Someone I Used to Know

by Patty Blount

  I hope it works. I hope I can help somebody before their family turns into mine.

  FOUR YEARS AGO

  BELLFORD, OHIO

  Dad orders Justin and me to help get the house all set up for Thanksgiving dinner, so we haul out the expanders for the dining room table.

  “Where’s the third one?” Ashley demands.

  “Downstairs,” I tell her, placing the one I carried on my shoulder into the open gap in the table. Justin has a second one. With Dad’s help, we get the table secure.

  “Mom, what about the third expander?” Ashley whines, but Mom just waves her hand.

  “I don’t think we need it. This is fine.”

  “But, Mom, you and Granny will squash me,” she whines some more, and I roll my eyes. This is all Ashley does. Whine about stuff instead of just doing it herself. She could go fetch the third expander.

  That afternoon, the rest of our family arrives.

  “Diane, honey, the table looks beautiful!” Granny gushes while Dad takes her coat and Pop gives Mom a hug. The doorbell rings again, and this time, it’s Aunt Debra and Uncle Jim. Uncle Jim is Dad’s brother. They have three kids, too. All boys. Yes! We have a team now.

  I love Thanksgiving. Even more than Christmas, I love this holiday. Food and football—what else could a guy wish for? Besides having his pesky little sister banished from the field, of course.

  While the turkey roasts, we choose teams. Ashley’s whining changes from the table expander to the game I’m trying to get started.

  She hates my football. She’s hidden it from me more than once. One time, I found it in the garbage. She can’t understand how much it means to me to have something that’s mine alone, something manly like football. The more I play, the more annoying she seems to get. But today? This is parent-approved football. Dad tells her it’s boys only, and her little lip quivers.

  For a second, maybe two, I almost cave in. I could show her how to throw a decent spiral, maybe run a few plays.

  Could but don’t.

  If I do, football is only gonna become one more thing we have to share. One more reason to dress us in matching outfits—which I hate, by the way. I just want that on record. Matching outfits for siblings is the worst idea ever.

  So we’re playing a great game of Turkey Day football even if Ashley pouts until the pumpkin pie is served.

  Aunt Pam arrives with Uncle Phil and their kids, Paige and Logan. Aunt Pam, Granny, and Aunt Debra disappear into the kitchen with Mom. Everybody else heads out to the backyard to play football, even Paige.

  “Go inside, Ashley!” Dad orders when she tries to play, too.

  She puts her hands on her hips. “How come Paige can play?”

  “Because she knows how. You don’t,” I retort.

  She stamps her foot and goes back in the house to complain. Again.

  “Let her play, Joe,” Uncle Phil tells Dad, but he shakes his head.

  “Nope, not the way Dynamo plays,” he says with a grin aimed at me. “She’ll get hurt. If I were you, I wouldn’t let Paige play, either.”

  Aunt Pam’s head popped out of the back door. “Paige.” A minute later, Paige stomps back into the house, her face furious.

  We play for hours.

  By the time the turkey’s ready, we’re filthy, covered in leaves and grass stains. We head inside to clean up, Dad, Uncle Phil, and Uncle Jim all groaning about knees, backs, and a hip hurting. My cousins and I just roll our eyes.

  God, they’re so old.

  When we’re all gathered around the table, squeaky clean again, Granny tells Mom everything looks delicious. We start passing around dishes, bowls, and plates.

  “Ow!” Ashley shrieks, clutching her head.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Granny tells her.

  “I’ll eat later,” Ashley says, standing up with a murderous look aimed at me.

  “No, you won’t. You will eat now or not at all.” Mom points at Ashley’s seat.

  Slowly, Ashley sits back down.

  “Mom, there’s—”

  “She’s just mad nobody would play with her,” Paige announces to the entire table.

  All eyes turn on Ashley, and they aren’t full of love and sympathy.

  “There’s no room—”

  “Just eat, Ashley.” Dad says.

  I feel sort of bad because she does look a bit squished, but jeez, it’s a holiday. We’re supposed to be on our best behavior, right?

  Ashley pouts, and when she discovers both drumsticks are already claimed, she drops her fork and just sits there, mopey and depressed. Aunt Pam and Aunt Debra exchange a look of disapproval, which never fails to piss off Mom. I cast a worried glance at Dad, who’s really gonna hear it later tonight, but he’s too busy talking to Uncle Phil about the Buckeyes.

  When dinner’s done and everybody so stuffed they have to adjust their belts, Ashley sneaks away from the table sometime between the clearing and the dessert. The really sad part is nobody even notices until the coffee finishes brewing and everybody’s back in their chairs.

  The aunts do another disapproving look, and this time, Mom says something.

  “You know, I’m not sure I’d want to eat with any of you either after getting ignored all day.”

  “Ignored?” Aunt Pam echoes.

  “Yes. Ignored. Paige was outside playing football, even though we’d agreed it was too rough for the girls. When you called her inside, she sulked and blamed Ashley, and nobody seemed to mind that at all.”

  Paige looks ready to shout the house down, but Uncle Phil cuts that off at the knees. “You’ll apologize to Ashley, Paige. It wasn’t her fault you couldn’t play.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “You heard me.”

  Paige huffs out one of those loud sighs girls must master by the age of ten because Ashley sure performs it as well as Paige does.

  Logan snickers next to his sister, earning an elbow in his ribs for it.

  Nobody’s shocked when they’re the first to leave.

  Ashley finally reappears later that night, after everybody has gone home. Dad and I are watching a football game, and Justin’s working on his computer. Mom’s reading a book. Ashley just walks right by us like we’re not even here, makes herself a sandwich, and disappears back up the stairs.

  I catch Justin’s gaze and shrug. Everything with Ashley is always drama, drama, drama.

  25

  Ashley

  It’s not just my life he ruined. My parents fight all the time. My brothers can hardly look at me. Derek is a senior right now, and because there’s no football this year, he’s afraid he’s not going to get a scholarship to college now. Because of me—not the defendant. Me.

  —Ashley E. Lawrence, victim impact statement

  NOW

  BELLFORD, OHIO

  Justin left school so Dad hit the roof.

  He’s in grad school, and the semester isn’t over yet. But Justin said he’d finish what was left of the semester online and after that, he’d transfer to a school near home. Mom was ecstatic. It’s barely the middle of November, and she’s buzzing with preparations to make this the Best Thanksgiving Ever. Eye roll.

  The only thing I’m buzzed about is having no school. And Sebastian. But Mom thinks it’s great the aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents…and brothers are coming. I don’t know why. There’s always tension between Mom and one of the aunts…or me and my brother.

  She’s got out her recipe cards, magazines with cute orange and red and brown decorations to make, and all the good china out of their packing boxes. Even now, she’s outside in the yard, a mask over her face, dipping silverware in de-tarnishing solution. Justin’s been running around like a minion, fetching boxes, running out to various stores, and moving furniture.

  I feel ill.

  I don’t want this.
I don’t want any part of this and wish I could just cancel the holidays or take off somewhere and hide until they’re over, somewhere secluded where there’s no chance I’d run into Vic.

  A chime on my phone reminds me it’s time to call my therapist. Dr. Joyce is pretty amazing. I see her once a month, and in between, we have phone sessions.

  “Hello, Ashley,” she says a minute later.

  “Hey, Dr. Joyce.”

  “Are you excited about the holiday?”

  I groan.

  “I’ll take that as a no. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  So I do. I tell her how Thanksgiving’s good for nothing but testing the effectiveness of my antianxiety meds.

  “Ashley, it sounds like you’ve been bitterly disappointed by your family’s inability to anticipate your needs and desires. Have you considered sitting down and talking with them about your expectations for this year?”

  Um. No. “Actually, it seemed kind of obvious so…”

  “So you haven’t. Okay, I want you to try that this year. Start with your mom. Sit down, or better yet, take her out for coffee or ice cream. Calmly and rationally, explain how Thanksgiving has been a source of anxiety for you in the past, and how this year, you’d like her help in avoiding your triggers. Then talk to your dad.”

  My triggers. Jeez, ice cream won’t be enough. I’m gonna need a four-course meal to have that conversation.

  “And then, I suggest you ask your mom how you can make the holiday less stressful for her.”

  She’s the one who’s going overboard for this holiday. How is that my fault?

  “It’s a challenging meal to prepare,” Dr. Joyce continues like she read my mind. “Add in the stress of having all of your siblings together again, plus your extended family, and your mom is likely feeling the tension of trying to make things perfect, but knowing it’s not possible.”

  Sighing, I agree.

  “As for your extended family, that’s a perfect time to practice your affirmations.”

  Dr. Joyce is a big believer in positive self-talk. For months, she’s been encouraging me to tell myself, “I’m fine. I’m normal. I’m a-okay.” She claims the more I tell myself that, the more I’ll believe it.

  Lie, lie, lie.

  “Your cousins don’t know how to behave around you or what to say. That’s why they treat you differently. So show them you’re not different. You’re still you. Do the things the old you liked doing.”

  “Dr. Joyce, that’s the problem. I can’t. I’m not allowed. The old me wanted to do whatever Derek was doing. Derek doesn’t want me anywhere near him and hasn’t since I was ten or eleven years old.”

  “Ashley, I think that’s a big part of the problem. You’ve always idolized your brother. You’ve never given yourself time or opportunities to discover what you like doing.”

  I go still because whoa. That…that actually makes sense. When Derek shoved me aside, there was nothing else there. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much. “I don’t know what I like.”

  “Sure you do. Would you even consider football if your brother wasn’t into it?”

  I think about that for a moment. “No. Football’s boring.”

  “Okay, so if everything were still the same, what would you be doing?”

  “Um, watching movies, I think. We used to do that a lot. Watch movies. Play video games.”

  “Okay, so why don’t you buy a new movie or game to play with your family? It’s neutral. It’ll give them the excuse they need to avoid the discomfort they feel being around you and give you the opportunity to show your mother you’re trying your best to de-stress the day for her.”

  I guess I could make more of an effort to make the day happy for everybody else. I get that it’s not all about me.

  “Now tell me how school’s been going.”

  I wince. “Um, well, the Raise the BAR program’s been a huge success. Pretty much everybody signed the pledge, and there’s been no sign of any scavenger hunt activities.”

  “Ashley, that’s wonderful! That’s a personal victory.”

  Personal victory. Yeah, maybe it is. “You know he’s out, right? Released early. I…I saw him. He was at the same movie theater.”

  Dr. Joyce hesitates for just a moment. “That must have been difficult for you. How do you think you handled it?”

  I puff out my cheeks. “I froze like a deer in headlights, Dr. Joyce. He could have killed me.”

  “We’ll come back to him in a moment. How did you respond?”

  “I just stood there.” Damn it, I freaking hate that I did that. “I’ve had three or four self-defense classes, and didn’t remember anything I learned.”

  “What about your anxiety?”

  “Um…I think it was kind of frozen, too. I didn’t feel like I was about to fall apart until after.”

  “After?”

  “Yeah. Sebastian got me out of there, and then I started to feel like I couldn’t breathe.”

  “And then what?”

  “That’s it.” I flop down on my bed. “I got really mad and refused, just absolutely refused, to deal with an anxiety attack on top of seeing Vic.”

  “So you were able to talk yourself down from an anxiety spike.”

  Yeah, I guess I was.

  “Ashley, I think you’ve made some amazing progress. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll keep making great strides like this. Our time’s almost up. Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

  “Well, I started this Pinterest board.”

  “Oh?”

  “I got really pissed off at the way the newspaper covered Victor’s release. It was all braggy, you know? Like he’s this star athlete who got railroaded or framed, and his early release is a victory for the wrongfully convicted.”

  “You said this pissed you off. So what did you do?”

  “I photoshopped corrections in an image of the original article. I changed it to the truth. He’s a convicted sex offender. So that’s what I put in the headline.”

  I hear some clicking through the phone and realize it’s Dr. Joyce’s computer.

  “I’ve found it. My, you’ve been busy.” There’s a smile in her voice. “I like the way you presented these images. Before and after.”

  There are about a dozen or so pictures I’ve been playing with.

  “Ashley, I think this is a great way of channeling your anger into a productive outlet. In fact, I think you should send the newspaper a link to your board and explain why you felt it necessary to correct their slant.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “Ashley, we’re almost out of time. Is there anything else we should discuss?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “I see. Okay then, let’s schedule our next appointment.”

  With our next session scheduled, Dr. Joyce and I hang up.

  When I head downstairs, Mom’s got about eleventy million recipes on cards, torn out of magazines, and printed from the internet spread out on the dining room table, which is a long natural-pine rectangle that Dad refinished when we were little. The chairs are new and don’t match, but Mom adores it. Against the short wall, there’s a matching cabinet that holds all Mom’s nice dishes. Beside it are the expanders wrapped in plastic covers—three of them, not two.

  They remembered. My heart gives a little ping at this, and I smile.

  Mom looks up, waiting.

  “Hey, Mom. Need some help?”

  Her eyes pop wide, and she shrugs. “Um. Sure. Why not? Why don’t you go through this pile and tell me what your favorites are? I’ll try to make them.”

  My favorites? Seriously? Happily, I sit next to her and do exactly that. She’s got broiled brussels sprouts with balsamic vinegar.

  Ugh.

  Next up, stuffed acorn squash stars. I like these. She stuffs
them with wild rice.

  I skim three different recipes for stuffing and finally pull the one with sausage. And whoa! There are seriously six different ways to cook the turkey. I choose the barbecue one. I go through all the recipes she’d given me and then hold them out.

  Mom takes the stack and nods. “Hmm, okay. Yeah, we can do this.” She looks at me and smiles. “Thanks, Ashley.”

  “Sure. So do you maybe feel like going out for ice cream or something?”

  If she looked surprised before, her face is downright funny now. “You want to go out for ice cream…with me?”

  “Yeah. Can you go?”

  She studies me for a minute or two and slowly nods. “Yes. I can go.”

  It takes us about fifteen minutes to drive over to the diner near Dad’s garage and find a place to park. We slip into a booth. Mom orders coffee and a slice of pie. I choose a sundae. We’re both quiet and maybe a little uncomfortable. Mom keeps looking at me like she’s never met me before.

  “So, um, that recipe for barbecuing the turkey. Have you used it before?”

  She thinks it over and finally says, “Oh! Yes. The year Justin sprained his ankle.”

  “Right,” I say, nodding and rolling my eyes. My nonathletic brother sprained his ankle taking the trash to the curb.

  Mom laughs.

  I don’t remember the turkey tasting any different. Turkey’s turkey. “Which one’s your favorite?”

  “I really like the way the turkey came out the year we tried frying it. But Dad’s afraid of those fryers—says they’re too risky.”

  Nodding, I try being practical. “It would be so much easier if we had two ovens. Hey, maybe we can rent one just for the day?”

  Mom’s lips twitch. “I have no idea, but that’s a really good idea.” She pulls her phone out of her bag. “I’m looking it up.” A few minutes later, she pats my hand. “Ashley, you are a genius! You can rent ovens. Look.” She shows me her phone just as our treats arrive.

  “Kind of a lot of money for one day,” I observe, but Mom shrugs.

  “But worth every penny. Imagine getting all the food hot at the same time.” She props her chin in her hand and smiles at me. “You’re so smart. I’ve been doing this for how many years now? It’s never once occurred to me to rent an extra oven.” She stirs some sugar and cream into her coffee and takes a sip.