she could read that and think I’m in the same shitty mood as I was on the plane. I want to apologize to her and make up for what happened, but I don’t have an excuse for what I did unless I tell her the full truth. Days later, I still haven’t heard from her.
Staring at the messages won’t change anything. I don’t want to respond to Brett’s crazy weekend, right? or Ritchie’s celebratory guess who’s not a daddy texts. Remembering the weekend makes me regret what I said to Teagan even more.
I drape my arm over my eyes, hoping the pressure will keep them from watering. Just as I take in a shaking breath, my phone rings.
Hoping it’s her, I snatch it from my covers, but when I see who it is, my hopefulness wanes. “Hey, Shelley.”
“Hey!” She always has so much enthusiasm for life. I’m jealous. “How was Vegas?”
I sigh. “It was a mess.”
“Oh no, what happened? Do you want to FaceTime?”
“I’m still in bed.”
She giggles. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
A smile pulls on my cheeks. I sit up and lean back against my headboard, running my fingers through my hair as if that will help. Her face appears with a cute look of concern. She has her glasses on and her hair up in a little bun on top of her head. Big letters hang with cartoon palm trees on the wall behind her. Summer school aesthetic. “Are you at work?” I ask.
“Yes, but I’m done for the day.”
“Did the rug rats behave this time?”
She rolls her eyes and deflates. “No. Oh my god, today was crazy! It’s like they all had handfuls of sugar for breakfast, then got angry rather than tired when they crashed.”
“Sounds like my weekend.”
“Tell me what happened. The parts that didn’t stay in Vegas, at least,” she jokes.
I hang my head in a hand. My mind is in a negative place, but with all the bullshit that happened, there were times I was happy. The times I was with Teagan. “My friends always bring the drama. Breakups, bad decisions, a case of cold feet . . . I had a good time in the five minutes I wasn’t dealing with all that.”
“Your friends almost sound worse than my first graders.”
“No one went to the hospital or got sent to prison, so I guess that’s a win.”
She giggles again. Her smile is infectious, but with my mood, I’ve developed partial immunity. “I’m sorry, but I am calling with ulterior motives.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” She grimaces. “Friday is career day, and one of the parents we had lined up had to cancel last minute. Is there anything I could do to convince you to fill in?”
There are plenty of ideas on my list, but unless she has a homicide kink, I don’t think she’ll be into any of them. “I’m sure we can figure something out. When do you need me to be there?”
She gives me all the details. A school about half an hour away, right after my shift ends. It all works out. I wish I could muster more enthusiasm.
“We should do something afterward,” she says.
I can read between the lines on occasion. “Something like a date, you mean?”
“Something like that. Let’s hang out. I have no ulterior motives for anything but career day, I promise.”
She knows this is casual, and I don’t want to make it seem otherwise, but I could use some time away from the group—time away from their drama and stress. A compromise comes to mind. “I’ve been dying to go back to this cool café a friend took me to recently. They’re open late and have coffee and cocktails. Would you want to go there?”
I can see her cheeks change color. “Yeah, I’d love to!”
“It’s a date. In the calendar at least.” I mean to joke, but when the words leave my mouth, I realize I should check. I open my calendar app to see when— if —I’m scheduled with Teagan. Just as I thought, we don’t have an appointment scheduled, but there is a different event that day. Her parents’ party.
Shit. I completely forgot.
“Is something wrong?” Shelley asks, making me remember I’m still on video.
The “do better” part of my brain tingles, but I’m still trying to learn how to listen to it. “I was supposed to go with a friend to a company party thing. I forgot.”
“Was? Are you still going?”
After ignoring my texts, it’s pretty clear Teagan doesn’t want to talk to me, and I don’t blame her. But does that mean I should stop trying? “Good question.”