Chapter 5
Chapter five
OVER TO THE DARK SIDE
Things go from hopeful to hazy in three seconds flat as I see that their gift is not just a trip, but a weekend retreat scheduled for one week from today.
With that small detail, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place as it becomes clear why Monika was acting so strangely earlier.
She has always stood up for me in the past when Scott imposed his extravagant gifts on me, but it appears that she has officially crossed over to the dark side.
I glance out the glass doors at the front of the Book Cellar and wish I could rewind time to a minute ago to find the strength to end the night, cake and baby news be damned.
Now, if I get up and leave, I’ll have to ask Monika for help because my purse and car keys are back in the bookstore, and something tells me that she would try and keep me here against my will.
The pizza and wine turn sour in my stomach as I try to push past the full body heat of betrayal but come up terribly short.
“So, let me guess. You aren’t actually going on a cruise next weekend, Monika?
” I ask, voice sharp with anger. “You just wanted to make sure I was free so I couldn’t make up an excuse.
The fact that I simply wouldn’t want to go isn’t a valid enough reason? ”
As mad as I am at Monika, I am even more mad at myself for believing her story about finding a three-day true crime-themed cruise for her and her crime-junkie friends to go on together. It’s so obvious now that the whole story was completely made up.
Don’t get me wrong, I definitely found it odd that people obsessed with true crime would be willing to meet up with complete strangers on a ship that they couldn’t escape, except to jump, or be dumped off the side unceremoniously into the ocean.
Monika doubled down when I raised my concerns, insisting that true crime lovers are the least likely to be murdered because they know all the signs and wouldn’t be caught unaware.
The whole thing sounded preposterous at the time, but I didn’t think it was my place to lecture her about safe adult behavior since she is thirty years older than me.
I just agreed to cover her shifts and nodded politely when she brought up details about the itinerary, which reminds me of another detail.
“You forced me to go shopping for bathing suits with you last week!” I cry as the depth of her deception clicks into place. “We went all the way to Malibu!”
Her tan cheeks redden. “I was told to really sell it.”
My hands shake so hard that I struggle to get the card back into the envelope. After a few failed attempts, I eventually give up and shove it all back towards Scott.
This misguided present is just their attempt to do what’s best for me. I know that. They want to try and replace the bad memories attached to my birthday with newer, happier ones. The irony is, before opening their gift, they were actually achieving that by being here for a simple birthday dinner.
But, as usual, they took it too far. If it weren’t for the baby news that Monika and I are dying to hear, I would stomp out of here right now and walk home if they tried to hold my keys hostage. I never promised that I would accept the gift, just that I would open the card.
I take a deep breath and swallow my frustration before turning back to Scott. “Thank you. Your turn.”
“Thank you? Your turn?” he repeats, dragging his hand through his hair. “No, Drew. We aren’t sharing our news or cutting the cake until you agree to go.”
I fall back against my chair, jostling the balloons tied to it. “You said I had to open the card, not agree to what was inside.”
“Well, the rules changed.”
I can feel the chances of finishing the night and me hearing their news becoming less and less likely, so I say, “Thank you for the gift. It is very generous, but I am not going,” in the most even tone I can manage.
It doesn’t work, though, because Scott responds through clenched teeth. “You are going, Drew. Consider this an intervention.”
“This was so thoughtful, truly,” I say, in a last-ditch attempt to de-escalate Scott. “Old Drew would have loved to do something like this.”
“Here we go again with Old Drew and New Drew,” he mocks.
My brother’s stubbornness is admirable when it comes to fighting for a social cause that he believes in or working towards reaching his goals, but it’s exasperating when it comes to this argument about the way I live my life.
When we find ourselves in these blowouts, I often wonder if our mom hadn’t brought home those “Intro to Scratch” coding books from the library when he was a bored and mischievous first grader, if he might have grown up to become a lawyer instead.
He picks up the papers I shoved back in his direction and clears his throat to read them out loud.
“We look forward to welcoming you to a weekend of reading, relaxation, and luxury at the Ravenwood Manor in Charlotte, North Carolina. The itinerary for this bookish-themed weekend includes a private wine tasting from one of Charlotte’s historic wineries with artisanal food pairings, a visit to the UNC Charlotte Observatory, and a lively book discussion. ”
When he gets going like this, it is best to avoid eye contact and let him get it all out, so I take an interest in my nail beds and plan to study all ten of them in great detail until Scott loses some steam.
He continues, “Though the grounds are expansive, the company will be limited to an intimate group of no more than four women, with your host, Delaney Atwood, to guide you through the weekend experience.” When he catches me smoothing down my cuticles, he throws the papers back down with a huff.
“The house even has a hot tub, for God’s sake.
We couldn’t make up a better weekend for you if we tried. ”
I understand his frustration. They went above and beyond with this gift, and probably hoped that by getting the details right, I would be more agreeable.
What they don’t understand, despite my attempts to explain it over and over to them, is that I’m not the same person anymore.
Yes, this would be the perfect trip for old me, but I’ve changed. After everything that has happened and all my mistakes it would be impossible not to. I’ve accepted it and moved on, but they refuse to let the old Drew go.
“Say something,” Gabe pleads when Scott’s death glare does not result in me changing my mind.
The weight of three sets of eyes on me is a heavy burden, so I only manage to raise my gaze halfway to the printed retreat details that Scott threw down a second ago.
They landed on top of the last slice of his Hawaiian pizza, and I frown as grease starts to soak through the pages, blurring the picture of the massive living room with a fireplace that spans two stories.
“You’ve already read the book if that is causing any hesitation,” Gabe tries again. “We wanted to make sure that everything was as stress-free as possible for you. It’s that story you wrote the blog post about, by Evelyn—”
“Evelyn Graves,” Monika finishes, her voice barely a whisper.
I nod in acknowledgment at Evelyn’s name, but moving at all has become difficult with the realization that Gabe and Monika are now fully in this fight, and not on my side.
“Yeah. The story about the bad luck girl,” Scott says. “What will it take to get it through your head that you aren’t bad luck? That you aren’t cursed? That what happened wasn’t your fault?” His tone, along with the defeat in Gabe and Monika’s, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I raise my eyes the rest of the way to look at him, at all of them, and see exactly what I was expecting.
Twin looks of pity on Gabe and Monika’s faces, and anger on Scott’s.
“The only thing that is childish about this,” I say, gesturing around the table, “is the fact that you three refuse to accept me for who I am now, and think that sending me on a silly trip will somehow bring the old me back.”
Gabe opens his mouth to protest, but Scott interjects. “You’re right. We do want the old you back. We know one trip won’t undo the past. It’s just the first step.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say this is the first step?
” All the air rushes out of my lungs. He is silent, but his lack of response is all the answer I need.
“If I agree to this trip, what’s next? You choose a friend group for me that I have to see three times a week?
You arrange a marriage for me and insist I have a couple of kids? Where does it end?”
Scott sighs as if the answer is as obvious as a kindergarten math problem.
“It doesn’t end until you start living again, Drew.
Not just existing. This first step is the easiest one.
We are asking you to take a vacation from your pity party for a weekend and do some of your favorite things; it’s not like we are forcing you to go to counseling again or something.
Maybe after some time you might want to go back to therapy on your own, though . . .”
The silence stretches on as heat covers my entire body. Anger, embarrassment, shame. While not the worst of my birthdays, not by a long shot, it is probably up there in the top ten.
I am about to excuse myself and bolt for the door when he continues. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t want you to blame yourself like this. They would want you to be happy.”
“I’m pretty sure that they would have wanted to be alive, more than anything,” I shoot back, which stuns him back into silence, and I take the opportunity to drive home my point.
“I’ve tried to compromise with you multiple times, but it’s clear that what you are really looking for is my compliance, so I am done with this conversation. ”
“It’s okay to grieve,” he says, deflated. “I grieved them too. For the hundredth time, you are not responsible for their deaths.”
I roll my eyes, and his face crumples.
“Drew, it’s time for you to move forward with your life and stop holding on to this guilt like it’s some sick badge of honor.”
His accusation hits like a slap across my face.
He has never said anything so cruel to me.
I look to the others for help but am left wanting.
Gabe is struggling to keep up with wiping away the flow of tears down his cheeks, and Monika looks like she is going to be sick.
Scott reaches out to cover my hand with his, but I yank it away.
“I know this is hard to hear, but we are making you go. If I have to take off work and drag you there myself, I will, because we love you, Drew. Despite the fact that you are hellbent on throwing your life away for no reason and have been so frustratingly stubborn, we love you.”
It’s not for no reason. It’s the other, bigger elephant in the room.
It’s the reason he can grieve and move on, and I can’t: Today is not only my twenty-eighth birthday, but also the twenty-eighth anniversary of our mother’s death, and the eighth anniversary of our father’s death, and both, despite what Scott just said, are completely my fault.