Chapter 23
DOOMED TO LIVE IN THEIR SHADOWS
Ronan (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift
Holden
Another day I’m at the hospital, trying to get more answers.
I had a long session yesterday afternoon with my therapist. We talked extensively about what I want to take from this newfound relationship with Jerry.
In the end, we reached the conclusion that I may want a lot of things I can’t really have.
But above all, I want answers. I want peace.
I want to know the whole story, or at least his side.
We also talked about all the anger bubbling inside me. My mom could do no wrong. She was as close to perfect as they come. Absolutely brilliant, kind, fair, and honest. So why did she lie about this?
I posed the same question to Patricia, the therapist, but she said we can only speculate why she did. We can form an educated guess, but we will never know why. I need to find my peace with that.
But it’s hard.
I miss her.
I’m mad at her.
I love her.
Why?
So many whys.
But overall, we decided Jerry needs to know the truth about Liz. It’s probably going to break him. He didn’t even get to know her. I don’t know if that’s worse or better. To know Liz was to love her, and to miss her feels like taking a shot straight in the heart.
Jerry’s always sleeping when I get here, no matter what time.
He says it makes him tired, so he tries to sleep so afterwards, he can have some energy for whatever activities they have at the senior center.
Does he have goals beyond that? He still has so much life in him, and although he seems happy there, he’s the only family I have left.
I do wonder about it. It does make me feel less shitty to know he has a good place to live.
I always let him sleep. There’s no reason to wake him. He always stirs and finds me, and the reaction is always the same. Surprise.
Just like now, when he opens his eyes.
“Son.” It’s always the first thing he says, no matter how many times I’ve told him not to call me that. I won’t fight him this time; instead, I slide my computer into the bag.
“You came back.” Another thing he always says.
“I did.” My usual reply. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.” He shivers, and I grab the extra blanket, covering him up. He said nothing helps him feel warmer, but maybe today is the day it will. So, I cover him up.
“Is there anything I can do?”
He shakes his head. “No. Some days just suck harder.”
Yeah, tell me about it.
We sit in a suffocating silence for longer than usual. I don’t want to ask questions; I want him to offer information willingly, but it doesn’t feel like it’s going to happen, so I start talking instead. “The other day, you said Mom had another child, and you assumed she was married.”
“Brenda was a good woman, a great wife and mom. I wasn’t surprised she found someone else to love her right. I was pissed at myself because I couldn’t get my shit together enough for it to be me.”
“She didn’t.” His eyes widen. “She didn’t find someone else to love. She died single. She was too preoccupied with us to date, and if I’m being honest, I think she was worried it would happen again. She was happy, though. A little lonely, but happy.”
He swallows hard, questions bouncing between his eyes.
It’s now or never. I’m tired of carrying all the hurt and all the information. I can’t be a hypocrite. As mad as I was about Mom not telling me, I need to tell him the truth.
“Liz was your daughter.”
He sits up straight, furrowing his thick salt and pepper brows. There’s no need for him to express his thoughts. I can see them as clear as water.
“When we left, um, she was pregnant. Liz was born…I don’t know how long after we left.
To me, it felt like forever, but I was twelve.
What do I know? All I knew was that suddenly, there was a little baby at home, and she brought more joy than we could count.
Mom was never with anyone else but you, or, at least, not that I know. ”
This is the first time I’ve said that out loud.
And maybe I’m like her too. She said once she needed connection before she could have sex with someone.
She didn’t tell me that, of course. She told her friend, and I overheard.
I think I feel the same way. I’ve been with women through the years, but nothing ever felt right.
Fun, sure. Good, too. But not really deep like I would expect.
I thought I was broken, but the want and desire I feel every time I’m near Natalie makes me think I’m not. Maybe I need that connection before I can let myself truly want something.
A connection I’m feeling with a woman who said more than three times yesterday wasn’t a date. I shake my head and chase the thoughts away. Right now, it’s not about that.
“Did, um, did Liz ever ask about me?”
I shrug. “A little. We had some pictures we showed her, but she knew you were dead. At least, she thought so.”
I give him time to consider the information. It’s a lot to take in. If he’s going to react like I did when he showed up and turned my life upside down, he’s going to lose his shit.
So, I watch him and wait.
Time passes, but nothing happens. He doesn’t talk or ask questions. He doesn’t scream or cry. Nothing. He stares, almost as if he was lifeless, soulless, empty.
Say something.
Anything.
Please.
Scream.
Shout.
Something.
Anything is better than this excruciating silence.
“Say something.”
He blinks, as if my voice brings him back to this moment. “I don’t really know what to say. I had another child I knew nothing about, who I can’t even attempt to get to know.”
“Because she’s gone.”
It hurts worse than I thought, something I never thought would be possible, actually, but it does. Receiving bad news is one thing, but being the bearer of it is the worst. Hurting someone, not on purpose but by something you know will hurt them, will never feel right in my book. Ever.
“Can you…” He clears his throat. “Tell me about her?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Out of all things I expected him to say, this is not what I was thinking. I like talking about them, but usually with people who knew them. It’s been a while since I had to start from the beginning.
But I do.
I tell him how it was the hardest thing we’ve ever done, but also the easiest—having a newborn at home.
I was in middle school and ready to be mad at the world, but Liz brought so much light into our lives.
She was perfect. I tell him about her first few years and how much of a little tornado she was.
Her toddler years were my favorite, because it was like having my own entertainment.
When I wasn’t at school or at hockey practice, I was with her.
I took care of her often so Mom could work nights. It worked for our little family.
Around three, she started coming to the rink with me, and we all took turns keeping her entertained.
Coach was the best—very understanding—and every single teammate acted like mature young adults and not knucklehead teenagers when it came to her.
I mean, yes, I got the occasional shitty comment about my life situation, but I never took it to heart.
I always understood we all had to do our part, and Liz never bothered me.
Then, I tell him how much I missed her when I went to college, about our videochat playdates.
I tell him how she told me when boys went from having cooties to being cute, how devastated she was when her best friend got her first boyfriend, because she realized she was in love with her.
He flinches when I say that, but doesn’t cast judgment, so a point for him.
I tell him about her second heartbreak, this one, a boyfriend I wanted to murder because he was older and cheated on her. I tell him about her playing volleyball and finding herself again. I tell him about her grades and how good she was at school.
I also tell him about her favorite color (blue like the sky right before sunset), her favorite meal (chicken tenders and mac and cheese from the box), and how I still eat exactly that when I miss her.
I tell him about her favorite artist (Ed Sheeran) and how even though all her friends loved a different artist, she couldn’t care less.
I tell him about how she loved wildflowers because they grow in adversity, and how every time I see them, I think of her and Mom.
Do you remember that? That Mom wanted a flower shop? That she was happiest around them?
The entire time, he blinks fast, fighting back tears and swallowing hard. He doesn’t ask any questions, as he occasionally nods and listens. I continue letting my memories fill the space, caressing my heart and soul, both aching so hard for her.
I miss her.
I knew I did. I miss her every day, but this, talking about her, makes it all suddenly more real.
I tell him about the first time she had a drink.
She was only fifteen, and I lost my shit.
I tell him about how I was so worried she wouldn’t be able to stop.
I flew back home so I could snap some sense into her.
She acted like a little spoiled brat, and then it hit me that she didn’t know.
She didn’t know that her dad drank himself into oblivion.
He flinches at that memory.
I was so lost in remembering, I forgot the dad I didn’t want her to be anything like was him.
“Sorry,” I mutter, meaning it.
“No need. You’re right.”
“She was light. She was perfect.”
“Sounds like you two were really close.”
Now I’m the one fighting away tears. I don’t mind crying in front of people.
I learned how healthy it is to actually let yourself feel it all.
I also want others to see it’s okay not to be okay, to cry when needed, so I don’t usually hold back.
But now, I don’t want to let them go, because I’m afraid if I do, they’ll never stop running.
“She never missed my games if we were playing ten hours or less from home, which was ridiculous, but she asked to come every time. I always took time to spend with them, as much as I could. Liz and I would go and get shakes and burgers, and Mom tagged along. It was the three of us against the world. Except that one time.”
He cocks his head to the side, and I open my mouth to say something, to continue, to recount the worst night of my life and how it was my fault they died, but the machine starts whirring and making noises, and the nurse comes in.
She starts working, getting him ready to go, but my feet are glued to the ground, slowly coming undone. The only thing keeping me together right now is the chair I’m sitting in and the fact that there’s someone else here.
I waved goodbye and never saw them again.
She asked to hang out, and I said no.
She asked to come with me, and I said no.
I put them in that car and sent them away, right to their deaths.
Me.
I did that.
Jerry may have abandoned us, choosing the bottle over us, but I killed them.
I did that.
Why am I even still mad at him? At least he didn’t cause anyone’s death.
My whole world wasn’t taken away by him. I did that.
I get up, grabbing my bag and daring to face him again.
“Wait, don’t go. Do you, um, do you want to go back to the center with me?” he asks, pleading behind his brown and green eyes.
I shake my head. “I can’t. Um, I have somewhere to be.”
“Holden, please.”
“I can’t, Jerry. Okay? I’ll be back Friday.”
I slide my hand in my back pocket, pulling out a worn wallet, one I’ll never get rid of because it was a Christmas gift from Liz. It doesn’t matter that it’s raggedy and old; I’ll keep it forever.
I pull out a Polaroid picture. I have so many copies of this day. I got Liz a camera when she turned fourteen, and the first three rolls of film were selfies of us. I kept them all after she gained her wings.
“You can have this,” I say. My voice doesn’t even sound like my own anymore.
It’s heavy, full of sorrow and longing for someone I can never see again.
For someone who changed my life from the moment she was born and who will never get to experience all the wishes and dreams I had for her, that she wanted for herself too.
I’m doomed to miss my best friend and mom forever. I’m doomed to live in their shadows and with their ghosts in my heart. And I can’t even be mad at anyone but myself.
“I’ll see you Friday.”
I leave, wiping away tears, and get in my car. I blast the saddest song to ever exist, because I deserve to fall into the despair I’m feeling right now.
Alone.
Forever alone.
Usually on days like today, I drive aimlessly until eventually, I end up at the cemetery. I can feel closer to them here, cry at their graves until there are no tears left. Today, it’s not the cemetery in front of me.
I drove straight to her.