This time it was how I reached across the table for food when Jacob apparently wanted it. And the two times I didn’t lower my spoon softly enough, and I looked ugly when I showed too much of my teeth when I smiled, and, of course, how I responded unfavorably to the topic of school and writing.
Iknewshe wouldn’t let it go. I saw her response coming from a mile away.
Apply to school now so you actually have a future.
It’s time to give up and move on to the next open door. God is giving you a second chance.
You have to remember that one day you’ll have kids, and you want to be a mother they can be proud of.
I roll onto my side, hugging the comforter. My thumbs hover over the screen. I don’t know what to reply to Thomas with.
It’s easy for him to say all that when he has a mother like Agnes, and a family who supports him that he gets along with. Thomas is a happy person, and happy people just don’t get it. They can’t relate to anything because they haven’t experienced trauma, or the internal battle of doing something as simple as getting out of bed or showering because the mind is too heavy or blank.
My phone vibrates in my hand. I tense, expecting to see something from Mom or Thomas, but as it turns out, not even a text from Leo can cheer me up.
Leo: I doubt Costco sells acid strong enough to hide a body. I’d rather you prove me wrong. It’d be good knowledge to have. For legal reasons, obviously.
It takes me a second to recall what he’s talking about. My last message to him was before his away game and was loosely around research I was doing for my book. I guess the game has ended now. And I didn’t even have it playing in the background like I usually do.
Taking a deep breath, I fire off the only thing I can think of saying.
Mina: It’d be convenient.
Leo: A woodchipper and a nice big lake would be a good alternative. Messy. But possible. Could buy one secondhand or get one on hire, then do a thorough clean down.
Mina: Yeah. Good point.
This time, my hands tremble when I click Send. There’s a voice at the back of my head whispering that he’s going to stop talking to me forever now that he knows I’m a pathetic, sad mess. Despite the fear ringing in my head, I can’t muster up anything else to say.
I’m empty. I’m upset. I’m hurt. I’m feeling sorry for myself, and I don’t know how to make my mom love me.
Leo: In the alternative, concrete. The evidence won’t permanently disappear, but no one is about to find it.
Mina: Ooh. Smart.
Leo: Okay, start talking. Your messages haven’t been longer than three words.
I drop my head back against the pillow and stare up at the pitch-black ceiling, debating whether to admit I’m not infallible or perfect, and that I have baggage no life raft is going to fit.
Our entire relationship has been built on false pretenses, and I’m exhausted from wading through all my lies. I’m vulnerable and delicate, and I don’t want to keep being someone else I’ll never be.
Mina: It’s my mother.
I hold my breath and wait for a response that comes far quicker than I expect.
Leo: Ah. The reason you’re comfortable with messaging strangers online.
His message makes me huff out a laugh. I think my father can take some blame for that too.
If only Leo knew just how comfortable I am with things involving him.
Mina: Do you have the same brand of mommy issues that makes you do the same?
A ghost of a smile plays at my lips as I hit Send, and the voice that was whispering in my ear disappears. I don’t think Leo is going to hate me for being me.
Leo: Seeing as I haven’t spoken to either one of my parents since I left high school, I hate to say I can throw daddy issues into the mix.
That makes sense. The last time I found a photo of them together was almost a decade ago. But I’m still surprised. He and Sabrina are two peas in a pod with how much they hang out.
