Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
CHELSEA
The last few weeks have been pretty fucking terrible. Bo texts me every day, but I don’t respond. He’s come by the apartment and waited for me, but when I see his car, I keep driving. If I’m home, I don’t answer the door.
Noelle has been staying at the apartment with me more than usual because I think she’s worried about me. Casey stays here a lot, too, but he never says anything to me about Bo.
I gave Noelle a watered-down version of what had happened and shared some more about my past that she hadn’t known. She’s been really great, and Charlie has come over a few times to hang out with us too.
I called my aunt last week and told her I wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas.
She and my sister were disappointed and tried convincing me to change my mind.
They’ve been sending me texts of various vacation spots to try to get me to spend Christmas with them anywhere.
I just … have no interest in doing anything.
I’ve gotten emails from two of the law schools I applied to, but I don’t even care about opening those. I’m sad, and I can’t figure a way out of it.
Noelle thinks I should just talk to Bo, but I don’t know what I would even say.
The Stallions have made it to the playoffs, so I’ve been torturing myself by watching every interview and highlight that has Bo in it, which is a lot. He’s always professional and courteous, but I can tell he’s not completely himself. And I feel like I’m responsible for it.
I’m watching an interview right now, and he’s talking about the upcoming game, and just hearing his voice makes me want to cry. And I’m not a crier. I literally hate everything about life right now. I’m so focused on what he’s saying that I don’t even hear the knock on my door at first.
“Chelsea! Stop flicking your bean and open up!” a female voice says, giggling.
“Jesus, Torie. Do you have to be so crass? I swear, you and your sister are too much for me,” another voice says.
What the hell? Is that my sister? And my aunt?
I jump up from the couch and look through the peephole in the door. I can hear them now on the other side of the door, but I can’t see them because someone is covering the hole with their finger.
“I don’t open the door to strangers,” I tease.
The finger moves, and I see my sister’s smiling face. “Open the door! It’s cold out here!”
I unlock the door, and we all squeal and hug. “Oh my God! What are you guys doing here?”
My sister is in shorts, flip-flops, and a sweatshirt. Completely inappropriate attire for the cold here in Oklahoma.
“What on earth are you wearing, Tor? It’s freezing here.”
“What am I wearing? What are you wearing? You look like a grandma. And your hair. Is there a bird living in it? I can loan you my brush.” She walks past me and into my apartment.
“Don’t hold back, Torie.” My aunt shakes her head. “It’s not that bad, sweetie. But have you showered today?” She kisses the side of my head.
I’m so happy they’re here. I didn’t realize how much I needed to see them until, well, I saw them. “Yes, I did. But I didn’t dry my hair, which is why it looks like”—I pat my head—“this.”
“I’ll brush it out for you. But first, I need some pants and some fuzzy socks. I’m frozen.” She walks back toward my room.
I look at my aunt, and we both laugh at my sister.
“I told her it would be cold, but she didn’t believe me.”
“I believed you, but, like, I didn’t fully understand the level of cold,” she says from my room.
“What are you guys doing here? Not that I’m not so excited that you’re here, but why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“Yeah, I’ll take a water,” my aunt says. “Well, we were really bummed that you weren’t coming home for Christmas, and I could just tell that something was wrong and you weren’t going to tell me about it, so I thought we should come and see what was going on.”
I hand her a water and grab one for me and my sister. “I’m fine. Really. Just stressed about the last few weeks of school and finishing finals and stuff.”
Torie comes back into the room wearing a pair of my pants and socks, with my brush in her hand. “I call bullshit. Something is going on, and you’re gonna tell us what it is.” She takes the water from me and moves over to the couch. “Come sit. Let me help you with this hair.”
I follow her and push the coffee table out so I can sit between her legs. My aunt joins us and sits in the chair so I can look at her while Torie brushes my hair.
“I’m so happy to see you guys.” My eyes start to water.
“Okay, see this?” My aunt points at me. “You don’t do this. This crying thing. Being overly emotional. That’s not our girl.” She gasps. “Chelsea Sullivan. Are you pregnant?” Her hands cover her mouth, eyes wide.
“What? No!” I shake my head and laugh.
“OMG, can you imagine?!” Torie cackles.
I turn my head. “I’m not, but why would that be so funny?” I have no idea why I’m getting defensive.
She stops laughing when she sees my face. “It’s not, Chels. Talk to us.” She puts her hand on my cheek.
I take a deep breath and sigh.
For the last decade, it’s been the three of us, and I’ve never known my aunt or sister to hop on a plane on a whim.
In fact, Aunt Laura keeps pretty strict office hours and hardly ever takes vacations.
They’re here. They came for me. It’s like when I was the little girl locked in a closet, waiting in silence for someone to come along and find me, and Aunt Laura is here …
again. I don’t want to hide my feelings from her. Not this time.
“It’s over between me and Bo.”
Torie points at my aunt and says, “I told you that was it.”
“That my relationship was totally screwed?” I ask her.
“Well, not necessarily that, but I bet it had to do with him. You usually drop about five Bo does this, and Bo said that in every conversation we have, and you haven’t done that in a few weeks, so I figured it out.” Torie puts her hand on the top of my head and turns it forward.
“How do you think you messed it up?” my aunt asks.
So, I tell them everything—from meeting his family to the conversation after. All of it.
“Oh, Chels. I’m sorry, sweetie. But if I may, I’d like to say a few things.” My aunt sits up in the chair and leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Yeah, I mean, I kinda already feel bad about it, but thanks.”
“No, I mean, I think you’re making a mistake about not letting him in, Chelsea.” She picks up her water and takes a sip, then sets it back down.
“You know, your dad and I didn’t have the best childhood.
Now, he was a lot older than me, so I don’t really remember what it was like for him, and honestly, I think I got the better end of the stick because my parents weren’t in good health by the time I was old enough to understand that they were alcoholics.
“Now, your dad, he chose a path similar to our parents. Became victimized by it actually. Probably because that’s what was familiar to him, but also, some people are just predisposed to being addicts, whether it’s alcohol or another substance.
“And then when our mom died when I was fourteen, your dad stopped coming around completely because he and your grandpa didn’t get along at all.” She drops her head and shakes it.
“My dad, like yours, wasn’t a nice man. So, I was quiet, did what I was supposed to, and stayed away from home as much as possible. And then my junior year of high school, my math teacher told me I was smart.” She looks at us and smiles. “No one had ever said anything like that to me before.”
“No one? Not even other teachers?” Torie asks her.
“Nope. I was quiet and kept to myself. I did my assignments on time and did well in school, but no one ever noticed me, I guess. Either way, that’s not the point of my story.
My point is, I didn’t let my circumstances define me, and I don’t want you to let yours or your past determine yours.
By watching my friends’ families and—it sounds silly—TV shows, I recognized that I wanted more out of my life than what I was living.
And all I needed was that one little nudge from a teacher to give me the confidence to do it.
Now, I hope in the time you girls have been with me, I have shown you that, but maybe I haven’t done a good job of it. ” Her voice cracks.
We both move over to her and hug her.
“No, you’ve been our biggest cheerleader, and I know how lucky we are that the social worker found you. And that you gave us and do give us so much love and support.” I tell her.
“I hope so.” She wipes her eyes, smiling faintly. “I just don’t ever want to see either of you to see yourself as victim. You’re fighters.”
I gnaw on my lip and look to the side. Fighter.
Drama. Doesn’t she see it’s all so connected?
There’s a name for it in psychology—the way we become our parents without even realizing it.
They call it intergenerational transmission or sometimes intergenerational trauma when what gets passed down is the pain.
It’s not just the drinking or the tempers; it’s the craving for chaos. The kind of love that burns instead of warms. Addictive personalities feed on passion and fear and the high of being wanted one minute and worthless the next. It’s in our blood.
And based on how hard and fast I fell for Bo, I have no doubt I could end up just like them.
I glance back at her. “In your medical training, did you ever learn about intergenerational trauma? How we repeat our parents’ patterns over and over—what’s it called, repetition compulsion?”
Her brow furrows as she studies me. “Is that what all that adoption talk was about a few weeks ago? You think your dad’s behavior is something that’s been passed down to you?”
I let out a shaky breath. “You said your childhood was fucked too. It’s clearly generational.”
She reaches out, resting a hand over mine. “Generational trauma stops with us.” Her voice softens, steady but sure.