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twenty-seven
Hailey
Then…
Finnshouldn’thavecome,and I’m more than thankful I forced him away when I had as soon as I stepped back inside. The water-stained cheeks, snotty nose, and pure misery that adorn my mother’s torn face are all the answers I need.
I made the right decision.
It takes little effort to conclude she’s just gotten off the phone with Dad. Her phone forgotten beside her on the cool tile floor.
I sink to my knees, cradling her as she lets go. Her misery stains my shirt with her tears while I do everything to keep it together for us both.
They told me they were getting divorced because they were tired of holding the other back. A mutual decision on both parts. But if that’s the case, why is my mother sitting here absolutely destroyed?
The fury I have about all of this reigniting so strongly I might detonate.Iwas happy. How were they not?
Lies.
Lies.
Lies.
All of it.
My entire life, one big fatlie.
Slouching, my mother’s posture was so bad she was nearly horizontal before I reached for her underneath the front of the kitchen island. I swear my heart was literally torn from my chest at the sight.
Too stunned to do anything other than breathe, my eyes become glued to the baseboards. The weight of her sobs causes my eyelids to shutter so fiercely they almost close with the heaviness.
Never in my whole life has my mother ever broken down to the extent she is now. So openly does she let herself go and I want nothing more than to disappear. I can’t stomach the heartache.
“D-do you want to talk about it?” I coax cautiously, having zero understanding if I’m doing any of this right. Is there a right way though? No one offered me a handbook on how to deal with any of this.
Mom’s grip tightens as she says nothing and it’s everything. We used to be able to talk about anything. How much I despised calculus, why sour gummy worms will always be better than regular, even the fucking weather. Now I’m fearful to even ask if she knows what day of the week it is.
The same goes for Dad too. We were so close and now neither of them has any idea what’s going on inside me.
Dying, slowly, I’m being eaten alive from the inside out and they don’t understand because they’re also working through their own grief. Suffocating, I’m being smothered under torture.
I volunteered to come down here with mom, but suddenly I’m wondering if I’ve made the wrong decision. Is my father in as much distress as my mother? If so, I don’t want him to be alone either.
I love them both, even if it feels as if I’m the only one anymore…
Curving my finger, I wipe away a loose droplet from her cheek. Most of her tears have been swallowed by now.
“What did he want?” She doesn’t have to ask who because we both know I mean Dad.
Another tear spills from the other side, and I brush it away as well. I still have no idea how we’ve all fallen so far.
We’re in this brand-new kitchen, and this is my first memory of it. Not cooking a meal, sharing a laugh, no, I wouldn’t dare be granted that mercy. I get mourning, doubt, and sadness.
Glancing around at the recessed lighting, expensive half-put-together furniture, and broken-down boxes, I recognize this is fitting.
This home was never about fun, a vacation, or freedom. This space was only ever meant for one thing, and now it’s permanently in my mind. It will always stay.
It’s a place of retreat. A bailout, a bolt.
