“They’re my parents,” he said quietly, staring into the mug to seek some wisdom. “I’m the only child they could have, because I messed up my mother’s body so that they couldn’t have any more kids.”
She hummed. “And how long do you think you should be paying for something that you didn’t do on purpose, because you were literally being born, an infant with no control over what happened in that delivery room?”
Mark exhaled long and hard. “I don’t know. I’m afraid they’ll come here if I start ignoring them.”
“If you told Sheriff Newman that you don’t want them in town because they’re extremely abusive”—she held a hand up to stop him from objecting—“he would make sure you don’t have to deal with them. And Mark, they’re making you miserable. Even from two thousand miles away, they’re still destroying your life, bit by bit. They are horrible parents and you shouldn’t have to have anything do with them.” She spoke with such force and barely-hidden anger that he knew this was her being a friend too, and not just her professional opinion.
“I know… it’s just….”
“It’s just what, Mark? Every time something good happens in your life, you question it. Every time. And then you self-sabotage either on purpose or without realizing what you’re doing, because every fucking Wednesday most of the forward steps are wiped out of existence when they call you to pull you back into their pit of hatred.”
She was right. It was nothing he didn’t know. “But how do I… how do I end this?” he asked weakly.
“You tell them not to call you anymore. You tell them you don’t want anything to do with them, so they better stay out of your life.” The vehemence in her tone gave him strength. Then she softened her voice and smiled. “It doesn’t have to be this week or next week. It’s just something you have to do eventually for yourself. To give yourself a chance to heal and be happy.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” He sipped his lukewarm tea and sighed, his shoulders dropping as he relaxed for the first time in hours. “I’ll try my best.”
“And communicate with Francis. He clearly cares about you and wants to be with you. Just remember that people have their own ghosts and they don’t always tell you everything that’s happened to them in life.”
“I think he hinted at it before in a conversation. That he’d been assaulted. I should’ve known better.”
Evy shook his head. “No, you don’t always get to decide what your brain does and what comes out of your mouth. Besides, if you can’t remember saying it, I’m pretty damn sure your brain wasn’t in your head at that exact moment.” She grinned at him.
Mark groaned. “Evy….”
“What? Just saying.” She giggled and just like that, the last remnants of tension left him.
They watched an episode of some dog-related show on Netflix, and then Evy, after making sure he was fine to be alone, left with a promise to see him at lunch the next day.
Before he tried to fall asleep, Mark sent another text to Francis.
I’m sorry for what happened even if I didn’t have control over it exactly. That shit shouldn’t be in my head to start with. I’m going to work on letting my parents go for good. I can’t live with them in my head.
He tossed and turned for a bit, and then a reply from Francis came through.
Good. I’m glad you recognize that. I’m upset, but I’m not mad at you, I just need some time. Good night, Mark.
Mark sighed. At least there was hope, still.
* * * *
The next day, Francis sent him a text that the Grahams wanted him to work for them and that he’d move in on Thursday. The request for Mark to help him out with the moving was… it was everything.
Not that Francis needed the help, really, because he wasn’t taking more than clothes and some entertainment to the upstairs room that Henrietta had assigned him.
On Wednesday, when Mark’s mother called, he managed to keep her wrath at bay enough to make the call tolerable. He still knew that he needed to make those hard decisions soon. Just not this week.
They took separate cars to the Grahams’ house on Thursday, and when Mark got out of his in the yard, he saw Francis was already there.
He didn’t have time to ring the doorbell, Francis opened the door for him. He stepped out and closed it behind him, then looked at Mark with an inscrutable expression.
Mark walked up the porch steps and stopped in front of Francis.
“Are you okay?” they both asked at the same time.
Without missing a beat, Francis cupped Mark’s cheek and pulled him in for a kiss.
The relief was immense, stronger than Mark could’ve ever anticipated. His knees shook with it, and he let out a small sob that Francis stole from his lips.
