chapter ten Unicorn #2
I stifle a smile in my ice cream, then nod. “She always has.”
“I’m assuming your parents are divorced, then? Or did your dad pass?” Lex’s question is hesitant, as if she’s tiptoeing past
land mines and doesn’t want to accidentally set one off and make my afternoon even worse.
“Never met my dad, actually.” I try to leave it at that, but Lex simply leans back in her seat with wide eyes and slowly licks
her ice cream, sensing there’s a story that needs to be told. And she’s right. With a sigh, I dredge up memories I’d long
ago buried.
“Mom always told me stories about him,” I begin. “He was a rockstar and she was front row at his concert. She got pulled up
on stage for the final song and then was brought backstage to hang out. They conceived me on the tour bus.”
“Holy shit, really? Which band was—”
I cut her off. “Or he was an Italian mobster, fleeing the mafia and on the run from the police, but they caught him before
I was born and deported him.”
Lex’s brows lower, confused.
“Another time he was a CIA agent, but he was called into an undercover operation, and Mom hasn’t seen him since. She has no idea if he’s in Canada, or on the other side of the world, or if he’s even alive at all.”
The confusion clears, and Lex gives me a slow nod.
I shrug. “The stories may have changed over time, but she was always the same.”
“How’s that?”
“The exact way you saw her now. Always beautiful, always cool, always looking to men for validation.” I take a big bite of
my ice cream and let it melt in my mouth, the sweet minty chocolate chip a momentary distraction from all my childhood memories.
“How old was she when she had you?” Lex asks.
“She was twenty-one. Young, but not a teen mom or anything. She just never really wanted to have kids,” I say, thinking back.
“She liked having me around when I was little, but more like I was a pet than a child she had to care for. She was all I had,
so I loved the attention she gave me and would do whatever she asked. I’d wear the cute little dresses, I’d smile and dance
and be adorable for her and her friends. When I got older, I started to realize me being cute was a party trick, a reflection
of who she was rather than who I was, you know? ‘Look at me, look how cute my kid is!’ But then she’d tire of me and put me in my room
with the TV on so she could drink with her friends or entertain whichever boyfriend she happened to have at the time.”
“I’m sorry,” Lex says, but I can’t bring myself to look at her.
“As I grew older, I saw her more clearly. Our relationship became strained. I started calling her out on her bullshit—her
drinking, her partying, all the guys she’d bring to the house.”
“Did the guys ever . . .” Lex trails off.
“No. Thankfully, no.”
She exhales a sigh of relief.
“By the time high school came I was basically on my own. Mom and I were strangers in our house, roommates who avoided each
other. I’d learned that her love and affection were conditional, and if I wasn’t going to play by her rules then she wasn’t
going to have me in her life. Which was for the best. Any interactions we did have were always her nitpicking me. ‘Stand up
straighter, don’t eat so much, that shirt looks terrible.’ I was never good enough or doing anything right. And to be honest,
I was ashamed of her, too. I didn’t want anyone at school seeing her, knowing she was my mom. I thought for sure everyone
would make fun of me, call my mom a slut or a whore or something. Which, in hindsight, is terrible. I feel kind of bad about
that.”
“High school is hard enough as is. I get it,” Lex offers.
“So, we avoided each other, and the second I graduated high school I left.” I finish my story by shoving the last bite of
ice cream into my mouth, hoping the brain freeze will distract me from the pain in my chest. She wasn’t the only reason I
left town, but that’s a story for another time. Or, preferably, never.
Lex reaches across the picnic table and touches my hand, her fingertips cool and a little sticky. “I wish you could have had
my mom.”
I smile. “You had a good one?”
“The best.” Lex’s dimples appear as she reminisces. “My mom was my safe space. It didn’t matter how bad a day I had, she’d
be at the front door with milk and freshly baked banana chocolate chip muffins.”
“What? That’s real? I thought things like that only happened on TV.” I remember watching all those wholesome sitcoms in my
bedroom where I was usually sequestered, envious of the fictional families and the love they had for one another. I was always
so alone.
“My mom loved me, understood me, and accepted me, even when I didn’t love, understand, or accept myself. She’s basically the whole reason I survived high school.” Lex grows a bit distant, looking out across the park, letting her ice cream melt.
Lex’s fingertips are still resting against mine, and I take the opportunity to slide my sticky palm into hers and give her
hand a comforting squeeze. Lex squeezes me right back. “I wish I could have had your mom, too,” I say. And I mean it. I wonder
how different my life would have turned out, if I still would have made all the terrible decisions that led to me getting
cursed.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice quiet. “That must have been hard to grow up with.”
Lex’s bright eyes delve deep into my own, and within them is an ocean of compassion, understanding, and care. I exhale a slow
breath, releasing the tension in my shoulders. I know, deep down, I can trust her, even with the parts of myself I might not
like. Maybe even the parts of myself I want to keep hidden.
I look at our still-entwined hands, fused together by the remnants of our ice cream, and smile. Lex is a true friend . . .
the kind of friend I haven’t had since I was a kid. The kind of friend I never thought I’d get to have again. The kind of
friend I’d once taken for granted.
I won’t make that mistake again.