Page 81 of Life, Love, and Other Messes

“I usually take the prize. I’m sorry.”

Lisa shook her head. “You’re not the only one. Do you want to know why I don’t do Christmas?”

I nodded hesitantly.

“Okay then. Christmas Eve when I was eight years old, my father killed my mother in front of my sister and me.”

I felt my jaw drop. “What?”

“Took the axe, five blows. I counted them.”

“Oh Jesus.” My stomach absolutely bottomed out. Nothing in my life was that horrible. Nothing. “Why?” It felt indulgent and wrong, but I had to know.

“She was having an affair with his brother. My dad had planned to do the same to him the next day at the family gathering, but the neighbors heard and the cops took him to jail that night.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “That doesn’t feel like enough. I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s not a time I close my eyes without seeing it. There’s not a day that goes by without remembering just how helpless I felt.”

“How do you even function feeling that way? You’re so positive and together.”

“Years and years of therapy. Years and years of anxiety meds. Finally understanding that nothing was my fault. Finally understanding that this is a part of my history and I can’t change it, but I do have the power to move on and make other people’s lives a little bit better.”

“You’re just…” I stared at my hands. “You’re amazing.”

She shrugged. “Well, now you know.”

“Did you grow up with family?”

“We grew up with my grandparents. They never took us to see my father and he died in jail three years ago.”

“Wow. Are your grandparents still alive?”

She shook her head. “It’s just me and my sister. I told her about you,” Lisa said, cocking one eyebrow. “You know, back when we were together. She’s read three of your books so far.”

“I hope she doesn’t hate them. I just…I can’t imagine going through that. I feel so stupid being fucked up next to that.”

“She loves them. And, Sam…This isn’t a competition. My grandparents couldn’t make everything better, but they did what they could and they gave us a wonderful childhood. They took great care of us and they made me feel worthy and loved every single day. They took us to the beach and taught us all kinds of things we’d never learn in school and they went to every single one of my softball games, even the out-of-town ones in college. I do have some triggers, okay? I do wake up some nights screaming.”

“I bet.”

“What I’m trying to say is you’re not the only one. I suspect you’ve survived some trauma too, beyond what your mother has put you through. You don’t need to tell me about it, you just need to let me know when you need to be held or listened to or just left alone.”

“Most of it is just my stupid brain. Catherine upped my antidepressants the other day. I’ve been off-kilter for a while.”

“I know it. Can we try?”

“To make this work?”

She nodded. “You’re just such an amazing person and you make me feel so good about myself that I don’t want to let go so easily. Anyway, your dog wants it.”

“Yeah, he made that fairly clear. And I’d love to.”

Lisa grinned and gave me a hand up. It took a second to get into a standing position and she gave me an apologetic look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“My boobs are kind of sore.”

“I bet. C’mere.”