Chapter 41
Forty-One
That night was the first time it’d been just my parents and me in ages. I always brought Natalie or Wells around, an act that
filled the missing planet in our family orbit for just a little while. Tragedies might erase someone from the system, but
their shape didn’t change. They still needed that missing piece or tool to function. Mom and Dad weren’t on social media,
and I wasn’t sure if my link to Sabrina would hit the news cycle and if so, how quickly, but the threat was imminent enough
that I knew I had to do something about it.
I ordered Italian takeout, purposefully not getting fish because Dad hated eating it outside of what he brought home, and
put on blues music he liked. We sat in the living room beneath blankets. If relief tasted like Italian takeout, I’d order
it more often.
“So what now?” Dad asked when we finished eating. Ever practical.
“Not much on the personal side. Wells is canceling the wedding for real this time.” I stacked cardboard and plastic into a
compact pile. “Plus, I’m already moved into this place. If this doesn’t work out . . .”
“You’ll move home,” Mom said firmly.
“I don’t think it’ll come to that.” I’d sooner land in Natalie’s guest cove. I nudged Mom with my foot. “But if it ever did,
then thank you. One rough thing now will be canceling the network special for real, though.”
“You know,” Dad said, “your mother told me I couldn’t get involved when you got back with Wells—”
My shoulders slumped. I put on the kettle.
“We were worried,” Dad finished, throwing Mom a look. He paused. “That guy reeks of cologne, and if there’s one thing I know
about artificial scent, it’s that it repels fish.”
“I’m not a fish, Dad.”
“Nope.” His smile was rueful. “You’re an entertainer.”
My heart squeezed, the lyrics to that song from Gypsy funneling back to me all at once.
Dad rubbed his chin. “I guess what I’m trying to say is: I just want my kid to be happy in the little moments.”
Without Wells, I’d certainly be happier. Wouldn’t I? I was definitely relieved. My rib cage tightened. Once early bliss wore
off, it was human nature—at least, it was, before Soulmail—to wonder if you were with the right person, if you were happy, but could be happier. With Wells, I’d been
content. And the scary thing about leaving him was that maybe the universe somehow knew this.
“Well, that’s easy to want,” I settled on saying. I sat on the couch, rearranged the throw blankets.
“I’m not even going to pretend to know how to use this thing,” Mom said, handing me the remote.
I groaned. “At least pretend to not be the stereotype.”
Dad jumped up. “Didn’t you say there’s a wobbly shelf in your bedroom?”
I rolled my eyes, but gratitude relaxed my shoulders. “Yeah, the one beside the door.”
“Let me take a look. Where are your tools?”
I said nothing and wiggled my eyebrows.
“Got to get you a level,” Dad muttered. He vanished.
I made Mom and I chamomile tea, and we put on Netflix. An ad for a new Nick-and-Vanessa-Lachey-hosted reality dating show
popped up. Without warning, I finally burst into tears.
Mom fumbled to put the steaming mug on my rickety side table, the one with three legs that toppled over when someone sighed too hard.
When my sobs quieted to the occasional hitch, Mom stroked my neck the way she did when I was a child.
“Good,” she said. “This is good, my love. Let it out. It’s been quite the life lately, hasn’t it? ” Her words only made me cry harder.
“Yeah.” I sat up and scrubbed my cheeks of tears. “I’m so relieved. But something’s still so off. What if the universe was
right, and I’m making the wrong choice?”
“Oh, sweetheart. The fact that you made the choice is something I’ll admire about you for the rest of my life.” Mom’s fingertips
stilled. “Are you a little angry that your sister is mine?”
I paused. Part of me might be. But a different piece of me—the better one, or at least the more generous one—knew that in
the long run, I’ve had a much more fulfilled life than Sabrina did. Addiction at such a young age was a nearly impossible
climb, one that many people can’t shake loose from. I was so grateful that I wasn’t in its grasp, and the most mature parts
of me knew that Sabrina deserved someone like Mom. “Not really. But I’m sad. You deserve to have her here. You were the best
gift the universe could have given her. And I know how much you and Dad hate someone else bringing her up.”
“Olivia,” Mom said. It was half-admonishing, half-loving, my name coming out throaty and thick. “No matter what Soulmail says,
we all deserve to have our person here. Please believe me when I say that the reminder of Sabrina isn’t what’s painful. We
hold that pain every day.”
I nipped at the inside of my lower lip, looked everywhere but at her. “It must have been so hard to lose a child.”
“Impossible.” Her smile was sad. “We didn’t want you to know what happened when she died.”
“I didn’t want you to know what happened when she died!”
My mother stilled like someone had put her on pause. “You knew?”
I nodded, recounted research class for her. “You guys did, too? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, love, you’ve been carrying this too long. We always intended to give you more details, but they’re just so painful, so
we chose to protect you instead.” After a moment, she licked her lips. “Time changes with tragedy, with grief. Or maybe they
change time.”
“I—” My breath caught in my throat. “I tried to do everything I could to fix things for you and Dad.”
The corners of her eyes softened. “We know.”
“You do?”
“Oh, Livi.” She sighed. “Of course. Your childhood was a series of one-act plays, stand-up sets, and everything you could
think of. Parts of us were so grateful for it, and parts of us were saddened by it.” She tilted her head in thought. “We thought
it was just how you coped.”
Every square inch of me had carried the consequence of living. “I just wanted you to be happy,” I said quietly. “I felt enormous
pressure.” Pressure. I was stricken. My life as their entertainer, my life as one now: both pressures I didn’t want to hold. “Mom?” My eyes filled
with fresh tears.
Her gaze was intent. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“I hated that Sabrina’s story made it onto social media without anyone running it by me first. The network promised me this
documentary opportunity. . .” I summarized my addiction and Soulmail idea for her. “But Samantha’s right. We probably need
more time to understand how Soulmail impacts recovery. I’m out of ideas.”
Mom thought for a moment. “I understand your desire to keep Sabrina’s specific story out of it,” she said.
“But don’t forget, Olivia, you’re a person with your own story, too.
If you wanted to pursue that idea further, maybe you could create something that’s new-ish.
There must be pros and cons to Soulmail’s impact on addiction.
The right soulmate could give someone a sense of purpose, but what if people become overly reliant on their soulmate?
What if learning their soulmate’s identity is a substance trigger?
Or what if they feel pressured to fulfill the needs of their soulmate at the cost of their own recovery?
That could be interesting to explore, and to anticipate.
” She shrugged. “Everything is complicated.”
Everything is complicated: the Olivia Adler story. “Those are great points,” I said. I could feel my brain firing the options.
I stood to retrieve my notebook.
Dad reappeared. “You really need to use wall anchors,” he grumbled.
My mother reached to clasp my arm. “I wish you hadn’t felt the need to try to save us, honey. We never wished for you to be
our entertainer. We only wanted you to thrive. You’re enough, just being you.”
Just being me. I could do something else and be okay. The thought settled, turned over, rooted in my gut. And for the first
time since Soulmail, I felt like if I made one more big choice, I could slip from that fake dimension, see the glimmer of
the person I used to be.