Chapter 16 Angie
ANGIE
I’m riffling through my wardrobe of black, when I feel the vibration of the garage door opening beneath my feet.
I know I’m one of the only three people with the code to the opener and the alarm, but I still find myself creeping out of my room into the hallway to look over the ledge overlooking the door.
Seeing that it’s indeed my parents returning from another trip, I let out a tense sigh of relief and head back to my room to get ready, silently closing my door in the process.
I think my parents have been stuck in a struggle of where and how much attention to give to their surviving child after one passes away.
And it’s something I’ve been talking about in therapy.
I’ve never classified it as abandonment, because my parents have always been there.
Until these last couple of years. But if I’m comparing the parents Liam had to the parents I had—well, my therapist classifies that as abandonment.
Which was also the starting point of my anxiety and depression that only got worse when Liam died.
I huff in exasperation at the stylistic choices that have never once bothered me until now.
Brandon makes me want to wear color when, for the majority of my life, I’ve been content in darkness.
Until I can remedy that, I find a black maxi skirt with ruffles and an off-white sleeveless button-down vest in my closet that molds to my torso.
Padding quietly across my room and into my bathroom, I brush out my damp hair and put some leave-in conditioner in it to let it air dry.
I don’t bother with makeup because I rarely wear it, and since tonight’s double date is at Brandon’s and I’m meeting Carter’s boyfriend, the less the better.
I’m pulling on my Doc Martens that are reserved for times I’m not at work, when a knock on my door causes me to jump out of my skin.
“Yeah?” I call out after staring at the wood separating me from whoever is on the other side.
The handle of my door turns, and my mom pops her head in.
If I looked in a mirror in forty-five years, this is what I’d likely see.
From the time I could understand complete sentences, I’ve been told I’m the spitting image of my mother.
Sure, when I manage to look at pictures of her when she’s younger, I can see it.
But where I’ve never taken any color to my blonde hair, my mom now chooses to darken her hair, so it makes us look less like twins and more like mother-daughter.
Was that our first fracture? It’s hard to think that something as simple as hair can be a defining factor in someone’s life. And maybe there’s a childhood part of me that still wishes she could be like her mom.
“Hi, Claire Bear. Your dad and I are about to order in for dinner, and I wanted to see if you wanted to join us.”
I stand up from the storage bench at the foot of my bed, which is more like a smaller daybed, and walk over to my dresser to spritz on a light dusting of perfume.
The childhood nickname hits me like a tidal wave, and I clench my fists so hard my nails bite into my palms and I use that to focus on instead of the way my eyes want to water when hearing that name.
“I already have dinner plans,” I tell her when I finally meet her eyes.
“Oh,” she says and steps fully into my room.
I try to remember the last time that my mom was in my room and come up with a time when I was in middle school.
I had just gotten in a fight with one of my best friends, and she reminded me that real friends may fight, but it’s what comes after the fight that matters.
She was right because the next day they showed up here, we apologized, and went about our friendship.
It’s funny how, after that, I assumed our friendship would last forever. Maybe I’m holding out hope that they still think about me and one day we’ll be able to repair what was broken. Is two years too long to hold out hope?
“Do you have a date?” my mom continues as she takes a seat on the bench.
I’m not sure how much to spill to her because it seems like the littlest thing can set her off into a blubbering mess. To say she still hasn’t come to terms with Liam dying is an understatement. So I settle with, “Yes.”
“How long have you been dating?”
My forehead scrunches as I survey my mom.
“What?” she asks, confused.
“Is this you asking because you’re curious? Or because you feel bad for not being around?”
Her head tilts to the side in more confusion. “Both. Honey, I know we’ve been checked out since Liam—” she can’t even say the word, “—but we still want to know what’s going on in your life.”
“Okay,” I lean against my dresser and bite my bottom lip as tears sting the back of my eyes, “well, I’m in weekly therapy and I also talk to my therapist three times a week, I’m an assistant general manager at Blue Pint Outpost, I finish up my final semester of undergrad in a couple of weeks, and the guy I’m seeing makes me see color for the first time in years. ”
My mom’s eyes widen the longer I talk and I think it’s the most I’ve said to her when the conversation doesn’t revolve around piano.
“Wow,” she says and her eyes flutter when I notice tears tease her eyes. “Are you still playing piano?”
Her question shocks me, and I rear my head back in response. “You care?”
She nods slowly and taps the spot next to her on the bench. I hesitate before pushing off my dresser and closing the distance before taking the spot next to her. My mom takes one of my hands in hers and turns to me. “I’m sorry, Claire bear.”
“Liam died…”
“No. This apology is long overdue. And it’s before your brother,” she pauses at the word like it physically pains her to say it, “died. I’m sorry for not showing you the attention that we gave him.
I think a part of me knew that you were more resilient than him—most girls are.
But most of all, I’m sorry that I have no idea who you are.
You’re my daughter and I have no idea about your life for the last two years—hell, for the last decade. ”
My bottom lip trembles even when clamped between my teeth. “Thank you,” I reply watery. “I miss Liam. Every day.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“And I miss you and Dad. I hate that you two are gone so much.”
She wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a side hug. “It was just easier for us to go away since he’s gone. And I realize how unfair that is to you.”
If I were wearing makeup, it would be a mess. Tears track down my face unabashedly as my mom’s apology soaks into me.
“We’re going to be around more,” she says and kisses the top of my head. “Now tell me about this guy you’re seeing. Is he the same age as you or is he older?”
Shit. “We’re taking it slow. Getting to know each other better before we tell our families. And he’s older than me.”
“You’ll tell me when you’re ready?”
“Of course,” I rush out, “but I am worried that you won’t like him.”
“What’s not to like? As long as he’s not married or living in a basement, we’ll like him.”
You say that now, I say in my head. “I hope so.”
“We will. Okay, well, I’ll let you get to your dinner,” my mom says and stands up. “Have fun. And be safe.”
My face flames and I don’t miss the knowing smile on her face before she leaves my room.
It’s not that I’ve never talked about sex with my mom, but Liam was the one to broach that topic first, and with me, I was always the wallflower type of girl who never thought that having sex was a big deal.
I don’t think she would recognize me if I told her how I coped with losing him.
When my door closes, I sit bemused on the bench.
Never did I think we’d have a civil conversation.
It’s not that my parents and I have never talked, but talking to one another and talking with them are two different things.
And I haven’t talked with my parents in far too long.
I wipe the remaining tears off my face and snag my phone off the charger.
Me: I got held up. I’ll be there shortly.
B: Okay. Be safe.
I put what I need in my small purse and walk out of my room.
The sound of the television being on when I walk down the stairs is a sound I haven’t heard in months—years, if I’m being honest with myself.
My feet hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, but my head makes the choice, and I walk down the hallway that opens up to the living room and see my parents cuddled up on the couch.
In their grief, it’s good to see that they’re still in love with each other.
“I’m leaving,” I announce.
My mom looks up with a smile. “Have fun, sweetie.”
“Bye, bear,” my dad says and sends an air kiss.
I feel like I stepped into an alternate universe where someone body-swapped my parents.
I give them a small wave and turn on my heels and head toward the front door.
I stay in a confused state on the entire drive to Brandon’s house, and maybe he can help me smooth out the thoughts that are swarming around my head.
“Hi, Angel,” he greets me when he opens the door. Despite the August heat that’s barreling through the city, he’s in a long-sleeved Henley with the sleeves pushed up and dark-washed denim jeans with a pair of casual sneakers on his feet. Just my type.
“Hi.” I step forward, wrapping my arms around his waist and pecking him on the lips.
“What’s wrong?” he asks when he pulls back.
My eyes grow in size. “It’s so weird how well you can read me.”
He wraps his arms around my shoulders and walks us back into his condo, but not before I shut the door with my foot. We continue our blind walk into his living room and he lets go so we can sit.
“My parents are home,” I come right out and say it.
Brandon’s eyebrows fly to his hairline. “How long had they been gone?” he asks and twirls a lock of hair around his finger. Just the sensation with the light tugs sends tingles through my body, which in turn soothes me.
“I–I don’t know. A few weeks, maybe a month, if I had to guess?”