Really, what does someone say in this situation? I hate this? That I know Emmy is too inherently good to be tied up with monsters, that I wish she’d been born to a normal family? Here I am, preaching about taking care of Sabrina, and I can’t even protect my family.
“I know,” she says softly. “It sucks, but that’s life. We don’t get to pick the cards we’re dealt, just make the best of them.” She takes another sip of water, not looking at me. “And sometimes no matter how you play it, there’s no way to win. It’s not your guys’ fault that your parents made shitty choices that left you in a situation that’s impossible to walk away from unscathed.”
Taking a drink, I clear my suddenly dry throat. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You sound like you were speaking from experience.”
She pushes her food around in the container. “Shouldn’t we be getting back to work?”
“Oh, yes, becausenowI’m going to be able to focus.”
Releasing a heavy breath, she flicks her gaze up to mine nervously. “Can it stay between us?”
My chest lurches violently at the timid sound of her voice, and I rub at it with the heel of my palm, mentally screaming at my evil alter ego to settle the fuck down. “Of course.”
“My mother is... intense, to put it mildly. Dad was absolutely amazing and the sweetest person you’d ever met, and balanced her out well.” Licking her lips and turning her attention back to the table, she busies herself closing up containers. “There weren’t even any warning signs. One day he was a happy and healthy thirty year old man, and the next he was dead. Stroke.”
The others already know as much, but I’ll make a note to ensure they don’t hint at anything to try and relate to her unless she explicitly tells them first.
“And with no one to keep her in check anymore, combined with how angry she was-”
“Wait, why was she angry?”
Sabrina looks up, blinking at me like it should be obvious. “The person she loved more than anyone else in the world was ripped away from her. Of course she was angry; anyone would be.”
The person she loved more than anyone? Fuck, Sabrina...
“Anyway,” she continues, like she didn’t just take a stab at my heart with her unintentional admission. “She was suddenly left raising a kid by herself while everything was crashing down around us. Dad took care of most of the repairs around the house, the car, and brought in a decent paycheck. So mom had to figure out how to handle everything herself, downsize to a smaller place to keep us from being homeless, and I-” her gaze cuts to the side “-I struggled to keep up in the beginning.” Suddenly backpedaling, she hastens to defend, “But I caught on pretty quickly. Figured out what could be done more efficiently, and worked out the timing to capitalize on multitasking.”
My brow furrows in confusion.That wasn’t in her file.“What do you mean, keep up?”
She refuses to look at me, moving containers around unnecessarily instead. “She had enough burdens on her plate to deal with without me being another. So when I wasn’t in school, I was either handling the housework, or she’d drag me to work with her. No friends, because they wouldn’t be around in a year anyway; we moved around too much since she lost jobs as often as she found them. My time was better off spent studying different skills, so she’d drop me off at different places to see what I could learn from watching until I was old enough for anyone to actually hire me.”
Silently fuming, I bite my tongue, not wanting to interrupt her while she’s struggling to talk about it, and equally wanting to reach across the table and haul her onto my lap.
“I can appreciate the fact that she never wanted me to be in the position she was; lost and helpless. If I were to be a stay at home mom and my husband suddenly died, I’d be royally fucked if there wasn’t a safety net, and life rarely allows one. It’s smart to know how to adapt to situations instead of sitting down and waiting for someone to save you, or you very well might die waiting, or find yourself in a worse position if the person doesn’t have ‘rescue’ on the brain.”
She takes a deep breath, straightening her spine and facing me head on, and by that look in her eyes, I doubt that anything could prepare me to hear what she’s about to say. “Long story short? She had a habit of dumping me in the middle of nowhere. I’d never get the same supplies twice, sometimes none, and when I finally managed to make it home, I got criticized for how long it took me to make it back.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I snarl.
Startling at my volume, she jerks back, and it’s like a slap in the face. Taking deep breaths, I lean back in my chair to attempt to lessen my threatening presence, to shove my stupid fucking beast back into the recesses of his cage where he belongs. Grabbing my bottle of water, I down half of it before I trust myself to speak.
“Sorry, I-” raking a hand through my hair, I grit my teeth. “You caught me off guard with that one. Why did you keep going back instead of leaving? Telling someone?”
Her face turns into a blank mask, devoid of all traces of emotion, and it’s actually more unnerving than her declaration. “I did, several times. I was told that I was making it up, that there was nothing they could do since I had no proof. And once, that I should be grateful for how much effort she put into teaching me, so I should quit being a whiny little brat since there were kids out there being assaulted that would kill to be in my position.
“After one policeman told my mom that I’d tried to make a report against her, I got all of the fun of her calling me an attention whore. So any time I looked at someone twice, she’d mock me for wanting someone to swoop in and save me, and remind me that I’d be waiting a long damn time because nobody cared. And she was right; they didn’t. So I learned how to save myself and quit hoping that people had any humanity left in them, anymore.
“Left the day I turned eighteen, made it out this way five years ago, and have spent the last eight years unlearning the toxic narrative she put in my head. Her voice crops up from time to time, but I’m at the point where I can identify that my initial response to something triggering is what I was taught to think, and the second thought is actually mine. Been a bumpy road to get here, but I’m in a pretty decent place now, if I do say so myself. Still hard to make more than superficial connections, sort of suck at reading social cues, and I overthink people’s reactions at times. And clearly I don’t know when to stop talking,” she tosses in to try and lighten the suddenly somber mood. “But I’m trying, and her voice isn’t nearly as loud or frequent as it used to be.”
Shoving my chair back, I circle the table before pulling her to her feet, crushing her against my chest. She yelps out a squeak of surprise, but doesn’t shove me away, so I take it as encouragement to tighten my arms around her.
“I’m sorry that it took so long for us to cross paths, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad we did. It’s impressive as hell that you managed to not only survive that without it crushing your spirit, but that you did so alone. I know it doesn’t really mean much since we barely know each other, but I’m incredibly proud of how hard you’ve worked to get here.”
Her throat bobs, silent tears staining my shirt as she takes slow breaths, keeping herself from devolving into sobs. After a few minutes of holding her against me, offering both of us some much needed comfort, she says, “So I appreciate more than I can say that you guys were on board with skipping the awkward new friend stage and going zero to one hundred. That entire concept seems so daunting to me; to spend months or years with someone before it becomes socially acceptable to consider yourself close. I always end up opting out because it seems like a lot of wasted time.”
