The Truths We Told

by Blair, E. K.

  While I’m hanging out in the living room, watching television, I check my email and see that my professor got back to me. I open his message to find that the rusty old cocksucker isn’t going to budge on his attendance policy since it isn’t a family related emergency, but rather, my girlfriend’s. It never fails that, each semester, I get one asshole professor who actually keeps track of when I show up. He ends the email by reiterating his policy that each absence after the fourth will result in a half a letter grade drop.

  “Fucking bastard,” I mutter right before I hear the door to the garage open. I stand when I see it’s Kate’s mom. “Hey.”

  “Oh, hi,” she says. “I just came home really quick to shower and run to the store.”

  “I already went.”

  “You what?”

  “I went to the store earlier today,” I tell her as I follow her into the kitchen.

  She opens the fridge to find it stocked. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It’s the least I could do.”

  She pulls out the new carton of creamer and then fixes herself a cup of coffee. “Where are the girls?”

  “Sleeping in Kate’s room.”

  She brings her mug over to the table and invites me to sit with her. Last time I was here, I spent most of my time with Steve, so I’m not really sure how to start a conversation with her. Thankfully, she doesn’t make me sweat. “Steve really loved meeting you this past summer.” A subtle grin ghosts her lips as she thinks about something. “You know . . . I wound up googling that biscuit thing you brought up at dinner.”

  “Too offensive?” I question with a smirk, and she takes a sip of coffee to stifle her giggle.

  “It was unexpected, but it brought up old memories.” My eyes widen, and she instantly perks up, defending, “No, not about the biscuit thing.”

  “Thank god!”

  She breathes a weak laugh. “It got me thinking back to when Steve and I first met. You remind me a lot of him in his younger years. He had a mouth like a sailor, which my parents did not approve of.” She stares down at her hands, which are cradling the mug. “I never imagined I’d fall for a guy like him.”

  “I think Kate feels the same way,” I admit. “I worry she’s going to wake up one day and ask herself what the hell she’s doing with me.”

  It’s a strange thing to say this aloud, and it’s even stranger to say it to her mother, but then she turns to me and says, “I think you’re exactly what she’s been looking for.”

  “She’s too good for me.”

  She smiles. “It’s okay to feel that way. It’ll make you want to be an even better man than what you already are.”

  It helps settle the doubts I’ve always had about myself when it comes to her daughter. I often worry I won’t be enough, but she’s right. I do want to be a better man and give Kate everything I know she deserves. And then the email I just received comes to mind and I worry I’m going to let her down.

  “I think she’s going to be pissed at me.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to get back to Miami. I have this dickhole professor who’s going to drop my grade if I miss any more lectures, and I’m barely hanging on to a C in the class.”

  “She’ll understand.”

  “I feel bad leaving all of you,” I admit. I worry about how the three of them will handle it if things turn worse, and I don’t want Kate to be alone.

  Her hand finds mine, and she holds it. “You need to take care of your school. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re here with us, but we’ll be okay, and so will Kate.”

  After that, she makes her way into her room, and I head upstairs. Kate and Audrina are sound asleep, so I grab a few of my things and head across the hall into the guest room to lie down. Unfortunately, sleep doesn’t find me, and after a while, my door cracks open.

  Kate closes it behind her and slips into bed with me. I cuddle her close and let her heat sink into my body before taking a deep breath and telling her, “I have to go back to Miami, babe.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t miss any more classes. I tried talking to my professor, but he won’t make an exception.”

  She lets go of a deep breath.

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell her, kissing her forehead. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  She’s quiet for a few minutes, and it’s just long enough for me to start to worry that she’s mad, but then she presses closer to me. “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel bad about going. I understand.”

  It doesn’t feel right that she’s okay with me leaving. In a way, I want her to be upset, I want her to be angry and tell me I’m letting her down by not being here for her when I should be.

  “I don’t want to be away from you right now.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nods.

  “I’ll only be an hour and a half away, so if you need me for anything.”

  She slides her hand through my hair, grips it into her palm, and presses her forehead against mine before she closes her eyes. “I feel like I’m a burden to you.”

  “Fuck that.” I instantly dismiss the notion. “You’re not even close to being a burden.”

  She doesn’t say another word, but it isn’t as if she has a chance to before I’m kissing her so deeply I hope she feels it in her bones. She needs to know that I would do absolutely anything for her.

  When she lifts the covers and pulls them over us, I’m cautious as she starts to move over me. She slips off her shorts and then starts tugging at mine, but I force myself to stop her.

  “Your mom is downstairs,” I tell her.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Are you sure, babe?”

  Her puffy eyes hold too many emotions to count, and when she shifts to straddle my hips, she gives me a timid, “Please.”

  I know all she wants is to feel safe in this moment, so I don’t push her away when she lowers herself and takes me inside her. Despite the fact that her world is in ruins, we manage to console each other as best we can while we quietly make love. Her hands brace against my chest, and I’m entirely consumed by watching her take from me whatever it is she needs. And I swear that I’ve never felt more connected to another person as I do in this very moment.

  KATE

  TRENT: Never heard back from you yesterday. Call me when you get a chance.

  I stare at the text I received this morning, the one I’ve yet to respond to, as a cloud of dread hangs over me. Trent went back to Miami early Monday morning, and the distance this week has given time for guilt and a brand-new fear to emerge through the overwhelming shock and devastation of my dad. For the two days he was with me after my father was shot, I was needy for his comfort, which came on the heel of him telling me how much he had been neglected of that very thing.

  Selfishly, I couldn’t see beyond the agony festering in my heart, and I wound up taking from him in a very similar way he complained about his mother doing.

  She’s done it his whole life.

  Her world falls apart, and she runs to him to help make it all better.

  Realizing I’ve been doing the same thing hit me out of the blue a couple of days ago, and now I’m questioning myself in more ways than just one.

  “Good news,” a nurse says when she comes into my dad’s hospital room. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll be moving you to the step-down unit.”

  Still extremely weak, he barely lifts a smile.

  Yesterday, they pulled him out of his coma and ran several tests, all of which came back with positive results and with no detection of any neurological damage. Since then, he’s been stable, and the news that he’ll be moved out of ICU brings a huge sense of relief. He’s going to recover.

  While the nurse checks his vitals, I go back to ignoring Trent’s text and call my mom to tell her the news. My sister and I have been trading visiting shifts with her so we can better take care of ourselves and get the rest we’ve bee
n severely lacking. It’s been one of the toughest weeks of my life, but now that he’s awake, hope is more tangible.

  “When is your mom coming back up?” he asks when I end the call.

  “In about an hour.”

  “You girls don’t have to be up here every waking minute, you know?”

  “None of us have a car, so . . . ya know,” Audrina teases as if the lack of transportation is the reason we don’t go home more often.

  I mean, it plays a part, but it certainly isn’t the reason.

  “You too good for public transportation?” he tosses back, and I smile.

  Until yesterday, I was afraid he’d never open his eyes again, that I’d never hear his voice, that he would leave me alone and fatherless in this world, forever putting a gaping hole in our family.

  “What about you?” he says, acknowledging me. “When are you getting back to Miami? Don’t you have classes you need to go to?”

  “I was able to get this week waived, but I have to go back tomorrow or Sunday because I can’t get any more time off,” I tell him, hating that I have to leave when he’s still stuck here.

  The doctor told us that, even if he doesn’t experience any setbacks, he probably won’t be going home for another couple of weeks. Not only do I not want to leave my dad but also I’m worried about my mother. She’s a strong woman, but the stress has taken its toll on her. Hopefully, now that he’s being moved out of the ICU, she won’t feel as if she has to be here constantly.

  “I have pudding,” a nurse sing-songs as she pokes her head into the room.

  “I’ll take it,” my dad says, knowing damn well he can’t have it.

  “Nice try.” She looks between my sister and me, holding out the small cup. “Any takers?”

  “No thanks,” I tell her. “I think I’ve eaten my body weight in pudding over this past week.”

  “I didn’t want to say anything, but your ass does look bigger.”

  “Thanks, Audrina,” I snark as I flip her off.

  She raises her hands defensively. “What? I’m just sayin’. You don’t want Trent trading you in, do you?”

  I shake my head, wondering if he should. Not because of my looks—Trent would never do that, and my sister knows it. But I have to wonder if I’m able to give him what he needs—what he deserves. Let’s face it, a bomb just blew up right in front of my face, and I’ve been a mess ever since. It’s the realization that life is fragile and can be taken away from us at any moment.

  I’ve cried myself to sleep every night this week. This situation with my father has me mentally frail and unable to focus on anything outside of my family. I’m on empty and have nothing left to give, so I’m forced to take.

  But I don’t want to take from Trent because I wouldn’t be asking for a little; I’d be asking for a monumental amount of support and patience. My world has been shaken to its core, and I’m struggling to keep my head above water. The last thing I want is to be a burden to anyone, especially him.

  He doesn’t deserve another person in his life who does nothing but take.

  That’s exactly what I would be doing—what I already have been doing—I just didn’t realize it until now. I’ve been relying on his strength to help pull me through the devastation of Caleb. Knowing how much Trent despises him, I can’t imagine how frustrating it was for him to have to see me cry over how Caleb shattered my heart.

  Trent’s too nice of a guy to ever say anything to me about it, just like he’s too nice to have ever said anything to his mother about how much her neediness affects him. He has to feel the same way about me. How could he not? He’s already told me how much his mother has let him down, how all he wanted was to feel her strength and for her to take care of him. He’s never had that. It’s only a matter of time until he sees I’m just the same as her. And my biggest fear is that he’s going to wind up resenting me—because he will, the same way he resents her.

  I shouldn’t have been depending on him the way I have been, and it isn’t fair for me to use him as my personal crutch.

  God, I’ve been taking advantage of him this whole time. He didn’t need me to throw all my baggage on him, but I did it anyway, never bothering to ask if he even wanted it.

  I’m just another weak woman who can’t fix things on her own.

  But I need to. I need to figure out a way to not lean on him so much. Reality is, strength is the one thing I always seem to be in short supply of. Lord knows I didn’t have an ounce of it when I was with Caleb, and I don’t feel like I have much of it with Trent either, so what makes me think that I’ll be able to have it all on my own if I don’t have someone next to me to syphon it from?

  The desire to resurrect the walls around me that I had built after Caleb, the same walls Trent worked so hard to tear down, is undeniably strong. In a way, I’ve already started stacking the bricks by avoiding Trent’s calls these past two days and not checking in like I should be. I’m putting distance between us because I’m ashamed and disappointed in myself.

  He gives, and I take and I take and I take.

  We’re unbalanced—because of me.

  I’m not the right girl for him.

  I’m far too fragile.

  When the sun trades shifts with the moon and I lay my head on my pillow, I’m forced to hit my vape pen because getting high is the only way I can sleep these days. Without it, I’m an insomniac, crawling the walls and driving myself crazy with frightening thoughts of the people I love dying all around me.

  I grew up believing my parents were ever-steady, unbreakable, and forever constant. No one wants to consider the possibility of them dying, so we don’t. We put that thought out of the realm of possibilities and allow ourselves to think it will never happen. Having life turn on me so harshly has been a shock to my system, and I’m struggling to cope with the undeniable truth that, one day, I will be without them.

  My phone illuminates the room with another notification I can’t bring myself to look at, so I don’t. Rolling over, I take one more pull from my pen before totally fading.

  Another shift change—another day recycled. I wake, shower, and attempt to console the unrelenting pain in my stomach with coffee because I can’t eat. I return to the hospital, sit with my dad, and wallow in a swamp of depression even though I’m so grateful to still have him. And then, I come home, get stoned, and sleep just to do it all over again.

  Despite the shimmers of light, I’m shrouded in darkness that I can’t get out from underneath. My dad was moved to a different floor yesterday, and it brought him so much happiness to see his friends on the force. The nurses had to step in and cut their visits short since he wore out quickly, reminding us all that he still has a long road ahead of him.

  “How are you holding up, dear?” my mother asks when she finds me sitting in the living room, staring at the blank television screen and waiting to go up to the hospital.

  My response is a painful smile I can’t hold for any longer than a few seconds.

  “You know, it helps if you actually turn the television on.”

  Talking is impossible with the pang deep inside my gut today. I have to go back to Miami, and I’ve been trying so hard not to think about it.

  “I spoke with Trent last night.”

  I can’t bring myself to look at her because I don’t want to risk her seeing the tears I’m fighting back.

  “Is everything okay between the two of you?”

  I nod, trying to avoid having to talk about him, but there’s no avoiding the obtrusive knot in my throat.

  My words strain in discomfort when I finally speak. “What did he say?”

  “He’s concerned about you. Said he hasn’t heard from you in a few days.” She lays a hand on my knee. “You know, it’s okay to be vulnerable and ask for help.”

  “I know.”

  “I can tell he’s worried,” she says, reinforcing the fact that I’m a burden. “I told him you’d be home tonight. I think it’ll be good for you to get some space fro
m all this stress.”

  “You told him I’m going back tonight?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I’m ready,” Audrina announces when she comes down the stairs, ending our conversation, but it doesn’t leave my mind.

  My sister and I follow my mom up to the hospital in Dad’s truck, but I can barely focus during my visit because I’m too consumed with heartache, knowing that Trent will most likely be at my condo at some point this evening. I should be excited to see him and be back inside his arms. Instead, I have sadness blooming inside me.

  “What are you thinking about?” my father asks when he notices how quiet I’ve been.

  “How much I don’t want to go back to Miami.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ll be out of here in no time.”

  I reach over and hold his hand, but the small comfort isn’t enough to quell the dread of the minutes ticking down. My mom and sister went to grab a bite to eat, but I stayed to spend some extra time with him before Audrina drives me back to my place.

  “I’m worried about Mom too,” I tell him. “Audrina booked her flight back to London. She leaves in three days, and Mom won’t have anyone at the house.”

  “Your mom is a tough woman; she’ll be fine. All of you need to stop fussing over me.”

  “Dad, you were shot,” I remind him, needing him not to be so dismissive of the severity of his injury. “We almost lost you.”

  “But you didn’t. I’m still here, kicking and breathing.”

  Shaking my head, I hold his hand a little tighter, dreading the day I’ll no longer have him. The thought weighs on me every second of every minute of every hour. It never leaves my side. The inevitability of that fact has changed me this past week, and if I could, I’d hold on to him for forever.

  When it’s time to go, I break down, leaning over him and crying as I do my best to hug him with all the machines he’s still hooked up to. He continues to act as if everything is fine and I have no reason to be concerned, but that’s just his stubbornness talking.