One time. Her mom thought this was a one-time thing. As if she didn’t do this every time she spoke to Audrey. As if she hadn’t spent Audrey’s whole life doing this.
Part of her mind threw up the eight-year-old version of herself. She wasn’t sure exactly why it was that particular age, but, whenever she talked about things that happened when she was growing up, it was always that version she saw dealing with her family. Here she was again, desperately aware that her mother’s behavior was not a one-time thing, that she hadn’t left to get attention. She’d given up on wanting that from her family a long time ago. It never meant anything good.
She looked around the room. It was the bedroom of a child who’d been loved. One who was allowed to be her own person,who could have friends, who didn’t have to be perfect because her mother understood she was her own person and needed to make mistakes. It was still the bedroom—if only occasionally—of a daughter whose mother loved her, celebrated her, and saw her as more than what her child could do for her reputation.
Audrey’s mom kept yelling in her ear. It was all about her.
She shivered. The idea of going back there was not manageable. She couldn’t stay here, but, tomorrow, she’d look into getting a flight home before Sunday.
The way her heart raced achingly in her chest, feeling too big for the space it had, made her feel like she’d throw up. With her free hand, she started tapping. It hurt. That was manageable.
“Audrey,” Hallie said softly, reaching out to take the phone.
“I need to listen—”
“No,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “You don’t.”
“She’ll know if I didn’t.”
“I promise she won’t.” Her tone suggested she wished Michele Sinclair would know, that she deserved to know.
Audrey stared at her and handed the phone over. It didn’t feel good, but neither did listening. She wished she knew how to get to that space of not caring—of wanting her mom to know she wasn’t subjecting herself to the pain of listening.
She cleared her throat. “I have to explain to them. They’ve all left messages…”
Hallie shook her head again. “I’ll call River.”
“They’ll be angry.”
“Audrey,” she said again, taking both of Audrey’s hands as she stood in front of her, “they’re already angry. There is nothing you can do that’s going to stop them being angry. It’s who they are and what they do in these situations. It’s not about who you are.”
“But I have to fix it, have to…” What? Whatcouldshe do? She’d left. They hurt her, she kept coming back. She’d steppedaway one time and they were demanding she return, accusing her of never coming around and then running away when she finally did. But people didn’t put themselves in dangerous situations more than they had to. How could she possibly come around more often? “What do I do?”
Hallie’s smile was gut-wrenching as she wiped at the tears on Audrey’s face. “Look after yourself.”
“I don’t know how,” she said through a bitter, broken laugh.
“Then let me do it, until you’re able to.”
Every part of Audrey wanted to object, to insist she was fine and could handle it. But this was the same thing she went through with Zora after seeing her family. Inexplicably, they cared enough to pick up the pieces her family tore her into. It wasn’t their responsibility but they were there.
Hallie squeezed her hands tightly, careful to avoid her fingertips. “You are not required to serve yourself up as their punching bag.”
“I don’t know…”
“I’m giving you permission,” Hallie said seriously, “to choose yourself. Until you’re ready to give yourself permission, I’m giving it to you. You don’t have to let them hurt you. Nothing you’ve ever done means you deserve that.”
Audrey swallowed hard. It hurt. She’d spent her whole life waiting for permission. She knew she was the only one who could really give it, but just hearing Hallie say it mattered. Hallie was someone new in her life, someone who’d seen her and her family, who’d met them first, and was still saying what they were doing was wrong. She didn’t think Audrey was a terrible person for wanting out of it. She didn’t think it was Audrey’s fault.
“I don’t know why I need them to love me so much,” Audrey said, her voice barely audible as she attempted to swallow back her tears.
“Because they’re your family and they raised you on serving them and sacrificing yourself. But it’s not your fault, and you get to choose yourself now.”
“Okay.” Audrey wasn’t sure how long she’d manage it—hurting herself by being around them was terrible but it still felt better than hurting them or making them angry. But, for tonight, she could take the permission Hallie was giving her.
“Okay,” Hallie repeated, and she gestured to the bed. “Do you want to sit down?”
Audrey hesitated. She did, but, right now, outside clothes, dirt, bed…
