Chapter 35 Michelle My Chemical Romance
MICHELLE: MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE
Melanie already had the bottle open when I walked into the kitchen, having accurately anticipated my mood. Whatever was in that bottle was expensive, amber, and overkill. A five-dollar flask would have done the job.
“Fancy,” I said, lowering myself to the stool, a heaviness to my movements.
Even the scalding shower I’d just taken wasn’t enough to erase the sights and sounds of the day.
Jake’s face on the poster. Scott’s impassioned plea.
The judgment launched my way. Quinn’s terrified little “Mommy?” echoes in my skull.
Today, like every other day since Jake had gone missing, was just one long, breathless crawl from sunrise to whatever passed for sleep.
“Only the finest.” She poured generously and then slid the glass toward me. By the looks of it, she was already a few drinks in.
I didn’t pick it up, instead I studied the bottle and wondered how Melanie had procured it when she barely left the house.
“Did Scott pick this up for you?”
She gave a dismissive laugh. “Uh. No. This particular brand is well above his pay grade.”
There it was—the subtle dig. She’d never approved of my marriage, but when we were thriving with our six kids, two jobs, and an average Joe charmed life, there was nothing for her to sink her teeth into. Now there was, however misplaced the criticism.
I chose to ignore it. “So how did you get it?”
“I sent for it. The county’s only five-star restaurant personally delivered it.”
“You gave our address out to a stranger?” My eyes narrowed. “With Kyle in the house?”
She was taken aback by the accusation. “Michelle, the whole county knows where you live. Hell, most of them are currently on your front lawn.”
She was referring to the roving group of reporters who’d set up camp in front of the house. They were dwindling in numbers, but there were a few hearty ones still there.
“Besides, I would’ve asked your husband, but he’s always disappearing. For hours on end.”
I stiffened. “He’s out searching for Jake.”
She made a small noise, something between a scoff and a sigh. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
I turned toward her slowly. “That’s what it is.”
She swirled her drink, gaze lowered but pointed. “He leaves you here alone with all of this. With the kids… with the press… with the fallout. And then he shows up and acts like the savior.”
“He’s not leaving me alone. I have you,” I said sharply. “And he’s doing everything he can to bring our boy home. No one could ask for a better father.”
“He just let Keith walk out the door.”
“Is that a problem?”
“He was going out to get stoned, so yeah, I’d say so.”
I sighed and lowered my head. We’d been dealing with Keith’s pot addiction, and more, since middle school, when he’d fallen in with the wrong crowd…
and then become their leader. It didn’t help that he was a funny stoner.
Any program we put him in to scare him straight turned into a munchie-centric stand-up routine.
His first group counseling session in rehab: I’m trying to be open and honest, but all I can think about is nachos.
His time in jail waiting for us to bail him out: So, hypothetically…
if someone wanted Hot Cheetos, how many cigarettes would that cost?
We’d thought we had him back on track, but Jake’s kidnapping had derailed him. “It’s not your place to critique our parenting.”
“I wasn’t critiquing yours. I was critiquing your husband’s.”
“Even worse. Be careful, Melanie, because if you ask me to take sides, I’ll choose his.”
“Oh, I know.” She took another drink, her controlled polish slipping with every sip of her drink. “Let’s just hope you still have a place to live.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He hasn’t been to work in two weeks.”
“Because his son is missing!”
Melanie raised her brows and took another drink. Why did she always insist on turning my husband into the villain?
“His coworkers pooled their vacation time. People on his route have donated money. That’s how much they love him.”
She looked up then, and the pity in her eyes made my stomach twist. “But is that really enough? What happens in a month from now? In six months? Will they still be financially supporting him? You could lose the house. Then what?”
“What would you have him do, Melanie? Give up? Pretend his—our—son doesn’t matter?” Tears filled my eyes. “Just chalk Jake up as a loss?”
Melanie never said it outright, but I knew.
She thought Jake was dead. That Scott’s hope was delusion, not devotion.
And though I’d never admit it, part of me did too.
The statistics were brutal. Children taken by strangers rarely survived the first night; and Jake had been gone fourteen.
Jake was strong, but strength doesn’t beat the odds or a loaded gun.
“Of course not,” she said. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
I sighed, too worn to challenge her, and picked up my drink, tossing it back. The liquor burned going down. I deserved that. Melanie poured more, warming to her role.
“You want to talk about what happened at the press conference?” she asked.
“Not really. Why? What did you hear?”
“Emma filled me in.”
I took another drink.
“The media… they’re vultures,” I said. “They think I deserve this because I won’t perform for them. Because I don’t cry on cue. Like that somehow means I don’t love my son. Like I’m not dying inside.”
“Because people like them don’t understand people like us,” Melanie said. “They don’t understand composure or how you hold grief in place. To them, restraint looks cold, and stoicism looks suspicious. And what happened today? They’ll turn it into something it’s not.”
I nodded, taking another sip to dull the sting.
“Well… at least the press hasn’t connected this to us,” she said. “Small mercies.”
“Us?”
“The Carver name,” she clarified. “But you’ve always lived… under the radar.”
I frowned. “Why does that matter?”
“Because imagine the implications if they realized the missing boy splashed across the news was a Carver grandson.” Melanie shrugged, too casually. “You should be grateful it hasn’t gotten out.”
She gave a small, dismissive laugh, like her time here was a social call and not a witness to the total destruction of my life. Did she not grasp what I’d lost—or did she simply not care?
“My son was forcibly taken, Melanie. Maybe even kill—” I stopped myself, the words catching in a sob. “Let that sink in. I hope you’re not suggesting Jake is, in any way, an embarrassment to the family.”
“No. Of course not,” Melanie said, visibly unnerved by my outburst. “I’m saying it’s better for everyone if certain… associations stay quiet.”
“That’s my son,” I snapped. “Not an ‘association.’ Not something you manage.”
“I’m not saying that,” Melanie exhaled, irritation flickering across her face. “I’m saying emotions are running high and you’re hearing things I’m not actually saying.”
“I don’t know. It sounded pretty clear to me.”
“You chose a different life, Michelle.” Her tone was tight and defensive.
“You stepped away. Raised your kids without any of the safety nets you grew up with. The reality is, Jake would never have been taken if he lived in the Carver bubble. Not with our security. Not with our resources. My kids are safe.”
“You think I did this to him?”
“Michelle, stop. You know what I meant.”
“No. I don’t,” I said, teetering on the edge. “Help me understand.”
“Yours were”—she hesitated just long enough to make it worse—“vulnerable. If you’d just followed Mother’s plan and left Scott like you were supposed to—”
“Half my children wouldn’t exist,” I cut her off.
She held my gaze, her voice deadly calm. “Nor would Jake.”
The breath left my body. Of all the things she could have said, why that? Anger surged through me as I struggled to respond.
My sister didn’t wait. “If we’d made it to the clinic…”
“Don’t.” I slammed the glass down so hard that liquid amber splashed across the counter. “Don’t you dare.”
Melanie exhaled through her nose—the exact sound our mother made when we were being irrational children. “Michelle… you know it’s true. He never would have been born.”
A sick silence settled between us. How could she be so cruel—weaponizing a choice I’d carried quietly for years and twisting it into proof that Jake’s disappearance was somehow my deserved punishment?
From the day I’d felt him kick inside me, Jake was mine.
He was loved and alive. I had never regretted his birth—not once.
Never beaten myself up for the decision I’d made back then because it didn’t matter.
I’d brought Jake into the world, and he was a miracle. Just like every one of my children.
“Leave,” I whispered.
Melanie opened her mouth, voice already sharpening with that familiar, long-practiced patience. “I’m only saying what’s—”
“Leave!” I snapped, cutting her off.
“I’ll leave,” she replied calmly, lifting her glass, “when I’m finished with my drink.”
“You’ll leave now!” I shouted, knocking the drink out of her hand and sending it smashing into the wall.
Melanie sat motionless, her hand curled like the glass was still in it.
For a second, I thought she might say something else.
Something worse. But Scott rushed in, placing himself in the middle of our war.
“God dammit, Melanie. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Scott’s response made clear he’d heard every word from the other room.
She held a hand up to him. “This is between my sister and me.”
“Nah,” Scott said, not budging. “This is between you and my family. And you’re done here.”
Melanie hesitated, then stood. No apology. No eye contact. She brushed past me and left.
Scott was there immediately, his arms tightening around me as I let go, crying in broken, breathless sobs.