Amy blinked, startled. “What?”
“I’m not going to college,” I said. “If you stopped and thought about it for two seconds, you’d know there’s no way I’m going to Dartmouth or Brown or whatever. I don’t have money. Your parents are paying for my gas right now! I don’t even have a family to sign the damn financial aid forms. You’re going to college, and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing after you leave.”
“So you lied to me about that, too.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I did.”
She shook her head, then turned and walked up the stairs. I followed her.
“That’s it?” I asked. I was riled up now. Amy and I had never been in a fight before. Usually she just got quiet and I waited for her to come around. We’d never yelled at each other. It used to be a point of pride, actually, but now I wanted to yell. I knew I’d regret it later, but at the moment, I wanted to make her hurt as much as I did.
“Yeah,” she said, stopping in her bedroom doorway. “That’s it. I’m done, Sonny. I’m done letting you push me around and use me and …” She let out a long breath. She was calm now. Quiet. “I always knew you were a liar,” she said. “I just never thought you’d lie to me. Guess I was wrong.”
My instinct was to get the last word. That the person who spoke last won the fight. Logical, I know.
But her words hit me harder than anything else she’d said. As it turned out, I didn’t need to make Amy hurt now. I already had.
And before I could come up with anything to say, anything that would make me feel even momentarily victorious, Amy slammed the door in my face.
* * *
Our fight went on for another week. Cold shoulders, angry glares, slamming doors. I spent most of my time in the guest room, wallowing in my misery.
More than once, I found myself dialing Ryder’s number, wanting to hear his voice, to get his advice on what to do, to have him make me laugh. Then I’d remember that he hated me, too, and I’d be left even more crushed than I’d been a moment before.
I’d hoped Amy’s parents hadn’t picked up on the tension in the house, but of course they had.
“Sonny,” Mrs. Rush said from outside the bedroom door. “Can we come in a second?”
“Yes,” I said, sitting up. I’d been lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, contemplating how awful my life was. You know, productive stuff. “Come on in.”
Mr. and Mrs. Rush stepped inside, and Mr. Rush shut the door behind him. I knew by the looks on their faces that nothing good was going to come of this.
“We wanted to come in and check on you,” Mrs. Rush said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“We know that things between you and Amy have been … off,” Mr. Rush said.
Understatement of the century.
“Yeah … Um. I’m okay.”
“That’s good,” Mrs. Rush said. “You know we love both you and Amy, and we’re sure you two will work this out eventually.”
I was glad she was, because I wasn’t so sure.
“We don’t know what’s going on between you two,” Mr. Rush said. “You’ve been very quiet on the topic. And that’s your prerogative. We just want you to know that we’re here for you both.”
I could sense the “but” coming.
“We’ve been thinking, though,” Mrs. Rush said. “This has been going on for two weeks, and … maybe the best thing for both of you is to take some time apart. To get some space from each other.”
“Oh.”
I felt the panic beginning to rise. Because I knew what came next. I knew what they were going to say.
And it was the last thing I wanted to hear.
“We’ve been happy to have you here,” Mr. Rush said. “But living together is hard. Even for best friends. So perhaps it’s time for you to go home.”
They insisted on driving me.
I told them I had Gert. I told them I could go alone. I told them not to worry.
But they wouldn’t hear it.
We pulled into the driveway around noon, and even though it was surprisingly sunny for the beginning of March, everything about my house seemed dark and gray. Like it was haunted. Like there was a permanent shadow hanging over it, clinging to the tree branches in the front yard.
“You don’t have to come in,” I said, forcing myself to sound confident. “I can talk to Mom on my own.”
“Is she even here?” Mrs. Rush asked. “There’s no car in the driveway.”
“She’s … she’s probably at work,” I said. “She’ll be home soon. I have my key, so …”
“Why don’t we wait with you,” Mr. Rush said. It wasn’t a question, though. He and Mrs. Rush wasted no time unbuckling their seat belts and getting out of the car.
But I stayed, frozen in the backseat.
No.
No, it couldn’t happen like this.
“Come on, Sonny,” Mrs. Rush said, opening the door next to me. “It’ll be okay. I know it’s probably scary to confront your mom, but that’s why we’re here.”
But that wasn’t what was scaring me.
I climbed out of the car, trying to keep my composure as panic bubbled in my stomach. I fumbled for my key, which had spent months at the bottom of my purse, unused, unwanted. I hesitated before sliding it into the lock.
“I appreciate you coming with me,” I said. “But really, you don’t have to stay. It … it’ll probably be better if I talk to her alone. I can call you after —”
“I think we should be here,” Mr. Rush said. “Based on what you told us before, your mom has a tendency to overreact. If we’re here, maybe she’ll keep a cooler head.”
“We just want to make sure everything’s okay,” Mrs. Rush said, ruffling my hair a little. “Let’s go on inside, Sonny. It’s cold out here.”
My hands were shaking so hard. “You really don’t have to —”
“We know,” Mr. Rush said. “But we want to.”
With both of their eyes on me, I had no other choice but to unlock the front door and let them inside.
The living room was dark, the blinds drawn, and the stale odor of it nearly suffocated me. I shivered in my jacket. It wasn’t much warmer inside. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr. and Mrs. Rush glance at each other, and the panic rose up into my throat.
“My mom might be a while,” I said. “She works weird hours.”
“We can wait,” Mr. Rush said, but there was a skeptical tone to his voice. He sat down on the couch, a puff of dust rising around him. He had the grace to pretend he didn’t notice. “Come sit with me. We’ll wait together.”
“Um …” I looked over at Mrs. Rush, who seemed to be scoping out the place, her eyes investigating every corner of the living room. “You know, my mom might not be okay with coming home to find so many people in the house. You don’t know this about her, but she’s really an introvert. This might be too overwhelming and —”
“Sonny,” Mr. Rush said, “is there something wrong?”
“No.” But my voice cracked. “No, I’m just worried my mom won’t be okay with this when she gets home. I really should just talk to her myself.”
“It’s so dark in here,” Mrs. Rush said. “Let me get the light.”
“No!”
But it was too late. She’d flipped the switch on the wall.
And nothing had happened.
“Sonny,” Mrs. Rush said quietly, “is there no electricity here?”
“No … the bulb’s just burnt out.”
“The heat’s not on either.”
“Mom likes it cold.”
“Sonny,” Mr. Rush said.
“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. You two need to go.”
“No one’s been here in months, have they?” Mrs. Rush asked. Her voice was so soft, so gentle, that it hurt.
I tried to laugh, but it came out maniacal and cold. “Don’t be ridiculous. Mom’s here every day. She’ll be home soon.”
Mr. Rush stood up and walked over to me, p
utting a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to lie to us. Just tell us what’s going on, okay?”
And that’s when it broke, every ounce of cool I’d kept over the past few months. Maybe it was this house. Maybe it was the unwavering kindness in Mr. Rush’s voice. Maybe it was being told not to lie for the thousandth time. But it just snapped and fell away.
And there was no way to pull together the pieces now.
“Nothing’s going on!” I screamed. It left a sharp ache in my throat, and tears spilled from my eyes. “It’s fine. Just go!”
“Sonny —”
“Go!” I pushed Mr. Rush’s hand off my shoulder. “Get out!”
“Sonny!” Mrs. Rush gasped.
“Get out!” I screamed again, stomping my foot and clenching my fists, like a child throwing a tantrum. “Get out! Get out! Get the fuck out!”
“Sonya!” Mrs. Rush grabbed my arm, but I yanked it away.
“Just leave! Mom will be here soon — just GO!”
The tears were hot as they rolled down my face. My whole body shook as I pleaded with both of them to leave.
Leave so they wouldn’t have to know.
Wouldn’t find out.
But it was too late.
They knew.
The secret I’d kept from everyone. The most painful truth I’d locked away. It was about to come out, and I couldn’t bear it.
“Stop, Sonny.” Mr. Rush caught my wrists and pulled me to him, holding me in a hug so tight I couldn’t resist anymore.
I thrashed for a minute to no avail. I was too tired. Too hurt.
“She’s coming back,” I cried. “She’ll be here soon.”
“Shhh,” Mr. Rush said. “It’s okay, Sonny.”
He pulled me to the couch and we sank down together as I sobbed into his shoulder. He stroked my hair, the way my dad had when I was little and had nightmares. No one had held me like this in almost a decade. I should’ve been too old for it. Too old to be comforted this way.
But just then, I felt like a little kid again.
Like the little kid who had been left behind all those years ago.
I could hear Mrs. Rush walking around the house, but I never looked up. I never stopped crying.
“She’s on her way,” I mumbled every few minutes or so. “She’s coming back.”
But no one believed me anymore.
I didn’t believe me anymore.
I don’t know how much time passed like that, but eventually Mrs. Rush came to sit down on the couch with me and her husband. She rested a hand on my back, and the show of kindness just made me cry harder.
When the tears finally slowed and I was able to catch my breath, Mrs. Rush asked the question I’d been dreading.
“Where’s your mother, Sonny?”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t lie anymore. I didn’t have the energy or the strength.
“I … I don’t know.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“A while.” I swallowed and rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “She leaves sometimes. But … but she always comes back. But this time …”
“Oh, Sonny,” Mr. Rush murmured. “You were never kicked out.”
I shook my head no.
They didn’t ask why I’d lied, and for that I was eternally grateful. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about anything. I wanted to go back in time. Before the Rushes saw this empty, dusty, lonely house. Before I fucked up everything with Amy and Ryder.
Before I was alone.
“Come on,” Mr. Rush said. “Let’s go.”
“No,” I said, clutching at his arm. I hated myself. I hated the pathetic sound of my voice when I said, “Don’t leave me. Please.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Mrs. Rush wrapped her arms around me. “No. Sonny, we’re not leaving you here. You’re coming back with us, okay?”
“But Amy —”
“Loves you,” Mr. Rush said. “And so do we.”
“Whatever is going on with you two, you’ll work it out,” Mrs. Rush said. “And she’d want you to come back with us, too.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, though. Not after everything I’d done. This was just another lie I’d told her. Just another reason for her to hate me.
Mr. Rush walked me out to the car while Mrs. Rush gathered some more clothes from my bedroom. None of us said a word on the drive back to their house. I stared out the window, my eyes wet and burning.
It was over. The cat was out of the bag. I felt naked, humiliated. Raw.
When we got back to the Rushes’ house, Amy was sitting in the living room, watching TV. She looked stunned to see me walk through the door.
I turned my face away from her, hiding. I didn’t say a word to anyone, just ran up the stairs to the guest room where I’d been staying.
I didn’t mean to slam the door behind me, but I did.
I fell onto the bed, my face in the pillow. But I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.
There weren’t any tears left.
I didn’t leave the guest room for two days.
Partly because I was sad and miserable and didn’t want to inflict my pain on anyone else. But mostly because I was ashamed. Ashamed of my meltdown in front of Amy’s parents. Ashamed of the truth.
Mr. and Mrs. Rush knocked on the door a few times, but I didn’t answer.
I wanted to go to Amy, to find safety and comfort with her the way I always had. I wanted to call Ryder, or better yet, to have him here with me. To have him put an arm around me and tell me it would be okay. To say something pretentious and ridiculous so I could make fun of him and stop thinking about everything else.
I missed them.
But, more than anything, I wanted to barricade myself in this room, to be alone forever, punishing myself for every awful thing I’d done.
Eventually, however, my need for food outweighed my desire to lock myself away Rapunzel-style. I waited until everyone else was asleep before sneaking down to the kitchen.
At least, I thought everyone was asleep.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I looked up from the bowl of cereal I’d just poured. Amy was standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed in pink-and-black-striped pajamas and fuzzy green slippers. I ducked my head and focused my attention on the Cocoa Puffs I was about to consume.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” I said.
“I haven’t slept well lately.” She walked past me and opened a cabinet, grabbing a bowl for herself. Once she’d filled it with cereal, she came over to the island and stood across from me. “My parents told me what happened at your house…. I get why you didn’t want them to know, but why didn’t you tell me she was gone? I would’ve kept it secret for you. I would’ve tried to help.” There was a note of hurt in her voice.
“I know you would have,” I said, swirling my spoon in my bowl. My appetite was waning all of a sudden. “But … it wasn’t about admitting it to you. It was about admitting it to myself.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was easier to say she’d kicked me out for doing something wrong. Then I could pretend it was true. It hurt less than acknowledging that she’d … she’d left me. Just left me.”
“Do you have any idea where she went?”
I shook my head. “No. She was seeing a guy. She probably took off with him somewhere. Who knows? It’s not like it’s the first time.”
I’d called my mother “flaky” for years, but that was an understatement. From the time I was eleven, I never knew if she’d be home when I got off the bus after school. Sometimes she’d stick around for months, and things would be almost normal. She might forget my birthday or accidentally lock me out of the house, but she was around.
And then, sometimes, she wasn’t.
I was in sixth grade the first time she pulled her disappearing act. She’d been seeing this guy, Dave. He was younger than her, and even then I knew he was kind of a loser. One day, I came home
and the house was empty. Luckily, by then, I knew how to take care of myself. I lived off cereal and microwavable meals, even when she was home.
She’d come back three days later, tanned and happy. Dave had suggested an impromptu road trip to Florida, and she could’ve sworn she’d left a note. As if that made it better.
After Dave it was Carl.
After Carl it was Trevor.
And then I stopped keeping up with their names. It wasn’t like I saw them much, anyway. Sometimes Mom would be gone for days, and I’d find out later she’d just been across town, crashing at her boyfriend’s house. Sometimes she’d vanish for a week — a shopping trip in Atlanta, a romantic getaway in St. Louis, a week in Chicago. She lost several jobs because of those random trips.
So when I came home one afternoon last September, I wasn’t surprised to find her gone.
But a week turned to two.
To three.
To four.
She’d never been gone that long. And the house was too quiet. The nightmares happened almost every night.
So I’d called Amy, told her I needed a place to stay. Told her I’d been kicked out, because I didn’t know how to say the truth: that my mom was gone for real this time. That she’d left, and I didn’t think she’d be coming back.
“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “But maybe things will get better. My parents used to be gone all the time, too, and —”
“It’s different,” I said. “Your parents were gone, but they paid the bills. They made sure you had a place to stay. You could call them, and you knew they’d be back eventually. I haven’t heard from my mom in … five months?” I pushed my bowl away, barely touched. “Her phone doesn’t even work anymore. For all I know she could be dead.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Even if I don’t say it, I can’t not think it. And — this is terrible, but — sometimes I wonder if that would make me feel better. If I knew she hadn’t come back because she couldn’t. Not because she doesn’t care.” I shook my head. “Sorry. That’s morbid. You already think I’m a bad person and I just told you I wish my mother was dead. Nice job, Sonny.”
Lying Out Loud Page 19
