Chapter Fourteen Scarlett / Evan #2
“They went well. I have a solo at the beginning of the night,” I tell him, and the pride in his voice and on his face is immediate.
“You do?”
“Yeah. Jaden wanted someone to come in earlier to set the tone for the night, and I volunteered.”
He jerks his elbow into my side, and I laugh. “I’m glad, son. I’m happy you have this . . . this thing that’s yours.”
“Me too.”
Since I was a kid, my dad has made it clear to me how important it is to have other passions and hobbies alongside this business, for when times get tough.
Music has always been that thing for me.
The thing I can escape into when I get overwhelmed or stressed.
Something I can turn to when my mind gets too much.
I knew from a young age that I couldn’t make B&Co my entire life, no matter how much I wanted to. That’s probably why my dad thinks giving me a break is a good idea, no matter how badly I want to be able to help.
“How’s college going? Are you having fun?” Dad asks, finally. He’s been holding off on all college talk since I came home two days ago, but I know it’s been killing him.
“I’m finishing up my application for the SEI, so it’s going pretty well,” I tell him, and he smiles.
“And you’ve been making friends?”
“I already had friends, Dad,” I say, sounding a lot like my teenage self. My dad just laughs, shoveling more food into his mouth. “But, yes, I’m hanging out with them more.”
“Good,” he says. “Good. That’s good to hear. Have you spoken to your mom?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Is this an interrogation?”
He shrugs. “Just trying to make conversation.”
Just from the tone of his voice I can tell how much he worries about me.
How much he cares. How important it is to him that I’m having fun just because there was a time when I didn’t care about any of this stuff.
I appreciate it, I do. I just wish it didn’t make me feel so uncomfortable.
The way he asks questions, like he’s a doctor trying to make sure that I’m healthy again.
My dad opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, keeping my voice calm and level.
“You want me to tell you about mom so you can tell me how much she loves me and how she wishes she could be here, but you don’t need to do that anymore.
If she wanted to be here, she would, but honestly, I don’t want her to.
” I swallow, looking at the hurt in my dad’s eyes. “Not after last time.”
Dad shakes his head. “Evan, you know she didn’t mean to—”
“But she did, Dad,” I say, and it’s as simple as that.
I don’t know when my dad is going to stop taking the blame for what happened. He still thinks I missed out by not having a motherly figure in my life, but I don’t want one. I don’t need one. Not one that’s going to make me feel like an inconvenience in her life.
It was never my dad’s fault. He’s not the one who didn’t listen to me and understand that my OCD isn’t something I can turn on and off. She’s the one who was inconsistent. And when she finally decided to be there for me, she took me on a surprise trip across the country when I was eight.
Even though she had good intentions, that didn’t matter the second I started to feel uncomfortable.
She had picked me up from school, and all I could think about was how unclean I was.
I needed to know where we were going, how long it would be until I could shower again, what clothes she’d packed for me, what we were going to eat while on vacation.
But she never answered my questions, brushed me off with the whole ‘it’s a surprise’ thing even though I tried to tell her I’d still enjoy it even if I knew where we were going.
The further we drove, the more anxious I got and the harder it got for me to pretend that I didn’t want to rip my skin clean off my body.
The only thing I could think to do was to wipe my skin clean with the disinfectant wipes I had in my bag.
When that didn’t work, I allowed myself a taste of the hand sanitizer in my pocket.
Just a taste. Just enough to feel clean on the inside.
But it didn’t work, so I took more. And more. And more. Until the bottle was empty.
I still don’t know how long it took for my mom to realize, but she eventually drove me to the hospital where I had to have my stomach pumped and I stayed in rehabilitation for two months.
My dad didn’t let me see my mom for a while after that.
I thought it would stay like that forever.
That she’d just be gone from my life and I wouldn’t have to worry about seeing her and spiraling again.
But then she started getting in contact more, trying to tell me that she understands me now.
Thinking about it now makes me feel sick.
I just can’t get myself to forgive her. To put all that behind us and move on. A huge part of me doesn’t want to.
I know I’m better off now, and I want to keep it that way. Entertaining old ghosts isn’t something I’m interested in.
“I’m sorry,” my dad says again.
“You don’t need to apologize,” I say, offering him a weak smile. “Besides, me and you . . . We’re good, right? We don’t need anyone else.”
My dad’s smile barely reaches his eyes when he looks at me and says, “It’s you and me against the world, son.”
It’s then that I realize how badly my dad needs me to be okay.
How much he wants to see me grow and become the best version of myself.
I can’t have him blaming himself forever just because I have bad days.
Someday he’s got to come to terms with the fact that he can’t protect me from the world, especially when it’s my own brain I’m constantly at war with.