The Fix

by Natasha Sinel

  Sometime later, I rolled over onto something soft. Fozzie Bear. Rebecca had gone to my house to get Fozzie Bear. I clutched him to my chest and fell back to sleep.

  The music was loud. Insanely loud. I felt like my head was pressed up against an amp at a headbangers’ ball.

  It was my phone, playing a heavy metal tune I didn’t recognize. Knives of sunlight sliced Rebecca’s room through the cracks in the shade. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, where the tea from last night sat, now cold. It was Gavin. He must have changed the ring tone I had for him on my phone. Very funny.

  “Where are you?” he asked when I picked up. “Are you at work?”

  I noticed a pink piece of paper on the bed.

  I didn’t want to wake you. I’ll tell Darren you aren’t feeling well. —R

  I knew I should care, but right now I couldn’t. I felt a slight tug, knowing I was letting Darren down. I’d promised him I wouldn’t.

  “What’s up?” I said to Gavin.

  “Mom’s worried about you. She said you’re not answering her calls and texts.”

  “I can’t deal with Mom right now.”

  “How was the weekend?” he asked.

  “We broke up.” It felt strange to say it aloud to him.

  Gavin was silent.

  “Don’t worry, Gav. He’ll still be around; we’ll still be friends.”

  He cleared his throat. “You should call Mom so she knows you’re okay.”

  “You tell her, okay? I’ve gotta go.”

  I hung up and checked my texts.

  DARREN: Are you ok? I’m here if you need me.

  SEBASTIAN: We need to talk.

  I felt a mix of relief and dread. He’d texted me—yes, a day later. He’d probably spent the night being charming for beautiful Jacqueline. I didn’t write back. I didn’t want to hear his explanation of how he and Jacqueline were meant to be together. I couldn’t bear looking in his eyes and seeing pity because I’d been stupid enough to think he could be in love with me. I didn’t want to hear him say “let’s be friends.”

  I crashed back down on the pillow and fell asleep again.

  My stomach growled. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since Chris and I left the Cape yesterday morning. All I’d had were the beers with Charlie, the thought of which made me gag. I needed to eat something, but getting out of bed would require too much energy. I let my head fall back onto the pillow.

  My phone started playing my ringtone for Mom—I’m a bitch, I’m a lover / I’m a child, I’m a mother. I pressed DECLINE and closed my eyes. And then the phone buzzed with a text. My stomach was in my throat. Could it be Sebastian again?

  MOM: Please call me.

  I didn’t answer.

  MOM: Are you at Rebecca’s still? I know you’re not at Marwood, I checked.

  Again, I didn’t answer.

  MOM: I’m coming there.

  ME: No.

  MOM: Too late.

  I considered getting dressed or brushing my teeth. For Mom? That was insane. Besides, I was still so weak from hunger, I couldn’t move.

  Fifteen minutes later I heard the doorbell ring—then voices.

  There was a knock at my—Rebecca’s—bedroom door, and Charlie peeked in.

  “Hi,” he said. “Your mom’s here.”

  I groaned.

  “You want me to tell her to go away?”

  The Maronis were Italian. Protectors. They stuck together. And now I was in their house, so I was one of them.

  “No,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  He closed the door gently. More murmurs. Then Mom came in.

  I kept my face to the wall. I felt her sit on the bed. She touched my back, and I tensed immediately.

  “What do you want, Mom?”

  “What’s going on?” she asked quietly.

  “What do you care?”

  “I care about you more than anything. Please. Why won’t you talk to me?” She sounded like she was going to cry.

  “You really want to start talking about it now, after all these years?” I asked, turning toward her. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. No gym clothes, nothing fancy.

  “About what? What am I missing?”

  “Fine, then.” I sat up forcefully, despite how weak I felt. “How could you never do anything about it? Never talk to me? Never punish Scott? You just buried it. Acted like he was still a perfect angel boy. And like I was the one who did something wrong. Do you know how that’s made me feel?”

  “Macy, I have no idea what you’re talking about!” She sounded genuinely, utterly, completely insane with frustration.

  She didn’t know what I was talking about? Was she serious? Dad told her. He said he would. But … she really sounded like she didn’t know.

  Holy shit.

  Wait. Hold everything.

  Did Dad seriously never tell her? Was it even possible that all these years she never knew?

  “Mom,” I said. “You really don’t know?”

  “Macy, did he steal money from you? I need to know.” Her face looked panicked.

  I laughed at Mom’s horror of a potentially thieving Scott, and then I ripped off the Band-Aid.

  “No, he didn’t steal money from me. Scott did sexual things with me. To me. For years.”

  I watched a million emotions cross her face. Disbelief, fear, panic, despair.

  “What? What are you saying? How could that have—?” Her eyes teared up.

  “I don’t know. But it did.”

  “I don’t understand—when? When did this happen?” She sounded slightly hysterical, her voice reaching a higher and higher pitch with each word. My heartbeat sped up, but I tried to stay calm.

  “I was seven when it started. And the last time it happened, I was twelve. Remember when I almost drowned that day? That was the last time.”

  “Seven,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She sounded so confused; I felt kind of sorry for her.

  “Dad said he would tell you.”

  Her eyes narrowed and flashed anger.

  “Dad knew about this?” Rage replaced the confusion in her voice.

  I nodded.

  “I—oh god.”

  She started sobbing, and I was suddenly more exhausted than ever.

  “Mom, I just want to go back to sleep now.”

  She nodded, grabbing a tissue from Rebecca’s nightstand and wiped her nose. She pulled me to her and I let her hug me. I breathed in the familiar smell of her floral shampoo.

  I pulled away and lay down.

  “You just sleep, sweetheart.” She rubbed my back and I fell asleep quickly.

  When I woke, I could tell it was much later because the sun had shifted to the other side of the room. I stretched and turned over and nearly jumped ten feet when I saw Mom sitting on Rebecca’s desk chair staring at me.

  “Have you been sitting here this whole time?” I asked.

  Mom came over to the bed and sat on the edge. She looked older suddenly—circles under her eyes, no makeup, her hair dull in the dimly lit room.

  “It really happened, didn’t it?” she asked quietly.

  My heart pounded in my ears. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

  “Of course not. I want to not believe you. More than anything in the world. But I do. Of course I do.”

  She inched closer to me and put her hand on mine.

  I shook my head and pushed her hand away.

  “You’ve always just pretended everything was fine,” I said. “As long as everything looks good, then everything is good, right?”

  “I wasn’t pretending, Macy. I didn’t know about it.”

  “I thought you did,” I said.

  “But I didn’t.”

  But Dad knew. What would it be like the next time I saw him? He’d lied to me. What could I even say to him now?

  “Tell me what happened, Macy,” Mom said.

  I turned to face the wall.

  “I need to know,” she said.

>   Her tone was both commanding and understanding. She was right; she needed to know.

  I cleared my throat.

  “He came into my room when you were out,” I said. “I was usually reading, so he’d ask me about my book, tell me I was smart and mature for my age. Then he’d ask if I wanted to hang out. That meant … you know, do stuff. He’d take off his pants and he taught me how to … um, use my hand until he … you know. Sometimes he would touch me too. Once he did oral …”

  Mom sniffled. I kept my back to her, my nose nearly pressing against the wall. I felt my face burning—telling Mom this stuff—a mix of embarrassment, shame, anger.

  “Did he have sex with you?” Her voice was shaky but I could hear the fury and the sadness underneath.

  “He tried to once. I’d just gotten my training bra, so I guess I was eleven.”

  Mom gasped. We’d gotten in the biggest fight at Bloomingdale’s over the training bra. I was so mortified that the old lady who worked in the bra department was feeling me up, but Mom insisted that she needed to measure me for the proper fit.

  “Scott didn’t say anything about the bra,” I continued. “But he did say I had a couple of hairs down there, so we’d have to stop hanging out soon. He tried to have sex with me then anyway. When he started to do it, it hurt so much that I screamed, and he stopped.”

  Mom was quiet.

  I turned back toward her. She was so still, just staring at the wall. Silent tears on her cheeks. She looked at me like she’d just woken from a dream—or a nightmare.

  “I can see how much this changed you,” she said. “I didn’t see what you were going through. You must have been so confused.”

  “I didn’t think I was at the time, but … now I know I was.”

  “I wish I’d been looking more carefully. I wish I could have stopped it.” She took my hand and this time I let her. “I should have protected you. It was my only job really, and I failed.”

  I felt like I should hug her, but my body wouldn’t move.

  “You did your best, Mom.”

  She looked at me curiously, like she wasn’t expecting me to say something that nice. Truthfully, I’d surprised myself.

  There was a knock at the door, and Charlie peeked in.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “Rebecca called and said you probably haven’t eaten anything, so here.” He moved quickly into the room and put a plate down on the side table. Then he backed out. “Sorry, sorry.”

  “Thanks,” I called after him, grabbing the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and shoving it into my mouth. Nothing had ever tasted this good.

  Mom pushed my dreads away from my face as I chewed. I let her.

  “You have good friends,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “I want you to come home. Let me take care of you now.” She put her hand on my face and rubbed her thumb back and forth on my cheek. It made me feel like a little girl, but I liked it.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll come home soon.”

  She leaned over and kissed my forehead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I showered and borrowed clean shorts and a tank from Rebecca’s dresser. Charlie’s music blasted from behind his closed bedroom door so I was relieved to skip the awkward good-bye.

  Mom must have heard my car pull into the garage because she was right there when I walked into the house. She pulled me into a hug and rubbed circles on my back.

  She let go and looked into my eyes.

  “Scott’s coming here at five,” she said.

  I gasped. “You already talked to him?”

  Mom shook her head. “I told him that I have the check he asked for—a loan. He’s coming to pick it up. I’m not going to give it to him, of course, but I need to look him in the eye when I talk to him about this. If he tells the truth, maybe there’s some hope for him. I just need to see who he really is. Because if he lies, then—” She cleared her throat, and continued. “It’s your choice, but I think you should be here with me. I’m not asking you to forgive him, but I think you should tell him how you feel.”

  I didn’t want to. But I knew from the way my heart was pounding that I probably had to.

  “Why aren’t you going to his apartment?”

  “This is where it all happened. I have to fix my mistake, and it needs to be at our house.”

  I nodded. Mom was like a real person. A real mom.

  At five ten, Mom paced the family room, her ponytail swinging back and forth. I sat on the couch. My phone buzzed.

  GAVIN: Mom sent me away. U better tell me what’s going on.

  “You sent Gavin away?” I asked Mom.

  “I told him that you and I needed privacy for a bit. He went to Eliza’s.”

  I tried to picture telling Gavin what was going on. And then it hit me: Gavin was the same age Scott had been when it all started. I cringed when I thought about my sweet, skinny, awkward brother, who could never in a million years do what Scott had done.

  Mom picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Rob, call as soon as you land.”

  She hung up. “I don’t even know where he was. Arizona, I think.”

  I felt sorry for her, that she had to do this without Dad.

  Mom looked at her watch.

  “Scott may not show,” I said.

  “I know.”

  I didn’t want him to come. The idea of seeing him now, of having to confront him was making my stomach turn. I wanted him not to show up so Mom would just stop talking to him, and then it would be over. No more Scott. But I knew that wasn’t really possible. Even if he didn’t show, Mom would keep trying.

  My phone buzzed.

  SEBASTIAN: I really need to talk to you. Please.

  “Everything okay?” Mom asked, like that was even a possibility.

  I shook my head. My heart hurt so much.

  She sat on the arm of the couch and rubbed my back, which made it even harder not to cry.

  The side door creaked open, and Scott walked in. I felt my face flush hot and red. I wanted to run to my room. He was his perfect pretty-boy self. I had a sudden pang that this had all been a big mistake. I never should have told anyone. It wasn’t that big a deal. He was just a guy who did something he shouldn’t have done a long time ago. Anger at Sebastian welled up. He’d put me in this situation, broken down my walls, and then left me to deal with the mess alone.

  Scott smiled and looked as if he was about to give Mom a hug, but he stopped mid-stride and raised his eyebrows.

  Then I saw Mom’s face. When she looked at Scott, I saw her anger and disgust, and I knew that I wasn’t alone. As much as my mother didn’t protect me then, she would make up for it now.

  “What’s going on? What’d I do?” he asked, but he was smiling, like it was a big joke.

  “I know what you did to Macy,” Mom said.

  Scott looked genuinely confused.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You abused her, Scott. You sexually abused my daughter when she was just a little girl.” Mom choked up on the last words. She cleared her throat.

  “What the fuck?” Scott yelled and his face twisted up in anger. “Are you out of your mind? What the fuck, Macy? What is this ambush—I just came here to … what the fuck! This is insane. I’m leaving.”

  He started toward the door.

  “Come back here and sit down,” Mom said. “Now.”

  He turned around and glared at me.

  “What is this, Macy? Are you jealous? You want attention? Is that what this is about?”

  Mom opened her mouth, but I was the one who spoke.

  “No!” I wanted to wring his neck.

  Mom put her hand on my shoulder.

  “Deb, she’s always been jealous,” he said, more calmly. It seemed like he remembered he could throw out some charming, logical words and get away with it, like he did with everything. “Jealous and judgmental and self-righteous. But she’s taking this way too far, making up s
ome hateful story to turn you against me.”

  I had words but they weren’t making it to my mouth. I took a breath, tried to focus on what was important.

  “I couldn’t pretend anymore that we were a happy family,” I finally said, my voice stronger than I’d expected. “I actually thought that what you did to me was normal. That I chose to do it too. But it wasn’t normal, and I never had a choice. And I needed help.”

  It was the first time I’d given voice to this. I needed help. I need help.

  Scott sat heavily in the leather armchair across from me and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Yes, I can see that,” he said. “You do need help. You’re making up stories for some reason when I’ve been nothing but nice to you…. I’m worried about you.” He made a sad face like his heart was breaking for me. But it was all just a show for Mom.

  “You’re lying!” I yelled. I hated him right then. Every good feeling I’d had toward him over the years disappeared as he made me look like I was the one lying. Like I was crazy.

  Mom sat on the couch next to me.

  “Scott,” she said calmly. “Just tell me what happened. Tell me the truth.”

  “Nothing happened, Deb,” he said, his voice soft. “The only thing I can think where this could be coming from was that one day at the pool. I pulled down my bathing suit for a second. I flashed her. It was a joke. She freaked out. But that was it.”

  “You’re lying, Scott,” Mom said.

  “I’d never do something like this. I’d never hurt her. I want to help her.”

  I felt my insides clench. He was convincing.

  “You hurt her. You need to acknowledge it now.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t do it.”

  “Maybe you’ve blocked it out of your memory,” Mom said. “Like False Memory Syndrome, when you really believe you’re telling the truth. But you’re not.”

  Scott raised his eyebrow at her.

  “No, she’s the one with False Memory Syndrome. Because this shit never happened.”

  “It happened, Scott,” Mom said. “I need you to just say it.”