Bear is at the table again with his Switch. Tyr is on the couch in the living room watching what my mom put on, which is HGTV. She’s in the kitchen pouring herself a second glass — half a glass, not the whole bottle.
“I should head out,” I say.
“Already?”
I nod. “I’m tired. I had a long week.” That’s an understatement of what I’m feeling in my chest.
“Okay, honey.”
I go around the table to Bear. He pauses the Switch and stands up to hug me. He hugs me harder than he usually does.
“See you on Wednesday?” I say. “Call if you need anything.”
Tyr stands up off the couch when he sees me leaving, which is, I’m sorry, the most old-fashioned move I have ever seen in this house. He waves, keeping his hand up.
“Thanks for coming to dinner, Lucy. Drive safe.”
“Thanks. You too.” I hide the wince I feel happening in my body. I blink, looking at Bear. He doesn’t say anything.
I turn to my mom and hug her. She holds it longer than she usually does.
“Plan to come back next weekend if you can.”
“For dinner again?” I ask, trying not to sound surprised.
“Yeah,” she smiles.
“I’ll try.”
“Drive safe.”
She closes the door after me. I hear the deadbolt slide.
I get in my car and drive. I make it to the end of the road before my chest starts to heave. When I pull onto the main road, every fiber of me falls to pieces. My heart feels like it’s shattering. And it’s not because of how nice the night was, it’s the reason why it wasnice. My mom always told me that I was her first true love, and now I know that she’s a liar. If she loved me, she wouldn’t have dragged Bear and me through the mud. If she cared about me as a person, she would have cooked every night. I’m not mad that Tyr showed up out of nowhere and is inspiring her to be better. I’m hurt that she couldn’t be better without the outside reinforcement. What does that say about her? What does it say about me that I’m being so emotional about it? I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand and sniffle. It does nothing to relieve the resentment inside of me. It’s a muscle that I’ve built year by year. And I thought this year was going to be the tipping year. By the time I’m exiting I-94, I have no self-restraint to hold it back anymore. I ugly cry and sob while hitting my steering wheel.
“Why?” I cry. I lean forward and focus on driving. The tears are making everything blurry.
I am crying because she could’ve done it.
She could’ve done it the whole time.
She could cook chicken. She could ask me a follow-up question about what I was studying. She could hug me. She could’ve done it, and instead she did it tonight because she found a man. I was twelve years old, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen years old, desperate for this version of her. And it tookhimto do it.
But I’m crying because this is the high, and I know it doesn’t last forever. When the crash happens, I will be the only one left standing. She’ll depend on me to pick up the pieces, and I can’t do it anymore. I’m tired. She’s completely sucked me dry without acknowledging that she has. That’s what hurts the most. How can she drown the one person keeping her afloat, and thena man swims along, and suddenly she’s on a boat, staring down at me?
I pull into the parking spot behind the apartment building, and I turn the car off. My face is hot. My eyes are swollen. My chest hurts in the only way a mother can hurt it. I look in the mirror and wipe my tears from my face.
I’m not better. I’m just done.
The apartment is loud. I can hear it through the door — music, laughter, two voices going. I unlock the door and push it open. Mara is talking over the music to Gianna as Gianna applies mascara. They look cute in their outfits. It smells like the perfume Gianna uses when she’s going out.
Mara looks up. “Lucy, oh my god, this is perfect timing. You need to get ready and come with us.”
Gianna stops to look over. She whips her head in my direction. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I close the front door behind me.
“Lucy, what happened?” Gianna asks while Mara turns down the music.
