I could have continued my free-loader existence at my parents house but Nita also suggested a sense of independence would be beneficial for my healing. And routine would be helpful to balance my ups and downs. So I took a job at a local coffee shop called Mt. Hood Coffee Roasters (that name didn’t require a lot of brain cells to come up with). It’s mediocre work that numbs my mind and keeps me busy. I spent the first couple weeks facing every person I’ve ever met in town, and all their questions about the last few years.
“Oh, you’re back with your parents?”
“We thought you ran off. What happened?”
“Really? The Alder brothers? Those freaks?”
“I can’t believe you’re still alive.”
Neither can I.
I took all of my willpower not to berate every person who badmouthed Dylan and Jason in the shop. Despite how things ended, I’ll still defend those misunderstood boys to anyone who dares to speak ill of them. They aren’t freaks. They shouldn’t be outcasts. They’re the most authentic and honorable men I’ve ever met. I just wish others could see it.
I haven’t seen either of them in town since I’ve been back. I didn’t expect to see Jason ever again, but I thought I’d at least see Dylan getting groceries or at the bar, maybe. A part of me even thought he’d find out I worked at the coffee shop and would come to see me. But it’s been radio silence for two months. I haven’t seen Dylan since he hugged me, told me Jason loved me, and left me at my parents house.
I’ve thought about leaving again several times, too ashamed to stay, too heartbroken to think about the man I loved living a short drive up the mountain in the same county as me. Does proximity make it harder to forget? Or will I be emotionally scarred by the events of this winter for the rest of my life? I don’t know where I’d go if I left or what I would do to make a fresh start. It’s not like I make enough at the coffee shop to get myown place in town either. The town is so small there aren’t any apartment buildings so the only housing is rental houses that no one can afford on a single income let alone minimum wage. And the idea of roommates is just as bad as living with my parents so I’m coasting through life, at the moment, and my current circumstances.
I work the morning shift on Saturdays, so it’s only one in the afternoon by the time I make it back to my parent’s house. I’ve never really called it home because it doesn’t feel like home.
The cabin on the mountain where a brooding, pigheaded man lives feels more like home.
I try not to think about the things I miss but sometimes I can’t help it. When I walk into the kitchen and start making lunch I miss how we used to make all our meals together, eat them together, clean together. I’ve read found family books before but having one is indescribably more significant than it feels reading about it. It’s hard to explain how unexpected friends can fill a void you didn’t realize existed in the first place.
The housekeeper stocks the fridge with pre-made meals for the weekend in organized, identical containers so my mother never has to do more than operate the microwave. But I asked her if she could start getting sandwich ingredients from the store on her weekly trips so I could make my own. Making breakfast and lunch for myself has been a little comfort that gives me a sense of normalcy. Nita thought that was a great idea and commended me for it.
I’m layering Turkey and cheese onto sourdough bread (I miss making bread too) atop the marble countertops when my mother walks past the kitchen and wrinkles her nose at the menial task she considers beneath us.
“How was work?” She asks me. It’s part of our new routine. She thinks the idea of me working when I don’t have to is absurd, but tolerates it regardless. Every day when I get back from work, she asks how it was and I supply the same answer each time.
“Fine.” Today I add, “One of the steamers stopped working which caused some back up but we managed.”
Judging by the perplexed look on her face, I doubt she knows what asteamer is.
“When is your next session with Dr. Riley?”
“Monday.” It varies based on my work schedule.
“And how’s that going?” Even though she’s the one who suggested therapy, she acts like it’s a stain on her reputation. Now that I’m not the accomplished straight A student excelling in multiple extracurricular activities and volunteering on the weekends, I’m useless in her world. I was ornamentation on her wall of bragging rights but my color has faded so what’s the point of even having a daughter now? I guess my purpose has run its course.
“It’s good. Nita is wonderful. She’s been really great with helping me move on from this winter and a lot of the things that happened before it.”
“Before it? What on earth do you need to talk about in therapy before your trauma this winter? You didn’t have any issues before then.”
Is she serious?If you listen close enough, you can hear something in my brain snap.
“I don’t know, how about the pressure of being perfect for you and Dad and never feeling good enough? Or the fact that my boyfriend cheated on me? Oh, or the part where I was so lost I decided to drive off a bridge and got into an accident in the snow instead?”
I didn’t mean for that last part to slip. But in the heat of the moment my momentum propelled my tongue into speaking faster than my brain could keep track of.
She stares at me wide-eyed and slack-jawed, like I’ve just transformed into a different species before her very eyes.
Of course, that’s the moment my father chooses to return from his golf game at the country club and walks into my little outburst.
“What’s the meaning of this?” He speaks with more curiosity than annoyance, which is new for him. He hasn’t asked me much about this winter other than confirming I wasn’t taken advantage of by the “outcasts.” I put a hard stop to that rumor immediately. As angry as I might be, I’m not going to let people believe Jason is a rapist. Or Dylan, even though I’m pretty sure the whole town knows I’m not his type. But I’ve observed thatwhen people want to crucify someone, the facts don’t matter.
My mom ignores Dad’s question to keep her focus on me.
“Mara, I…we didn’t kn…why didn’t you say anything?”
