Tough Love

by Marcie Bridges

  I hurried through the bathroom, packing only the most essential items. I knew it would be hard to leave, and I didn’t want to prolong it. I went back to my room, threw everything into my bag and headed for the stairs again.

  I decided that I’d leave the same way I came in–silent and looking straight ahead. This decision was two-fold: first, if I looked at my mom, she and I would both start crying. I wanted no drama, no tears. I also wanted my parents to not worry about all this; they deserved for it to be over. I thought once I left, they would be at peace.

  So that’s what I did. I kept a stoic face, eyes set directly ahead, and walked out the door.

  Brendan was on the corner where I’d left him. He took the overnight bag from me and grabbed my hand. We headed up 5th Street once again on our way to the bus stop.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  I shrugged, but said nothing out loud. Depression was setting in. I could feel it grabbing hold of me, silencing my words, turning my hands and feet ice cold. We walked in silence, reaching the place where the bus would come soon.

  “It’s going to be okay, baby,” Brendan said. He was trying to be reassuring, but I wasn’t buying it. He set my bag down next to his feet and took my face into both his hands. “I’ll take care of you.”

  “The bus is coming,” I whispered. It was the only semblance of a voice I could manage.

  We walked up the steps, paid our fare and sat down. Brendan held my hand while I rested my head on his shoulder. We didn’t speak.

  We rode the bus to my childhood home, where he continued to live with a friend. Walking in was surreal. To be in the house where I’d spent my first thirteen years of life, but now with my boyfriend…? It was all too much.

  “You tired?” he asked me.

  “Very. But I want to take a shower first.”

  Brendan helped me take my bag upstairs and find some towels before I took the familiar path to the basement shower stall. Reaching in through the curtain, I turned the knob to hot, got undressed and stepped inside. I expected tears to come, but they didn’t; I was too spent to even cry.

  I took my time, letting the scalding water flow over my body and wash away the daily grime. Too bad it couldn’t wash away the feelings, too. I stayed until the water grew cold and I was shivering.

  Once I was dressed, I headed back upstairs. Brendan wasn’t in the living room so I went on up to the second floor where the bedrooms were. I found him there, sitting on the bed in his pajama pants, waiting for me.

  “Doing okay?” he asked, his voice calm and low.

  I shrugged again.

  “Come over here and let me hold you.”

  I sat down on the opposite side of the bed and pushed back toward the middle. He met me there, arms open, and we laid down, my head on his chest. He stroked my hair while I cried myself to sleep.

  When I woke the next morning, it took me several minutes to figure things out. It was more than just a “where am I?” moment. It was more than waking up from a bad dream. It was coming back to reality from a nightmare, and then realizing I was living the nightmare.

  Brendan was there, still sleeping. I had no idea how long he’d stay asleep so I decided to get up. I slipped out from under his arm and went to the bathroom.

  I was a mess. My hair was going twenty different directions, and my eyes were puffy from all the crying I’d done. I splashed my face with cold water, threw my hair into a quick ponytail and went downstairs.

  I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but there was some fresh brewed by Brendan’s roommate, and it smelled wonderful. I decided to pour myself a cup and went out to the deck to enjoy it.

  Looking out at the backyard brought back so many memories. I spotted the large tractor tire in the yard and smiled. I had spent countless hours walking around and around on that thing, singing my favorite songs. Expanding my gaze a bit further, I could see a small piece of the swing set behind the garage. I closed my eyes, picturing myself sitting there, swinging slowly, and pretending to be Sandy from Grease. Back then, I wanted to be devoted to someone hopelessly, like she had been. Now that I was, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  I heard movement inside the house and realized Brendan was up and pouring himself some coffee, too. I wasn’t ready for my solitary trip down memory lane to end, but I didn‘t want him to worry about me either. I decided to be subtle and clear my throat, hoping he’d hear me through the open kitchen window.

  Soon, he was coming through the back door. I could tell he wanted to ask a lot of questions but was afraid of my response.

  He settled on a gentle, “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” I responded. I tried to keep my voice welcoming, but it was more reserved than anything. “How’d you sleep?” I asked him.

  “Pretty good. You?”

  “I slept all right. I was afraid I’d have bad dreams, but I don’t remember anything. Maybe that’s a good thing.”

  “Maybe so,” he sighed.

  We were quiet then for a few minutes. I was just trying to make it through the day, thankful time passes even under the worst of circumstances.

  I finished my coffee, walked into the house and rinsed the mug. When I set it on the counter, I caught the time on the microwave. Surprisingly, it was already past eleven. I told Brendan I was going to head upstairs and get dressed.

  When I came back down, Brendan was watching TV. I plopped down next to him with a sigh. What was I going to do with my day? I hadn’t been up even an hour, and I was already bored. On any other Sunday, my parents and I would be in our respective Sunday school classes right now. Instead, I was sitting here, feeling miserable, and watching a rerun of My Two Dads.

  A mixture of feelings washed over me when I saw my parents’ car pull in. I was surprised, yet relieved. I had been secretly hoping to see them, but in the same moment I felt happiness, I also became worried. What was going to happen? Were they here to yell at me? Would I lose my temper and scream at them? I rose from the couch with trepidation.

  “What’s the matter?” Brendan asked.

  I silently pointed, watching his eyes move to the driveway where my dad was already closing his car door.

  “Oh. I’ll go upstairs to give you some privacy.” He stood up, gave me a quick peck on the cheek and disappeared up the steps. I headed for the front door, still anxious about what was going to happen but determined to make the best of this meeting.

  I stepped out onto the large front porch and shoved my hands into the front pockets of my jeans.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  When he looked up, I could see circles under his eyes, evidence that he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Guilt solidified in my stomach, making it ache.

  “Your mom and I would like to talk. Want to grab some lunch?”

  I had to swallow before I could answer. “Yes, that’d be great. I’ll just go get my shoes.”

  I left Dad standing on the porch while I went back inside and upstairs to the bedroom. Brendan was sitting on the bed when I walked in.

  “So?” he asked.

  “They want to have lunch, just the three of us,” I told him while I slid my feet into my sandals.

  “Okay,” he responded, almost as a question. The nervousness in his voice was unmistakable.

  I slung my purse over my shoulder and walked over to him. “I know you’re scared. I am, too. But they are my parents, and I owe them at least this much. I’ll come back and let you know what we talk about.”

  Brendan put both of his hands on either side of my face, gently, yet with a small amount of pressure.

  “I don’t want to lose you again, Janessa. I can’t.”

  “I know, Brendan. I know.” I kissed him on the lips. “I’ll be back soon.”

  I went downstairs to see Dad had already joined Mom in the car. With another deep breath, I opened the front door, walked down the steps and got into the car. It was hard to ignore the tension, but I knew it was important to try. I spoke first.

  “W
here do you guys want to eat?”

  “We were thinking Subway sounded good,” Dad answered.

  “Okay,” I shrugged. I silently prayed the pit in my stomach would let me eat without being sick.

  We arrived at the restaurant, got our food and sat down. The conversation started slowly but picked up within a few minutes. At first, we didn’t talk about me and Brendan; it was easier to ignore it. Eventually, though, it had to be faced.

  I looked across the table at my parents. “Did either of you get any sleep?” I asked them.

  “Nothing to brag about,” Dad replied.

  I nodded solemnly while taking a bite of my sandwich. I suddenly realized that my mother hadn’t spoken a word to me since I got in the car. It was her pattern to not speak when she was very upset or angry; after all, if I wasn’t going to listen to her, what help would it be for her to keep talking?

  But I needed her. I wanted us to be okay, even though I knew we weren’t. And only I could fix it.

  “Mom? I know you are mad--”

  She cut me off. “No, Janessa, I am not mad. I am hurt. There is a difference.”

  “Okay, you’re hurt. What can I do to change it?” I asked her.

  She thought about that for a few moments. “There is no easy solution. Our relationship is damaged. Even if you broke up with Brendan today, it’s going to take time before things get back to normal, and even then…” Her voice trailed away, a blank stare taking over her features.

  I sighed and looked over at Dad, who was reaching his hand out to me.

  “Janessa, do you know how hard this has been on us? Especially your mother. You two have always been so close.” He shook his head. “I just don’t get it. What hold does he have on you?”

  That tender moment with him was all it took. I was broken. I had made choices I’d never expected, crossed boundaries I’d never wanted to, become a person even I couldn’t stand. And yet I didn’t know how to explain that to my parents. For the sake our family, though, I had to try.

  The tears were coming fast and strong, making it grueling to speak. “I don’t know, Daddy. I have been so torn…” I hung my head and took a second to swallow a sob. “…between what my head knows is best and what my heart wants. I’ve tried to think every day of a way to fix it, but I don’t know how to do this. I thought it would get easier for me to balance everything, but it's just getting worse.”

  He rubbed my hand with his thumb. “Look at me, Pumpkin.” When I did, he continued, “Are you happy?”

  Such a simple question, but such a complicated answer. I supposed others perceived me as happy: always saying hello to people at work, responding with a customary ‘good’ when they asked how I was on any given morning. And I was trying to be happy, I really was. But it wasn't working.

  “No,” I admitted. “If I'm being honest with you and with myself, then no.”

  “That's what your mother and I thought,” he sighed. “Listen, there's something we need to tell you. We know about the sex. And the pregnancy scare.”

  I was taken aback; how did they know? Then I remembered the night I was out with Brendan and we saw...

  “Wait! You read my diary?”

  “Your mom did, yes. And it's a good thing, too.”

  “A good thing? How is that a good thing?” I was trying to keep my voice down but it wasn't working. I was livid.

  Daddy's voice went soft again. “Because, honey, you are in so much deeper than we thought. After Mom read your diary that night, we knew something needed done. So while you were at work one day last week, she spoke with Aimee.”

  “Aimee?” I whispered, thoughtfully. Once again clarity struck, and it all came together. Mom had read my diary that night I saw my bedroom light on...

  “And then the day you weren't home,” I finished out loud. “The day Brendan and I were talking outside and I had to leave you that note.”

  “Yes,” Mom said, speaking again for the first time in several minutes. “That's when I went to see Aimee. I knew she would tell me the truth, tell me things you wouldn't.” She shrugged.

  My breath had been taken from me. Betrayed by Aimee. Again. Some best friend she was to take my deepest secrets and open them up for my parents to see. I mean, who asked for her help anyway? And then I remembered.

  I had.

  Back when I was afraid Brendan and I were going to be parents, she was the first person I ran to. I begged her to help me.

  And so she had, in the only way she knew how.

  I hung my head, crying into my own hands. “I don't know...what to..do...Mom. I don't....know how to...walk away,” I sobbed.

  “You just have to, Janessa. We'll get you some counseling back at Anderson, someone you can talk to.” Mom reached across the table and gently pulled my hands away from my face. “You can do this, honey. We'll do it together.” She smiled.

  I nodded, feeling confident in the hope I saw in her brown eyes. Even through the hurt, she and Daddy believed in me. I'd let them down so many times; I wanted this time to be real.

  We drove back to the house with my resolve at an all-time high. I'd never felt more strong–more prepared–to tell Brendan my decision. Finally being honest with my parents and seeing their support for me had given me the confidence I needed to face the future without him.

  “I'll need a few minutes to talk with him,” I told my parents as I got out of the car. “I’ll be back down soon.”

  I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. I’d been here so many times before, tried to stand firm while his sultry eyes, crooked smile and boyish charm made my knees weak until I crumbled. A pile of what used to be me, rendered useless at his feet. No, this would not be easy, but it had to be done.

  I walked up the porch steps, surprised Brendan didn’t meet me at the door. I realized he wasn’t even in the living room. I listened for any sounds, trying to figure out where he was. Finally I heard faint music coming from upstairs. As I climbed to the second floor, I could hear one of our songs coming from the speakers.

  I could see Brendan from the landing. He was sitting on the bed, his back to the door. I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him and listening to Barry Manilow.

  I feel the change coming.

  I feel the wind blow.

  There was no mistaking the weight of those words at that moment. Change was on the horizon, and it was up to me to make it happen.

  “Hey, you,” I began.

  “Baby!” He looked genuinely surprised to see me. “You’re home!” He smiled.

  “One of my favorites,” I said, nodding my head toward the stereo. “Nobody paints a picture like Barry.”

  “Yeah.” He got up and turned the music down before walking over to me. “How’d it go?”

  “Um, good. It went good,” I told him, side-stepping where he was and walking into the bedroom. “I mean, it wasn’t an easy talk, you know, but…” I shrugged, unsure of what to say next.

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” he asked. “You haven’t looked at me since you got here.”

  How was I supposed to do this? All the courage I had in the car was gone, dissolved like a love letter in the sand after the tide. I prayed for strength, for the right words to say so he would know it was for real this time.

  I spoke without turning around. “It’s over, Brendan. It has to be. I need to go back to school and get my life back together and move on. I don’t think I can do any of those things if we stay together.”

  I knew I was rambling, but I didn’t care. I had to get all of this out in one shot; the alternative would be disastrous.

  “So I’m going back home with my parents. They are waiting in the car, and I’m leaving with them. You can’t stop me, my mind is made up. And I’m sure you want to know if we can be friends but I don’t think so. I probably can’t handle seeing or talking to you for a while, okay?”

  I waited for a response but didn’t get one. “Brendan?”

  When he didn’t answer I turned around to make
sure he was still standing there. Perhaps he’d walked away and missed the entire exchange. But what I saw surprised me.

  While I’d been speaking, Brendan had packed my bag. He had gathered all of my belongings--clothes, make-up, everything--and placed it all in my duffel. He was standing next to the bed, both arms by his side, looking at me with a neutral face. He wasn’t angry or sad, he certainly wasn‘t happy…he just was. But it appeared he was ready to let me go.

  Maybe it was the something in my voice or my posture, maybe it was the prayer. Who knew? But it worked. I was free.

  There was no indication Brendan was going to make one last plea or try to grab me, but I wanted to be careful, just in case. I cautiously walked over to my bag and picked it up. Then I took a few steps to where he was standing and raised up on my tip-toes, attempting to have him look me in the eye. He didn’t. I hugged him, kissed him on the cheek and walked away.

  The weight of the last few moments prevented me from bouncing down the steps the way I imagined I would. I should have felt lighter, uninhibited. Instead my heart was heavy. I wasn’t going to change my mind, yet the strings that tied me to Brendan were still there. For the first time, I realized this break up was going to be harder on me than I thought.

  I reached the front porch and heard two car doors open, just seconds apart. Daddy had gotten out of the driver’s seat and opened a back door for me. It wasn’t until I was in the security of my parents’ car that I allowed the situation to be real…the tears to fall…the darkness to overtake me

  “DID I EVER tell you about the last time I heard from Brendan? Before now, I mean?”

  Mom and I sat in the car on our way back to the halfway point. I had promised Nate I would be home for New Year’s Eve and not wanting Mom to drive back in the dark after dropping me, we’d left Toledo at eleven that morning. Our plan was to meet Nate at twelve-thirty and grab some lunch together before saying goodbye.

  “I don’t know.” Mom smiled. “Do you want to tell me?”

  “It was the spring after we broke up. You know, I was doing okay. I felt like I was finally getting back to normal. And then I went to my mailbox after lunch one day, and there was an envelope with Brendan’s handwriting.”