by T. K. Leigh
“He was.” I swallow hard, shaking my head. “But I couldn’t let him do that.”
“I’m not sure you have any say in the matter. If he wants to take his chances, isn’t that his decision?”
“Not if I made sure he wouldn’t make that decision.”
Izzy leans back, giving me a sideways glance, almost not wanting to ask. “What did you do?”
“What I had to.” I push down the bile rising in my throat at the memory of that night. The happiness, then the betrayal. The hope, then the despair. The absolute joy of having him declare his love, then the vice squeezing my heart when I used that love against him. “I made him think I was using him all along. That I knew in Vegas he was my professor and the only reason I slept with him was to make sure I passed.”
She exhales, closing her eyes, shaking her head. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” I squeak.
“Chloe…”
“It was the only way. Lincoln said himself that he would fight for me. He’d never give up, which would only continue to put his career at risk. Unless I made him hate me.”
It’s silent for a moment as she processes everything. “And he believed you? That doesn’t sound like the Lincoln I know.”
“Because I eviscerated that Lincoln. He said he wasn’t going to fight for someone who refused to fight for herself.” I look back to Izzy. “That he couldn’t love a woman who didn’t know how to love herself.” I grab the box of tissues off the side table and blow my nose, the harsh sound echoing through my tiny apartment. But it doesn’t faze Izzy. We’ve seen each other at our highest of highs and lowest of lows. Nothing is off-limits between us.
“Have you tried to talk to him?”
I snort a laugh at the ridiculousness of her question. “I’m the last person he wants to talk to. The things I said… There’s no way he’ll ever trust me again. I made him believe I only slept with him so he’d pass me.” I shake my head. “There’s no fixing this. Our ship has most definitely sailed.”
Izzy peers at me thoughtfully. “Maybe Lincoln’s right.”
I whip my eyes to hers, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe you need to fix yourself first. Then worry about fixing everything else.”
My lips part as I consider her words. “I don’t even know how to do that.”
“Sometimes you need to go back to the beginning before you can get to the end.”
“Will you stop talking in code and metaphors, Master Yoda? You’ve been spending too much time at Nora’s meditation studio,” I blurt out, exasperated. “We screwed during a blackout in Vegas. That’s our beginning.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not your beginning with Lincoln. Your beginning as Chloe, as the woman you are. The woman who was born the instant you saw your mother take that first sip of alcohol. You need to come to terms with all of that. Until you do, I don’t see you having a future with anyone.”
“I’ve come to terms with it,” I try to argue.
“Then why have you still not told Evie and Nora? I’ve kept my mouth shut because it’s not my story to tell. But until you’re honest with yourself, I don’t see how you can possibly grow and move past this.”
She holds my gaze for a moment, then places a kiss on my forehead. “I love you, Chloe.” Her steely eyes lock with mine once more. “Think about what keeping this secret has done to you.” She offers me an encouraging smile as she makes her way out of my apartment, leaving me alone to consider her statement. I hate to admit it, but there’s a hint of truth to her words. But this is all I’ve known.
I’ve spent my life covering for my mother, hiding the truth. And where has it gotten me? Maybe I do need to go back to the beginning. Maybe I need to make peace with the girl I was all those years ago. Then I’ll have a chance at finally moving forward. Finally realizing I deserve more than I’ve afforded myself.
With a fresh cup of coffee in hand, I open a blank document on my laptop and do the only thing that’s brought me peace most of my life. The only thing that’s helped me make sense of everything.
I write.
You come from the perfect family and live an idealistic life in an upper middle-class suburb a quick train ride from Manhattan. Both your parents are successful.
* * *
Both your parents are happy.
* * *
Or so you thought.
* * *
Then your father starts spending more time at the office, sometimes not coming home at all on the weekends. You’re not sure of the reason. Mom says it’s because he just got a huge promotion. You can hear the bitterness in her tone at the idea that his career is blossoming while hers withered up and died after she had you.
* * *
Soon, you notice your mother has a glass of wine with dinner when she normally drank club soda. One glass turns into two. Which soon turns into an entire bottle, then two. You wonder if that’s normal. You want to ask your dad, but you’re worried how he’ll react. Because when your mother drinks that wine, she praises you, tells you how proud she is of you. Something your father never says.
* * *
So you stay quiet.
* * *
And the drinking continues.
* * *
Your father works more and more.
* * *
You wonder if he ever really wanted to have kids. Or maybe it’s you. No matter what you do, no matter how good your grades, no matter how many sports you excel at, it’s not enough for him to notice you.
* * *
It’s not enough for him to take a day off work.
* * *
Most nights, you lay awake listening to your parents fight.
* * *
Then, seemingly overnight, boobs appear. And boys start to notice you.
* * *
You welcome it, considering the people who are supposed to love you don’t have the time for you anymore.
* * *
The fights at home get worse.
* * *
You know the attention from boys at school isn’t the type you want, but it’s better than the lack of attention you get at home. So when you’re only thirteen, you agree to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with a bunch of high school boys.
* * *
The fights at home get even worse.
* * *
You wear makeup and revealing clothing to make yourself appear older than you are.
* * *
The arguments continue.
* * *
You lie about your age just for those few seconds of being noticed.
* * *
You can’t remember what a quiet house feels like.
* * *
You lose your virginity before you even understand what a condom is.
* * *
Suddenly, the fights stop. You think things are getting better, that you’ll finally have a family. Then you walk into the house for dinner, surprised to see both your mom and dad at the table, something you haven’t seen in years, their expressions filled with sorrow. They don’t even have to say the words. You know.
* * *
They’re getting a divorce.
* * *
You say goodbye to the only friends and family you’ve ever known and move to a new town with your mother. You’re actually looking forward to it. A fresh start. A clean slate.
* * *
Then one day, you help your mother take out the garbage and notice one bag is filled with glass bottles. A dozen. Two dozen. Three dozen. All consumed since the last garbage pickup a week earlier. You hoped this habit wouldn’t follow her here. But it has, and it’s worse, since she doesn’t have to hide it from your father.
* * *
Sometimes she’s too drunk to drive you to your dad’s on your scheduled weekends with him. He could come get you, but then he’d learn your mother’s been drinking. You’re worried the court will order you to live with your father, something you can’t even stomach the thought of be
cause of how inadequate he’s always made you feel.
* * *
So you lie.
* * *
You cover it up.
* * *
You tell your dad you’re sick.
* * *
You need to study.
* * *
You have a group project.
* * *
Anything to keep your mother’s secret.
* * *
Thankfully, he’s too consumed by his replacement wife, his replacement baby, his replacement family to even question it. He actually sounds relieved when you can’t come, which only solidifies your original thought that you’ve never been anything but a burden.
* * *
Somehow you make it through high school. All those hours you lay awake studying to make sure your mother didn’t choke on her own vomit means your grades are good enough to get a scholarship to a decent four-year school. You’re thrilled to have that fresh start you thought you were getting years ago.
* * *
The morning you’re scheduled to move into your dorm, you bound into your mother’s room, only to see she’s still drunk from the night before.
* * *
So you have to spend some of the money you saved for books to pay for a last-minute train ticket upstate. But it’s worth it. Because you’ll finally be able to close this chapter in your life. Finally have a place you feel like you belong.
* * *
Until you arrive at freshmen move-in and are surrounded by parents bidding tearful farewells to their children, telling them how proud they are of everything they’ve accomplished.
* * *
Your mother most likely hasn’t even noticed you’re gone yet. And your father probably has no idea you’re even enrolled in college.
* * *
You meet your new roommate. At least you were lucky enough to be paired with the jackpot of all roommates. Caring. Compassionate. Sensitive to the fact that there are clearly skeletons in your closet you’re not ready to share.
* * *
For a while, things seem to get better.
* * *
You can focus on excelling and proving to everyone you can be successful.
* * *
You can leave behind your somewhat promiscuous adolescence and become who you were always meant to be.
* * *
You can fall in love.
* * *
Until you learn your mother lost her job because of her drinking. There’s no one else she can turn to, so you do the only thing you can in order to save her from losing the house, the only anchor you feel you have in your life.
* * *
You ask your father for help.
* * *
Except you don’t tell him the exact reason. Just that you’ve decided to leave college.
* * *
Of course, he accuses you of never finishing anything you start.
* * *
He has a point, but you don’t dwell.
* * *
You thank him when he says he’ll call in a favor to see if he can get you a decent job. Or at least one that will pay a little more than the local Starbucks.
* * *
So you go to work as a receptionist at a women’s magazine.
* * *
You’re starstruck the first time a famous actor walks in.
* * *
Even more so when he shamelessly flirts with you.
* * *
With all the drama at home, you welcome the attention. It helps take your mind off the fact that you’re not able to get your mother the help she needs. She promises she’s trying to get clean. You have no choice but to take her at her word, the pile of bills preventing you from babysitting her. Your low-paying job isn’t enough to afford rehab. You can barely pay the mortgage, but you refuse to let her lose her house. That may only make her drink more.
* * *
So you find a second job as a cocktail waitress, as ironic as that is.
* * *
The tips are good.
* * *
But the stack of bills gets even higher.
* * *
You realize you won’t be going back to school anytime soon.
* * *
You turn on the charm because it increases your tips. One night, a man with a designer suit and a Tag Hauer watch walks in. You make sure you’re the one who takes care of him. When he leaves you a one hundred dollar bill for a twenty dollar scotch, you turn on the charm even more to show your appreciation.
* * *
He mistakes the appreciation for interest and invites you back to his hotel. You say you can’t, that you have to get up early for work in the morning. As it stands, by the time you get home from this job, you’ll maybe only get three hours of sleep, but you’ve trained your body to function on less than that.
* * *
Since this man’s used to being able to buy anything he wants, he flashes his billfold, promising to make it worth your while.
* * *
You’re offended at first, wanting to hold on to the small amount of pride you have left. Then you remember the property tax bill that’s been taunting you. You’d never seen a bill with so many zeros before. Your mother tries to help. She’s been looking for work, but she’s being turned down left and right. Jobs she’s overqualified for won’t hire her because they want someone who won’t quit after a few months for something better. Jobs she is qualified for won’t go near her because word travels fast in her industry.
* * *
So, instead of declining the man’s offer, you ask where he’s staying. You almost turn back nearly a dozen times. You try to convince yourself you don’t need to do this, that you’ll find another way. But the fear of losing the house pushes you forward.
* * *
When you knock on his room in a hotel you’d never be able to afford, he answers with a smile that sends a chill through you. But you swallow down the bile and walk inside, officially out of options. That night, part of you dies.
* * *
When he’s done, he leaves a stack of bills on the bed for you. It takes everything inside you not to break down and cry. You dress quickly and leave, not looking back.
* * *
You tell yourself you’ll never do that again, that there’s another way.
* * *
Then your mother’s house is foreclosed on, despite all your efforts to keep it, and you move into a tiny studio apartment in an area of town where you’re scared to fall asleep. But it’s all you can afford at the moment.
* * *
So you turn on the charm once more. Some men are interested in more of a girlfriend experience, so that’s what you give them. Some just want to have fun for a night, so you oblige. They bestow you with cash and gifts—jewels, shoes, purses. All things you can sell to pay your bills and hopefully save enough money to move into a better place, a nicer place…a safer place.
* * *
Finally, the clouds seem to part when you come home one day and learn your mother got a job. A good job. You want to burst out in tears at the relief of not having to sell your body anymore.
* * *
You go back to school. You quit your waitressing job. You move into your own place. You find out about a promotion at the magazine and put all your effort into that, even if it means doing a few questionable things in order to get it. The pay will be enough that you’ll never have to sacrifice your dignity again.
* * *
Then you take your mother to her AA meeting and smell alcohol on her breath. So you put your life on hold again, withdrawing from school in an effort to keep a closer eye on her.
* * *
You somehow convince yourself it’s all your fault. That you deserve everything life’s handed you. That maybe you don’t deserve to be happy, don’t deserve to be loved.
* * *
Then a man comes into your life and makes you believe that maybe you are. That maybe you do hav
e worth. Maybe you do have value. Maybe you can be loved.
* * *
But you’re scared. What if he learns the truth of everything you’ve done? What if he learns of the lies you told? What if he’s able to see past the walls you were forced to build all those years ago and no longer likes what he sees?
