Chapter 21
Gabriella
I stand in my window, trying to slow my breathing. I caught the tail end of Vic destroying the backyard, then talking to whom I can only assume is Ty, with the timing of the call and the way Vic was calmed so quickly. The crazy thing is that Vic’s response to my leaving didn’t scare me.
I feel comforted and somewhat closer to him as I look around my room at the broken vase, clothes thrown everywhere, and my alabaster Chesterfield reading chair on its side. I guess we both have a layer of rage sitting just underneath the surface.
Knock. Knock. Knock. “G?” Vic’s voice is barely audible through the door.
“Vic. Please.” My response is strong, but it sounds so desperate. I’m not even sure what I’m pleading for.
“Gabbi, please don’t push me away. I don’t know how to do this.
” His voice sounds muffled, like his forehead is pressed against the door.
We both marinate in the silence for a few minutes before he starts again.
“Do you remember when you first started as a social worker? Back when you had to deal with the military brats that got in trouble? What was that like, ten years ago?”
“Twelve. Yes, what about it?” I correct him curiously.
“Do you remember you came to me crying, telling me you didn’t know how to talk to these kids because you had never experienced the things they had? You had said that one of the girls said you reminded her of her mother, who acted like she was perfect and judged everyone.”
“Yes.” Defensiveness is creeping into my voice. “What are you trying to say, Vic?”
“Right now, I’m you and you’re those kids.
Only… I know you’re perfect. Before you get huffy, I mean that I see you as perfect.
Perfect for me, but I don’t know how to talk to you.
I don’t know your experiences anymore. You won’t talk to me, and I don’t know how to get you to open up.
” I hear a soft thud and a slow swoosh against the door.
I think he’s sitting against the door now.
I walk over to the door and mirror what I think is his sitting position, leaning my head back against the painted wood.
I can feel an extreme ache in my chest. I don’t know how to do this.
What if he gets to know me again and he realizes he doesn’t want me, just like I already feel he doesn’t?
What if I can’t control this? What if I can’t fix it?
Closing my eyes, I just let the words fall, “Vic, what if we can’t fix this? What if all of our fears are true? What if we’ve been living a lie for the last three or four years?” My eyes sting so bad from the salty solution leaking from them.
“Okay. I can get behind those questions. I hear you, G. I guess my only response is your dad.” I can feel my eyebrows crinkle at his words.
My dad? “When we were living in that one-bedroom shithole when Kerri was born and we were on the waitlist for on-base housing, I had a long conversation with your dad about our bills. I didn’t tell you about it because you were in school and you didn’t need the extra pressure.
We were behind on a couple of bills, and I had put them in a drawer to save for when we had the money.
” What? I drop my head into my hands at the stupidity of that logic.
“I know. I know. It was stupid. Your dad said the same thing you’re probably thinking now.
Anyway, I was a dumb kid, trying to make a good life for my family.
Your dad found the bills when he and your mom came and visited shortly after Kerri was born.
Your dad asked your mom to take you out for a shopping day, and he sat there with me all day and went through our bills with me, helped me call all the creditors, and set up payment plans.
He helped me create a budget for us to keep track of everything.
But that’s not the point I’m trying to get at. ”
“The point is that your dad looked at me with a stack of hidden bills in his hands and said, Victor, just because you can’t see the problem, doesn’t mean the problem doesn’t exist. Nor does it mean you don’t have to find a solution.
” Vic and I both huff a single-syllable chuckle at his imitation of my dad’s voice.
“The point is, Gabbi, that all your what-ifs are valid, but whether we do something about it or shove it into a drawer, the problems are still there, baby. Don’t you want to see if we can find a solution together?”
I am full-blown ugly, crying now. I use my hand to cover any noise that might slip from my lips, trying to keep silent. Silence. There is always fucking silence. Either he’s giving me space or I’m giving him space. I am so sick of all the goddamn space!!
I adjust my position on the floor, sliding my legs to the side, and angle my body to face the door, preparing to break this obnoxious silence.
“Vic, you say I am like the kids when I first started as a social worker. Do you remember what you told me to do to get through to the kids?” I sniffle, “You told me to show them the ugly parts. You told me to tell them about the time I was arrested for doing stupid shit at a party. You told me to tell them about my parents’ ugly divorce and my father’s death from cancer.
You said to be completely honest about the blemishes in my life so they had things to relate to.
So they could see who I really was underneath the facade…
” Wiping my tears, I take a deep breath before stating my next thought. “I think we need the ugly, Vic.”
With a few more minutes of silence, Vic starts talking.
He tells me about some of the stupid things he and the team did on deployments, the scary things he was always afraid to tell me about.
He tells me about just a few, not all of the really hard things that he had to do, and the decisions he had to make on missions that ended in ramp ceremonies and funerals.
He tells me about the widows and widowers that he had to console after telling them their loved one wouldn’t return.
He tells me so many things I didn’t know and never knew to ask.
After a few hours of talking through the door, I hear the girls enter the house with their loud laughs and chatter. “Hey, G? Um, I gotta go clean up outside. I don’t want the girls to see all that.”
“Wait,” I start scrambling to my feet. “I’ll come with you.
” I quickly throw on some shorts and flip-flops and rush to the door.
When I fling it open, thinking Vic had already headed downstairs, I’m shocked to see he’s standing right there, taking up the whole space of my door frame.
His eyes are puffy and red, matching my own, and I just want to pull him into the room and hide away from everything.
“G, we gotta go,” Vic says while stepping aside for me to go first. I feel a loss at his movement away from me, but I push it aside.
We both hurry downstairs and get to the girls before they head outside. Shooing them upstairs by telling them that we weren’t done on the patio was Vic’s idea. The looks and smiles they gave us told us they didn’t suspect anything was wrong.
Vic and I spent the next hour cleaning up the patio and then two more hours talking about anything and everything that came to mind.