Letter Twenty-One #6
“Yeah. Let’s talk about how crazy you are for repeatedly going back to that psycho bitch.”
He winced. “Bree told you I’m back with Sienna?”
“Were you trying to keep it from me or something?”
“No. I just”—his eyes drifted closed—“didn’t realize you knew.”
“Well, I do. You keep going back to that stupid bitch, even though you know she’s not a good person.
You’re dating some slutty bitch who jumps at the opportunity to screw your best friend.
She doesn’t give a shit about you, only the status dating you gives her, and you don’t give a shit about yourself if you’re willing to be with someone like that.
And while we’re on the subject of people you don’t give a shit about, you clearly don’t give a shit about me—or you wouldn’t be dating her at all. ”
Face pinched as he stared back at me, Michael whispered, “I don’t give a shit about you?”
“Nope,” I said.
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re just saying that to hurt me.
Every day of my life is—” He stopped, lifting both hands.
“I was only trying to help you see this mom thing for what it really is so you don’t hurt yourself too badly over it, but I don’t care about you at all, right? So knock yourself out.”
Michael slammed the back door behind him when he left.
You leaned forward over the island. “Do you want to talk about it?” When I didn’t say anything, you added, “Maybe you could explain it to me a bit more—why you feel that woman out there could be your mum.”
“Why?” I snapped. “So you can go blab to Michael about it?”
You sighed. “I won’t say anything, I promise. Just talk to me. Help me understand.”
“This isn’t something you can ever understand.” I grabbed my phone and pushed away from the island. “Leave me alone.”
At dinner that night, Nic’s attempts at making conversation with us fell flat. And that made him pretty suspicious.
“What’s going on with you two?” he asked, eyes narrowed as he glanced between us. “Did something happen today?”
You stared down at your plate. “Everything’s fine.”
“It’s not, actually,” I said, dropping my fork. “I remembered something earlier, and I’d like to ask you about it. I want you to be honest with me, Dad.”
“Okay,” Nic said, slowly dropping his silverware. He regarded me warily.
“Do you remember that time I got separated from you at the Red Sox game?”
Nic went still. “I do.”
“That nice woman took my hand and offered to help me find you.” I paused to watch his reaction, but there wasn’t one. My dad’s face remained completely impassive. “She’s the same woman who’s watching our house.”
A beat of silence transpired, then Nic shook his head. “No. She’s not.”
“Yes,” I said. “That day at the game, she wore big sunglasses and a ball cap. She had long dark hair, the same color as mine.” I pulled my phone out of my lap and sat it on the dining table, the woman’s picture pulled up on the screen. “This is the same woman.”
Nic glanced down at the picture, Adam’s apple dipping as he swallowed. “I don’t remember what the woman at the ball game looked like. That was a long time ago.”
“You were rude to her.”
“And I shouldn’t have been—but you and I were separated for a while.”
“It wasn’t that long.”
“Yes, it was. I couldn’t find you for at least ten minutes—maybe longer.”
“The way you acted over it wasn’t normal, Dad. You cried. You got John and Libby worked up over it. Eleanor, too. She hugged me.”
“I thought I’d lost you. All these horrible scenarios went through my head, and it scared me to death, Elliot. People snatch kids and run off all the time. Losing a child like that is a parent’s worst nightmare.”
“The woman from the game is the same woman who’s been watching our house,” I repeated.
“No—”
“She’s following me. She’s watching me. She took a picture of me.”
“Elliot—”
“Is she my mother?” I asked. “Is that my mom? Has she come back?”
Nic closed his eyes, jaw clenching tight. “No.”
“You forbade Casey to let me near her. Me specifically.”
“She’s not your mother.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I checked her out, Elliot. And, anyway, your mother is long gone. She doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Then where does she live?”
Nic blinked at me. “I don’t know. I have no idea where she went. But she isn’t here.”
I laughed bitterly. “I knew I couldn’t trust you to be honest with me.”
“I am being honest,” he said.
“Oh, yeah? When was the last time you spoke to her?”
Nic shrugged. “Not since you were little.”
I couldn’t believe this. The ease with which my own father could lie to my face. “You’re lying.”
“No,” he said. Still lying.
“So you didn’t talk to her when you were trying to figure out if you were Casey’s father or not? Because Casey says you did.”
Across the table, you’d closed your eyes, face scrunched up in a grimace.
Nic glared at you. “What the fuck, Casey?”
You opened your eyes. “I’m sorry, Nic. I shouldn’t have told her that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Nic’s sharp gaze held yours. “You had no right.”
“You talked to my mom,” I said, relieved I could finally confront him about it after a year of keeping all this knowledge—all these burning questions—to myself. “You’re still in contact with her. And you don’t know where she is?”
“She wouldn’t tell me,” Nic said.
“But you saw her.”
“No,” he claimed. Another lie. “I didn’t.”
“Casey says you did!”
“Casey was mistaken,” he replied tightly. “I never saw her. I only talked to her over the phone.”
“Then you know how to get in touch with her.”
“Not anymore. She disconnected that number. I haven’t talked to her in over a year.”
“When you talked to her….did she ask about me?”
Nic’s expression softened. “Honey, please. Don’t do this.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t give you the answer you want.”
“So she didn’t mention me at all,” I said, voice breaking on the words. “She doesn’t care. My own mother doesn’t care to know how I’m doing.”
Nic clasped my wrist. “She’s selfish, sweetheart. She doesn’t care about anyone but herself. She’s a horrible person, and you’re better off without her.”
I’d been hearing some version of this statement my whole life.
We’re better off without her.
She wouldn’t have been good for you.
We don’t need her. We have each other.
And it enraged me.
“Am I, though? Not having a mother made me a horrible person, too.”
“Elliot, no—”
“So horrible you keep me locked in this house.”
“What are you doing? Stop this.”
“Remember when you told me you were both young, and in college, and she didn’t think she was ready to become a mom, but you convinced her to have me, anyway?” I paused for dramatic effect. “Well, isn’t it obvious, Dad? You should’ve let her get rid of me when she had the chance.”
My dad flinched. I glanced across the table to find a horrified look on your face. Me saying that? It had upset you, too.
“I don’t ever want to hear you say that again,” said Nic, hands fisted on the table.
But I wanted to hurt my dad for lying. I wanted to hurt someone for my mom’s apathy. He’d made me promise I wouldn’t hurt myself anymore, so that someone had to be him.
“Why? I don’t belong in this world, and you agree. That’s why you keep me out of it.”
“Stop this,” Nic said, leaning forward. “Fucking stop it. I want you here. I love you. You’re everything to me, Elliot. Everything.”
“You’re such a liar, Dad. You lie to everyone, so why wouldn’t you lie to me? You’re stuck with me—that’s the truth. You’re stuck, because she ran off and didn’t take me with her.”
“That’s bullshit,” Nic said, gaze flaring. “I would never have let her take you away from me. You’re mine.”
Nic had sounded scary as shit when he said that, hadn’t he, Casey? So scary I believed him.
Still, I wanted to hurt him. Not just for this lie—for all the lies.
For all the hiding and deflecting and dodging and taking.
So I said, “But just think of how much better your life could’ve been without me.
You could’ve been normal—like the Harrises.
A wife. A couple of kids. Kids that didn’t have to be watched or sent to therapy.
Kids that didn’t hurt themselves or hurt you. You could’ve been happy.”
Nic stared back at me, his expression tortured, his eyes glazed over with tears. Had I forced him to finally face the truth?
“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said, pushing his chair back.
“I lied about talking to her, because I didn’t want to hurt you.
I get that you need to lash out at someone right now, and she’s not here, so you’re lashing out at me.
But the things you’re saying are really hurtful—not to mention completely flawed—and I won’t listen anymore. I’m done here.”
As Nic walked away, your soft gaze swept over me, nothing but concern and sympathy on your face, and I didn’t deserve that. I chewed on the inside of my mouth to hold the tears back, but they came, anyway.
“Elliot,” you whispered.
“Don’t,” I choked, rising from the table.
The next morning, when I never showed downstairs for breakfast, you came up to see why. I refused to get out of bed. Refused to speak. Refused to meet your gaze when you moved into my line of vision.
“Go on to class,” I heard Nic say to you. “I’ve got her. She’ll be okay.”
All morning, I huddled underneath my duvet, blinking against the golden sunlight filtering through my window.
Nic—likely thinking my dismal mood made me a danger to myself—had planted himself at my desk, where he lightly tapped away at his laptop, answering emails.
There’d come a pause every now and then, followed by the creak of my desk chair.
I pictured him tossing a glance over at the bed to check on me.
Texts began to arrive around lunchtime. Tinsley, asking if I wanted to hang out after her final class of the day. Willoughby, seeing if I wanted him to come over later. You, asking if I wanted you to bring me an iced latte on your way home from school. I left you all on read.
Nic disappeared for a little while. When he came back, I heard the clink of a plate on the nightstand. My lunch. “Please eat.”
“Not hungry.”
“You promised me you wouldn’t hurt yourself anymore.”