Chapter Eight #2
My stomach rumbles to life, reminding me that the only things I ate today were a granola bar that I’d shoved into my purse on the way out the door this morning, and an apple that was softer than I usually like as soon as I got home.
I’d lost my appetite as my appointment approached, and while I wasn’t particularly hungry now, I knew I’d be starving by the time I came home.
I don’t want to sound like a dying whale the entire night with Bodhi if I don’t eat something.
“Thai is good. I know you’re in New Jersey, but send me your address and I’ll call a—”
“None of that,” he stops me before I can even finish my sentence. “I’ll pick you up.”
I blink slowly. “Bodhi, come on. If you want to stay close to home for your daughter, then picking me up is the last thing you should do. I can’t just spend the night in case something happens.
I’d need a ride back. You getting me is no different than us going to a restaurant and getting stuck in traffic.
And, trust me, expressway traffic is no joke. ”
There’s a moment of silence followed by a deep sigh from him that tells me he knows I’m right. “Okay, fine. But I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s considered the gentleman thing to do to pick up a woman you’re hanging out with,” he counters matter-of-factly.
My eyes narrow at the sentiment. “I’m pretty sure that only applies if you’re dating. And we’re not doing…that.” I say ‘that’ like my father did when he tried to broach the safe sex talk with me when I turned sixteen. It wasn’t pretty. Thankfully, he never tried talking about it again.
Honestly, I feel the same way he did saying the word ‘dating’ in terms of Bodhi and me. It leaves an unwelcome feeling in the pit of my stomach. A fuzzy one.
Bodhi is quiet for a second. “I’d like to think it’s still common courtesy, Honor. You clearly haven’t been around many gentleman if you don’t know that.”
My lips twitch at the statement.
Because he’s right.
“No,” I agree, although my voice is quieter than usual. “I haven’t.”
When was the last time Max even opened a door for me?
Or drove us somewhere that I wanted to go rather than a sports bar so he could watch a game?
Before my license was revoked, I’d meet him at restaurants because it was easier for him.
He’d never pick me up, never open a door, or even let me pick where I wanted to sit.
Bodhi’s voice softens. “That’s a real shame.”
Not knowing what to say about it, I shrug as if he can see me. “It is what it is.” Wetting my lips, I settle into the couch. “I’ll see you around six thirty, okay?”
Before he can reply, I hang up.
And those stupid butterflies flutter in my stomach at the thought of seeing the attractive hockey player tonight. The same one who hurt my pride by forgetting me. Who baked me banana bread. Who gave me his number in front of my boss without thinking twice about it.
Even though today has sucked, I realize I’m looking forward to seeing Bodhi.
For the distraction, I tell myself.
That’s all it is.
That tiny voice inside my head mutters, Liar.
*
Two hours later I’m in a car with Sylvia, who refused to let me take an Uber or train all the way to Jersey despite my persistence. Public transit may not be my favorite thing, but neither is coming up with small talk.
We manage to pass the first forty minutes with conversation on the abnormally nice weather and how work is going.
Apparently, she also didn’t know that “Ohio” has nothing to do with the state when someone is using it in a sentence.
Which is something I learned after I had to reply to a comment saying that Coach Erikson’s reaction to the puck being stolen from Sebastian Henderson was “so Ohio”.
It still makes me wonder why they chose that state and not another one like…
Nebraska. But the more I think on it, the more I go down a rabbit hole I’m not sure I want to stay inside.
Sylvia has the same smile on her face as usual, making me wonder how somebody can be that happy all the time. It’s unfamiliar territory for me. In fact, I’m convinced my mother surgically removed the muscles in her face that allowed her lips to curve upward at the corners.
Well, it was more than likely the Botox. But still.
“It’s nice to see you’re hanging out with Bodhi again,” she says, her eyes a warm shade of blue that aren’t quite as pretty as Bodhi’s, but still nice. “He’s a good boy. A good man.”
Her correction isn’t lost on me. There is not one part of Bodhi that can be described as “boyish” in any way, shape, or form. I would know. I used to spend way too much time staring at his pictures online like a weirdo.
“He’s been helpful since moving back,” I reply, twiddling my fingers in my lap. My eyes scan the map on her screen that she hasn’t looked at once. “Have you been to his house before?”
Sylvia smiles at me as we roll to a stop behind a long toll of traffic.
“Your father and I helped him move into his current house. Took half as long as expected with the manpower after we got a few others from the team to help out. You should have seen his last place. It wasn’t fit for a child.
It was too small with no real lawn or backyard for Gemma to play in. He upgraded his whole life for her.”
There’s a softness to her tone—a loving admiration that tells me she cares for Bodhi and Gemma.
From what I’ve seen in my short time here, he may be her favorite from the team.
Nobody else from the team has come to dinner, and she rarely speaks about the others unless she’s talking to my father about a game.
“He wanted to pick me up, but Gemma is at a sleepover tonight,” I tell her, feeling like I need to offer some information since she’s going out of her way to drive me.
She said his house isn’t far from where she goes once a week for wine night, but I don’t know if I believe her or if my father put her up to this because he’s worried about me getting around.
Last week, he lectured me about how to safely ride the subway.
Which ended in him researching where he could buy me mace and a taser, followed by him saying he would pay for a driver if it meant me never stepping foot onto the LIRR—the Long Island Railroad, or the subway at Penn.
Leaning my head against the rest behind me, I murmur, “I don’t know if my appeal will go through to the DMV to get my license back, so it makes travelling a little more difficult these days.
And Dad hates the idea of me doing what millions of people do all the time in the city.
Do you know what he brought to the guest house? ”
Sylvia shakes her head, an inquisitive eyebrow raised. “No. What?”
“A rape whistle.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, Devin…”
I nod. “Yeah.”
After a few seconds, she snorts. “It’s…thoughtful.”
I can’t help but smile a little. “I guess so. Still unnecessary, though. Plus, how many people actually get attacked travelling?”
She’s quiet, which makes me stare at her.
“Is it really that many?” I ask, wincing.
She sighs. “It’s more than your father would like knowing you use the transit.”
My other alternatives are to be chauffeured around by everybody or pay an abysmal amount of money on ride shares. “He told me he’d hire the black car service, but that seems a bit much.”
“He cares, Honor. He doesn’t want to see anything happen to you.”
I have to force myself from squirming in my seat. “My mom and I used to take the subway all the time. Sometimes, we’d do it for fun. She’d say it was an adventure.”
A tiny smile tilts my lips as I look out the window. I used to enjoy those days with her, when she seemed so carefree and loving. But then those adventures turned into errands that usually ended up at a bodega that sold alcohol and cigarettes.
“Have you heard from your mother recently?” she asks softly.
My lips twist in thought as I try recalling the last time we spoke. “No. I don’t even know where she is or who she’s with. Last I knew, she was seeing some guy down in Texas.”
I wouldn’t be shocked if Mom thought he was involved in the oil industry.
She’s always been money motivated. The number of boyfriends she had when I was younger was astronomical, and they were always in fields that had high salaries and expensive tastes.
Once she was over one, she’d find another to dote on her.
Sylvia’s smile drops a fraction. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping things were different by now.”
Yeah. Me too.
Having a mother who cared more about the new man in her life than her own offspring was a punch to the gut.
I’d gotten used to her being MIA, which made it all too easy when my father would wind up leaving during my time with him.
I held onto a lot of resentment for that.
Why couldn’t I have had at least one parent who cared?
I got to see Mila’s parents interact with her—treat me like one of their own. So why not my own mother and father?
The thought, the ugly jealous feeling that claws its way out of my stomach and up my throat, leaves a sour, bitter taste in my mouth.
It also makes me feel other types of things.
Nostalgic. Sad. A little mad. And it reminds me of what Mila told me about being honest with myself more often.
I’m still a little mad.
Still confused.
And it’s tiring.
“I know I haven’t been kind to you,” I start, letting out a short breath.
“And I’m sorry for that, Sylvia. You don’t deserve my attitude.
It’s not an excuse, but I’m so used to my mother being a certain way that I just expect everybody to be the same.
And when you came into my dad’s life, it seemed like he finally had everything he ever wanted. And I wasn’t one of those things.”
My stepmother frowns fully, losing whatever trace of a smile she held onto. “That’s not true at all, Honor.”
Isn’t it? “How many times did he put work before me? How many times did you get saddled with me while I watched his taillights disappear down the road for days at a time when I was supposed to spend time with him? I get that his profession is demanding. I see it now more than ever since accepting a position with the team and seeing the season schedule. But try making a kid understand that when she was already ditched by one parent.”
Years of anger and sadness bubble in my stomach, threatening to boil over like a pot of water left on the stove. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, refusing to let the past clench its talons around me.
“Sweetie, your father knew you needed stability in your life,” Sylvia counters.
“If he’d taken you with him every time he had a game, you wouldn’t have had any routine.
He wanted to give you a life that your mother couldn’t.
That meant he had to leave you with me until he could come back. It wasn’t easy for him.”
I scoff in disbelief. “I’m sure it was hard. That’s why he didn’t call when he was away or apologize for going.”
“It was,” she argues firmly. If she could pin me with a look right now, I’m sure she would.
“I know for a fact he called multiple times, but you’d lock me out of your room and never open the door when he was on the phone.
And I don’t blame you, Honor. I know you’re upset with him.
You had an unfair childhood and feel like he picked his job over you.
But he was trying his best to be a good dad in the only way he knew how.
He didn’t want to contribute to the chaos that your mother put you through.
The things that he’s done, he’s done for you. ”
I stare at my lap, my fingers locked around themselves.
She used to knock on my door at night and ask me if she could come in, but I don’t remember if she’d ever said that my father was on the phone.
Would I have cared? Probably not. I acted out because it was the only way I knew how to react to things.
I’d throw tantrums. I’d lock myself in my room and refuse to eat; refuse to talk to her.
I was mean to her more than I should have been and justified it for years.
It was easier to stay irritated at my father rather than see his side of things because my mother always blamed him for how their relationship ended.
“I needed to get out, baby,” she’d tell me as she brushed my hair.
“He wasn’t good for us. He gave up on us.
We deserve better than him. And I’m going to find someone better. ”
Except, she was never searching for someone better for us, only for her.
For someone smart enough to see how her mother functions, I never realized the manipulation she put me through my whole life.
If it weren’t for her, would I have a better relationship with my father?
Would I have tried to forgive him? To see his side of things?
Sylvia’s hand touches mine briefly before going back to the wheel.
“I will never replace your mother and father,” she tells me earnestly.
“But that will never change that I’m here if you need me.
I didn’t get a chance to have kids of my own, so I’ve always considered you my daughter.
I know you have Isabella, that you’ve thought of her as a second mom to you, but one day I hope you consider me in your corner too. ”
There’s a lot to unpack here, and it’s going to take a lot longer than the time I have left in the ride with her.
If she’s willing to look past my bratty behavior, shouldn’t I give her the same courtesy? Trying is the least I can do.
So, after clearing my throat and fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, I say, “Okay.”
It’s a promise to try, and her smile reappears as if it never left.
I clear my throat. “But I’m not carrying the rape whistle.
Sylvia laughs. “That’s fine.”