“They’re your typical gross, happy family.” She laughs, playing with her hands in her lap in a way that doesn’t make her seem like she would be laughing about anything at all. In fact, she inhales a tiny, shaky breath, but I see it. And then it dawns on me how much she must miss them. “My parents have been married for twenty-eight years. My twin brothers, Mateoand Maverick, they like to act all big and bad, but they’re teddy bears.”
I don’t personally know what it’s like to have siblings, but I’ve always wondered. Especially when I reflect back on my childhood. Would it have been any different if I had brothers or sisters there with me? Would it have been the same? I remember when I was around seven years old, I wished that I had siblings so I didn’t have to take the brunt of the beatings myself. I wished I had someone to share them with.
Now, I feel bad for ever thinking that way.
Her family sounds so nice; I just want to see what could’ve been for me. What my Christmases could’ve looked like if my dad had stayed and my mom had chosen me instead of the drinking and the drugs.
“How old are your brothers?”
“Only two years older.”
No wonder they grew up to be close; her brothers were only two years old when she was born. Children of similar ages typically develop stronger relationships, statistically speaking. They’re reaching milestones and on the same level at the same time.
“Was your mom always…” She trails off, and the way her brows knit together, I can tell she’s rethinking what she’s going to ask me. “Was she ever a normal mom?”
“If she was, I don’t remember.”
It’s quiet for a moment as she takes in my response. I wish I had another one to give her, but it is the truth. There wasn’t a single moment of my childhood that wasn’t me walking around on eggshells or avoiding my mother and whoever she had over at the time by shutting myself in my room. It was like I was always holding my breath.
“And you had to deal with that until you went off to college?” she asks tentatively.
“Until I was fourteen and I got removed from our house. She lost custody of me. I was in foster homes for about four years before I went to Cedar Grove.”
“Oh my…God,” she mumbles, and I feel her staring at the side of my face as I keep my eyes on the road. “Tate, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I can’t imagine how awful that must’ve been.”
It was actually the best thing that could’ve happened to me. Maybe I didn’t know that at the time, but I eventually realized it. Even at fourteen, and even after everything I’d endured in that house, I remember feeling extremely scared to be taken from it. As awful as she was, my mom was still my mom. There was a plethora of discourse thrown into my life after that, which meant more added anxiety because of the dysregulation of my normal routine. It took a while to recognize how much healthier and at ease I felt being in a different environment, but when I did, that’s when I smiled, really big, for the first time…ever.
“Foster care was much better than being with my mom.”
“Really?”
I nod. “The beatings stopped, so I was grateful.”
Sure, I ended up with an older couple who were really strict: TV at certain hours, early bedtime, curfew when I turned sixteen, no cellphone. But all of that beat being at home with my mother, who was passed out drunk on the couch or nodding in her bedroom from her drug of choice for the day.Anythingwas better than getting abused.
“How did you turn out so…good?”
Is that what she thinks I am?Good? I’ve never really thought of myself that way. Smart, maybe, but good… It was hard to think of myself as that under the circumstances in which I was given. I’d like to think I made the best of a bad situation. But Inever felt good all those years it took for me to grow from my experiences. To feel normal.
“I, uh… Well, I don’t know.”
Her hand squeezing my shoulder makes me forget how to breathe for a second as I struggle to pay attention to steering the wheel. It lingers there for a moment, and I almost chance a peek over at her, but it’s gone before I can follow through.
“You just had a whole vulnerable conversation while only stuttering once. Look at you. Are you warming up to me, Tate?”
The playful tone to her voice makes my cheeks warm, but I quickly try to clear my throat in hopes of distracting my knee-jerk reaction to blush every time she teases me.
“I think so,” I say. “I feel…comfortable with you.”
This time, I do look over at her, and the smile she sends me could light up a whole room. The tiny gap between her two front teeth on display, just for me. The freckles dotting her nose in the sunlight beaming through the windows. God, she’s so beautiful.
“I’m comfortable with you, too.”
Her words hit my chest, hard. There’s a weight that sits there as they sink in, but it’s not an uncomfortable weight. It’s a reassuring one. One that feels good. And I think for the first time in my whole life, I finally feel like I have a friend.
