by Melody Grace
“That doesn’t mean it’s not worth saving.” I feel a spike of anger again. “I still don’t understand why we have to sell the place. It’s been in mom’s family for years.”
“Oh god, not this again.” Carina rolls her eyes, reaching for her wine. “We’ve been through it. It’s a run-down shack in the middle of nowhere. What’s the point of hanging on to the past?”
“Because it matters,” I cry. “How can you say that? Don’t you care about all the memories of Mom?”
“Those aren’t the only memories you have there.” Carina gives me a spiteful smile, and I freeze in panic. She’s going to bring up Emerson right now?
But my dad interrupts before she can say anything. “I know you have an attachment to the place, but it’s time to put away childish things,” he says, patronizing. “The realtor says we can get a good price if we sell now.”
“Actually, she says we’d do better if we wait.” I can’t help but point out. “What’s the rush, anyway? Did you blow another loan skiing in Aspen? Or are the debt collectors finally after you?”
There’s a shocked silence. I don’t usually come right out and say things like this, but I’m on edge right now, and sick of all this dancing around the truth.
“That’s hardly dinner-table conversation,” my dad replies, but his lips are pressed tightly together, and he looks mad as hell.
Good.
“He’s right.” Daniel lets out an awkward laugh. “How about we talk about something else? Alexander, how are things at the office? You said you had a new client.”
Daniel steers them into mindless small-talk again, and I feel him relax beside me, like disaster has been averted. But I sit frozen in my seat, every muscle I have tensed hard and angry. I want to scream at him, or shake him, anything to make him notice the years of silent bullshit lurking in this room. But it’s no use. He just doesn’t see how supremely fucked up my family is. Sure, we’re fine on the surface, but everything underneath is broken and rotted.
Ugly.
Emerson understood. He knew there are a thousand different ways to be crazy. His family were the loud, fucked up kind. Trailer trash, he called himself, like it was a fact. His mom was an addict—still is, I guess. She dipped in and out of rehab and twelve-step programs for years, but always came undone in the end. She took off for good with some asshole when he was eighteen, leaving him with two younger siblings to raise. I guess compared to that, my family problems were a luxury, but Emerson never saw it like that.
The way he put it, hurt is hurt, pain is pain, and crazy is crazy. Doesn’t matter if someone’s getting drunk off cheap tequila or expensive wines, or out sleeping with druggie assholes or douchebag lawyers to fill the emptiness inside. It’s all the same. And the damage they leave behind is just as bad.
It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with him four years ago. I finally felt like someone could see the hurt inside me, could help me make peace with it. Before him, I wondered if I was doomed to turn out just like my family: pretending everything was fine even as we killed ourselves with hurt and denial. Emerson taught me it was OK to be damaged: to take that hurt and feel it, make it drive you, to never wind up like them.
So what the hell are you doing now? An accusing voice cuts through my thoughts. Look at you, biting your lip and taking your pills and acting like you can stand to even look at these people?
You’re just like them.
The thought shocks me bolt-upright in my seat. I look around the table in horror. It can’t be true! I’m nothing like Carina and Dad, I swore it to myself, years ago. Just because I’m trying to keep all this bullshit away from my life with Daniel, it doesn’t mean I’m faking my way through a life of denial like them.
But the whisper in the back of my mind lingers. I sit quietly through the rest of dinner, caught up in my own thoughts. I always figured that shutting out my tragic past was the only way to build a new future. Just put everything behind me and move on. But now I wonder if doing that makes me just as big a hypocrite as the others: hiding my pain away and faking like everything’s OK when I’m coming apart inside.
Dear God, don’t make me turn out like them.
I barely say a word for the rest of the night, until we’re gathered in the foyer collecting my purse and jacket.
“Thanks for hosting, Carina,” Daniel says as he helps me into my jacket. “It was delicious, wasn’t it Juliet?” He nudges me, so I manage a polite nod.
“Yes. Thanks.”
“Cook like that more, and maybe you’ll keep this one.” My Dad chortles. He pats down his jacket and pants, and then finally comes up with his keys.
“You’re not driving!” My voice is loud and accusing, but I lost count of how much he’s drunk hours ago.
“I’m fine.” He waves me away, but then stumbles, unbalanced.
“You’re not—” I start to argue, but luckily, Carina interrupts us.
“Just stay here, Dad. We’ve got plenty of room. And then we can get lunch in the city tomorrow, maybe look at some antique stores.”
Dad sways for a moment and then nods. “Now that I think about it, perhaps a lie-down would be a good idea…”
I let out the sigh of relief I didn’t even notice I was holding in. Usually, he puts up a fight. When I was younger, I’d do whatever I could to keep him from getting behind the wheel: pick-pocketing his keys and hiding them places he’d never find him. The day I got my driver’s license, I swore I’d never have to get in a car with him again.
Daniel finally finishes his round of polite goodbyes and we head back outside to the car. I slide into the passenger seat and tip my head back. I’ve never been so glad to be done with an evening.
“That was nice.” Daniel starts the engine and backs out of the drive.
I look over to check if he’s joking, but he’s not. “You can’t be serious,” I say in disbelief.
“Aw, come on. Carina seems nice. And your dad is a great guy, really interesting.”
I stare at him. I can’t even find the words. My whole body aches with tension, like I’ve just run a marathon, and I feel so emotionally exhausted I could curl up in a ball and sleep for a week. My dad spent the whole night drinking and making cruel comments about Carina, while she babbled on about destination weddings and landscaping like it means a damn thing. All I could do all night is remember every other shitty, dysfunctional family dinner we’d ever had. If it hadn’t been for my hateful anti-anxiety meds, I would have had a total meltdown and stopped breathing.
But Daniel thought that was a good time?
“We should do this more often,” he adds. He looks over and catches my horrified expression. “Oh, babe. I know you’ve had your issues, but that’s all in the past now. You should make the effort, it’ll be worth it. You only have one family,” he adds, like that justifies anything.
I clench my fists and turn away. I stare out of the window as the dark city and neon lights speed past, but I don’t see any of them. Instead, I watch my future with Daniel stretching out ahead of me, just the way I planned. Moving in together, getting jobs, maybe even getting married. It’s always been a reassuring vision: a safe, normal life far away from all the tragedy and fucked up mess in my past. But now, for the first time, I see it in a different light.
Dozens, maybe hundreds of evenings like this one: sitting around with my family because I’m too scared and stubborn to tell Daniel why not. Years of pretending like it doesn’t cut me up inside to watch my dad keep drinking his way through life, like Mom was nothing but a temporary stop along the way. Christmases, birthdays, holidays. And what if we have kids and my dad wants to come play doting grandpa to them too? Daniel will welcome him in, all of them, because that’s what family does in his world.
But what’s the alternative? My heart aches with confusion. How can I explain it now, after pretending for so long? Would Daniel even love me if he knew the damage I’ve been hiding?
Emerson loved you, the treacherous voice whispers. He
didn’t care about the mess and the hurt and your broken, fucked up heart.
But that was before—before Mom died and he decided the mess was too much, and what was left of my heart was totally destroyed. God knows what it looks like now.
Maybe pretending is the best I can hope for anymore.
I want to sleep at my apartment tonight, alone, but I can’t find a good excuse, so I let Daniel drive us back to his without a word. As soon as we get there, I go lock myself in the bathroom again and run the shower, trying to get all this confusion out of my mind. I feel like a house of cards, teetering in the wind, like one wrong word will send everything tumbling to the ground. I’m guilty over what happened with Emerson, but angry at Daniel too—for putting me through that tonight, without asking, or even warning me what he’d planned.
It’s my own fault, I know. How is he supposed to know just how bad things are with my family when I’ve taken such care to hide it from him? How can he understand how much it hurts me when they just ignore the past when that’s all I’ve been doing with him? But knowing that doesn’t stop the burn in my chest, remembering the way he patted my shoulder to calm me down and quickly smoothed over the uncomfortable truths I laid bare.
I try to catch my breath. My mind is racing, but I don’t know what to do. Usually, I’d try to keep my anger under wraps and just accept that Daniel thought he was doing a nice thing, because he cares. But now it’s like the last few days in Beachwood have brought all my old memories and emotions boiling to the surface, cracking through my hard-won calm. I started today so desperate to forget about Emerson and go back to my warm, simple life with Daniel, but now I see there’s nothing simple about this lie I’ve been building.
Pretending like the past never happened is a recipe for disaster. If not now, then someday, down the line, the shit is going to hit the fan. But either way, I know, I can’t run from it any more. I can’t hide the parts of myself that scare me—or the bad things I’ve done.
With a surge of adrenaline, I open the bathroom door and step out into the bedroom. Daniel is sprawled on his stomach on the bed, looking at his laptop. He’s in sweats and an old college T-shirt, sleepy and cute, and for a moment, I falter, my words sticking in my throat.
“You coming to bed?” he asks. He closes the computer and gets up. “We can pick up where we left off…” he adds, reaching for me with a suggestive look in his eyes.
His hands slide around my waist, but the feel of his touch on me is the final straw.
“I can’t do this!” I exclaim, jolting back.
Daniel stares at me, confused. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“This. All of this.” I gesture around. My heart is pounding, but this isn’t a panic attack, this is just my nerves, and fear, and the knowledge that I need to say this quick before I can back down. “It’s wrong. And it’s my fault, I get that, but I don’t know what I can do to make it right!”
Daniel stares at me. “Is this about tonight?” he asks carefully. “Because, I said I’m sorry—”
“It’s everything!” I cry. “I’ve spent all this time hiding who I am, and I can’t do it anymore!”
“Whoa, calm down.” He reaches for me again, but I back away and put several steps between us. “It’s OK, Juliet. I know you. We’ve been together two years now,” he adds, with a reassuring smile. “I know you’ve been feeling stressed, with finals and moving and everything—”
“No!” I stop him, my emotions whirling. “You’re not listening to me. I did something terrible.” My voice breaks, but I take a breath and plunge ahead with my terrible confession. “I cheated on you, Daniel. I’m so, so sorry.”
There’s silence. I hug my arms tight around me, desperately waiting for his reaction. If it were me over there…But no, I can’t think like that. I don’t know what I’d do in his situation, but I know it wouldn’t be pretty.
I watch him anxiously. Daniel takes a breath, and sits on the edge of the bed. He looks down for a moment, then back up at me, his expression crushed. “What happened?” he asks slowly.
I gulp. “I went back, and, there’s a guy there. The guy.” I try to explain, but all my words sound empty and flat. “And I…we kissed. I know I shouldn’t have, but, I wanted to. That’s how fucked up I am.” I feel sobs coming, sharp in my throat. “I wanted to kiss him; I forgot all about you!”
“But you didn’t sleep with him?” Daniel’s voice rises with a note of hope.
I shake my head.
He takes a long breath, as if he’s deciding something. “This isn’t you,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself. “Going back, all the old memories…You’re under a lot of pressure. Maybe this is my fault.” He looks at me plaintively. “I should have been there for you.”
“No!” I cry. This is exactly what Lacey told me this morning, but it feels like a million years ago. How could I have ever thought I could just sweep what happened with Emerson aside? It meant something to me.
God, it meant everything!
“You don’t understand,” I try to explain. “I’m a mess! I’m crazy and damaged and fucked up,” I sob, “and I’ve been so busy hiding it from you…” I trail off. This is impossible; how can I explain what the hell’s going on in my messed up mind when I don’t even know for myself?
Daniel comes over and puts his arms around me. “It’s OK,” he says, soothing. He strokes my hair gently. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll figure this out together. Nothing has to change.”
“But it does!” I pull away. He’s not listening to me! I take a ragged breath and try to find the words to make him understand. “I just…I don’t know what I want anymore.”
Daniel freezes. “You mean, us?”
I swallow back a sob. He’s looking at me so nervously, like I could take away everything in a heartbeat. And I can.
“I…yes. No. I don’t know!” I cry, throwing my hands up. “I wish it was that simple, but it’s not.”
Daniel looks at me. “Do you love me?” he asks quietly.
“Yes!” I swear. “But, I don’t know if you’d love me anymore if you knew, if you knew everything.”
“So tell me.” He grabs my hands. “Help me work this out.”
I look into his brown eyes, wishing like hell that I could. If I could just tell Daniel everything, all my dark, broken secrets, and have him say it’s all OK anyway, maybe we could go back to the way things used to be…
But I know that’s impossible. There’s no going back now. And even here, with Daniel breaking apart in front of me, I realize: I don’t want it to.
I don’t want to pretend anymore.
I don’t want to think of what might have been.
I can’t build a future on half-truths and denial.
Daniel lets go of my hands. He sees it, he has to, because something in his expression deflates.
“Do you love him?” he demands.
I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. I did, once.”
“And now?”
“Now, I just don’t know.” I catch my breath, admitting it to myself for the first time. “Maybe?”
That’s the thing, I just don’t know yet. Maybe what I feel for Emerson is just desire, or maybe it’s more. But I can’t ignore it, not if I’m going to figure out where the hell I’m going to go from here.
“So what do you want?” Daniel’s voice is harsh. Hurt. I flinch away, but I know it’s no less than I deserve.
“I don’t know,” I say again. Useless. “Some time. To figure this out.”
“A break.”
“I…yes.” I swallow back a sob, staring at him plaintively. “I’m sorry, Daniel, you have to believe I never meant to hurt you.”
He shakes his head. He’s angry, I can tell. Hurt and betrayed. But he holds it back. Even now, he doesn’t raise his voice, just asks. “How long do you need?”
“I don’t know.” It’s all I’m saying right now, over and over, but it’s the truth. I have nothing else
to give him, but he deserves that, at least.
“But you’re going back there, to him?” Daniel’s eyes flash accusingly.
I nod, shameful. “I have to,” I beg, wishing he would understand even knowing I have no right to expect it. “I have to see, try and figure this out.”
“But I can be good to you.” Daniel’s voice breaks with emotion, and I feel a sharp stab of pain at his distress. I did this to him. He doesn’t deserve any of it, but I’m hurting him all the same. “I know you’re confused, and hurting,” he begs me, “but Juliet, we’re good. We fit. We can make a life together.”
I can’t hold the sobs back any longer. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, swiping angrily at the tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’m sorry I can’t be the girl you love. I just...I need to figure out who I am!”
I turn and hurry away. The apartment door slams behind me, and then I’m running down his stairs, crying for real this time. I barely see where I’m going, and I trip on the bottom step, sprawling hard against the floor. Pain shoots through my knee, the one I hurt just a couple of days ago, and for a moment, I just sit there and let the tears take over. Aching, wrenching sobs, full of regret and self-loathing.
And worst of all, relief.
Because now that I’ve told Daniel the truth, I don’t have to be crippled by guilt every time Emerson’s face comes into my mind. Which is like every other heartbeat.
He’s there now, watching me with those inscrutable eyes as I get to my feet and flee the building, out into the busy street. I blindly wave for a cab, not caring about the people passing by, or what they must think of my messy weeping breakdown.
How can it be that my heart feels like it’s breaking and mending at the same time? How can I hate myself for hurting the man I love, but feel freer, all at once? Even as the guilt overwhelms me, remembering the crushed confusion on Daniel’s face, I feel it deep down in my gut: certainty. I’ve done the right thing here, and while it may not feel like it now, we’ll both be better off because of it.
I can only pray he’ll forgive me one day, I hope. If he ever stops hating me.
