by Anna Cove
I backed out of Wikipedia and went to the image section of the search. This I shouldn't have done. Images of Tara scattered over the page. Tara on the runway, wearing a skimpy outfit barely covering her parts. Her legs went on for days. Tara posing in an emerald green feathered suit that somehow didn't look ridiculous on her but would have made me look like a peacock. Tara in a bathing suit. Tara on the beach. Tara on the red carpet, posing by herself. And one, of Tara and Lena. They were at a cafe, leaning over something between them. By the looks of it, Lena had said something funny and Tara laughed uproariously.
A model. A model. How was I ever going to compete with that?
And had I ever seen Lena look as relaxed as she was in that shot?
I closed my laptop. I shouldn't be looking at that, it would only cause more pain. I needed to let it out, to cry and get it over with so I could wake up tomorrow and be done with all of this. So, I could erase it from my memory and move onto the next thing.
No matter what I tried, I couldn't seem to force the tears from my eyes. They wouldn't come. It was as if I had spent so much time holding them back I didn't know how to cry anymore. I even made a little sobbing noise to try and start it. I opened the laptop and stared at the pictures of Tara Grinmel once again. I could see her with Lena, kissing her. She could probably wrap herself in a pretzel. She could probably put her leg over Lena's shoulder and—
"Alice? Are you all right, sweetie?"
"I'm fine," I called. I didn't want Aunt Helen to worry. "Just working on some things."
"Can I come in?"
"Uh..." I glanced around the room. It was messier than usual since I had been in there all day. I stuffed Lena's note under my pillow and closed the top to my laptop. "Sure. Come in."
Aunt Helen bustled into the room and closed the door behind her. As soon as she turned around she froze. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, like I just said, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
Aunt Helen kept her eyes on me as she made her way toward my bed. She sat on the edge, catching her breath before she spoke. "I've known you for a very long time. Rarely have you shut yourself in your room for the day."
"I'm just tired."
"Where's Lena?"
I swallowed, unable to even try to smile when I thought about her. "She went back to San Francisco."
"Why?"
"I—" I closed my eyes, the pressure building in my chest, burning behind my eyes. Of course now it came. "We had a fight and she left."
"Oh, baby." Aunt Helen wrapped her arm around me. I collapsed into her chest and the tears I'd been trying for fell freely. Aunt Helen petted my hair, letting me cry without shushing or interrupting.
When I was finished, I pulled back. "I don't really know what happened. I think—I think she might have gone back to her ex."
"What makes you think that?"
"She's a model."
"So?"
"So. Isn't it self-explanatory? Why would anyone choose me over a model?"
Aunt Helen sighed, squeezing my knee. "I've often wondered if your parents leaving so early in life stunted your growth in some ways."
I sniffed, wiping at my tears and rolling my eyes.
"Truly. Look at you. You're a beautiful woman who is almost thirty, but you have the confidence of a gawky teenager when you're in a relationship."
"Thanks." I choked out a laugh and wiped at my tears.
"I wish I'd done a better job with you, but there was so much space between us. So many years. I didn't know how to show you back then, but I'm going to tell you now. No matter why Lena left you—even if it was for a model—you are not less than that model. Do you understand?"
Sure, I understood on an intellectual level. I knew that. But if Lena left me for her, wasn't she saying exactly that?
"I'm not convinced, given how she acted when she was with you on Thanksgiving, that you're right. Unless she put on the best performance of her life—unless she was Meryl Streep. I know people, Alice, and that person loves you."
Tears blurred my eyes again. "Then why did she leave?"
Aunt Helen paused to let me wipe at my tears. She leaned over and plucked a tissue from my night stand. "It wasn't right of her to leave without telling you why. But there has to be a reason."
"No," I said. But then something clicked. I had spent so many hours obsessing about Tara and convincing myself that Lena left because she was repulsed by me that I'd forgotten the conversation preceding her departure. "I asked her to leave while my parents were here."
Aunt Helen nodded, not an ounce of judgment escaping through her features. "And how do you think that made her feel?"
I dropped my head into my hands. "Like I was deserting her. But she has to understand how difficult my parents are. How they would judge her and hurt her and our relationship was so new and I didn't want it to end like that."
"Will you tell her?"
I glanced up at Aunt Helen through my hair. Over her shoulder, I caught sight of the note I'd written the last time Lena had hurt me. No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
I was worth more. More than the googling and the comparing. More than how I treated myself. I realized for the first time I had made myself small. Before I spoke to Lena again, before I tried to mend our relationship, I would have to sort that out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LENA
After sleeping in the office for a couple of nights I decided Tara was right. I was an adult, and I should give Alice a chance to explain herself at the very least. Especially because I couldn't stop thinking about her. I decided to give her a call.
Deciding was the easiest part. Once I did, I felt instantly better as if deciding had completed the act, and I put it off. What would I say to her if she answered? Would I ask her about the weather? Would I tell her something came up for work? How would I explain myself to her? Too much time had passed for it to have been an emergency. Plus, what kind of coding emergency was so great I couldn't wake her up and tell her I had to leave.
Then there was that damned note. How would I explain that? Maybe I could tell her it was an old note that fell out of my bag. The excuses piled up and all seemed too flimsy. When I imagined Alice on the other end of the line, madly smiling, it just didn't work.
I spent most of the day Monday staring at my phone, wishing someone could make the phone call for me. Tara came in and out of the office a couple of times, but I barely noticed her. That is, I barely noticed her until she wrenched the phone from my hand and typed in my password.
"Give that back!" I said.
"I've been watching you stare at that phone for hours. Are you going to call her or are you going to get some work done?"
"I'm not—I don't know what to say," I whispered.
"Well you can start with I fucked up," she whispered back.
"I didn't."
"You did."
I closed my eyes. I could no longer deny it to myself or Tara. "I fucked up. Now give that back to me."
Tara raised an eyebrow and scrolled through the contacts, tapping one, a smug look on her face. My heartbeat sped. The begging in my mind turned to a hoarse whispering vocal. "Please, Tara, for all that is good and holy, don't do it. Don't do it."
But she already had. When I lunged for the phone, she twisted away, holding it to her ear. She remained hunched, protecting the phone. I stopped, and she turned around, frowning.
Then she handed me the phone. "It's her voicemail. Leave her a message."
"Saying what?"
"What you just told me."
Alice's message was rolling, and the beep came and I didn't have a chance to decide whether or not I would leave a message any longer because she would see I had called and let it go to the messages. "Hi, Alice. It's Lena. I just wanted to say..."
Tara rolled her finger, mouthing something unintelligible.
"I wanted to say I'm sorry for leaving like I did..." I paused, wishing Tara wasn't here so I could really lay it out for her, and thankful that sh
e was so I wouldn't have to. "I'm fine. I guess—give me a call so we can talk about it. Okay? Okay. Bye."
I hung up.
"See, that wasn't so bad." Tara rubbed my shoulder like a brother might.
I shivered from the cold sweat that had broken out on my neck and forehead. "I sounded like an idiot."
"If she loves you, it won't matter to her. If she knows you, she'll know how hard that was." Tara left the room, leaving me to deal with the mess she created.
Alice didn't call back that day. Nor did she return my call the next. But I'd learned from my mistakes with Tara and with Alice. I wasn't going to run, not until we had an adult conversation about this.
A few days after the first call, I tried her again. Again, it went to voicemail. I had started spiraling into that evil place where nothing I did was worth anything. I decided to just... talk. Maybe that would help. Alice's message beeped. "Hi, Alice, it's Lena. By now you've received my last call and you know for sure what I've done. I wanted to tell you about my day, but since I can't talk to you, your voicemail is the next best thing. So, I met with a client today who was all into creating trust. Ironic, huh? He made me do this trust-fall thing before we could even start talking, and we had to maintain eye contact. This place is loony."
I laughed into the space, then took a long breath in and let it out. Alice would be smiling now, touching my arm, maybe laughing with me.
"I miss you," I said.
...
ALICE
It's easy to forget about your feelings when you're working so hard you fall into bed practically already asleep at night. All you have to do is block out your mind during the down moments of the day. To do this, I chose music and podcasts and avoided every mindful task I had cultivated over the years. I virtually ignored my phone and avoided contact with friends. The only creature in the world I thought about other than Aunt Helen was Ronald. He got all my affection, he provided all my comfort.
The first week I spent cleaning the house, putting the last of the antiques up for sale, moving the others into the dining room in the back, which would not be used for the store. Then I moved on to the physical cleaning and dusting. The furniture hadn't been moved for years, so there was a whole den of dust bunnies and clusters of cobwebs sticking to the walls. Once clean, I noticed the walls could use new wallpaper. I looked up how to wallpaper on YouTube, found some, and started wallpapering.
During the second week of my frenzy, I walked into the house one early morning to find it mostly clear and mostly done. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out.
Lena's name flashed on the screen. My face went hot then cold, and I wrapped my arms around myself as I stared. She didn't usually call this early in the morning. She usually called at the end of the day. It was five in the morning her time, earlier than I'd ever seen her get up.
I could answer it. I could answer it and see if everything was all right for her. I could fix this. I looked up and saw the house just as I'd imagined it, except it didn't feel right. Without all the furniture it seemed big and empty and quiet. Without Lena—no, I couldn't make it all about her. It wasn't all about her. I had to do this for me.
I let the call go to voicemail and waited for her to leave one.
I'd enjoyed her messages. After the first few days, they came once or twice a day. In each one, Lena described her day in great detail. She visited a prospective investor one day or spent the next day coding. She'd watched the sunset over the Golden Gate Bridge and painted a picture so beautiful it formed a lump in my throat. She'd talked about the funny things that happened to her as well. At the end she would tell me how she felt. That she missed me. That she was sorry. That if I wanted to give this a try I should call her back. Yeah, so I hadn't exactly avoided my phone all that successfully.
I navigated to the messaging app and pressed play on her message. "Hi Alice. I know it's getting close to Christmas, so I wanted to leave you this last message to say I'm going to give you the time you need now. I'm not going to call for the next week. You know how I feel, and the ball's in your court... whenever you're ready. I trust you'll make the right decision."
I held the phone to my ear long after Lena had finished with her message. I wanted to call her and tell her I missed her and to come right then, but I knew I was going to have to do some hard work myself before we could jump back into the relationship. She had done the work needed. She was trusting me, putting something valuable into my hands. That alone showed me she had loosened up her need to control.
Now it was time to work on myself. It wouldn't get done in a week, but at least I could start the journey. Hopefully, it would be enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ALICE
My parents arrived a week before Christmas, but they didn't come right to Gardner. First, they spent time in New York City, attending parties and fundraisers for their mission. They didn't bother calling and they didn't ask me to attend with them.
I still worked on the house, but I slowed my pace, leaving room for introspection and time with friends. My friends helped me practice my coming out with my parents, so that by the day they were due to arrive I was ready, or as ready as I could be.
The doorbell rang just as I was straining to move the last piece of furniture I needed to move before I started bringing in the rest of the inventory. I stood, wiping the sweat from my brow. I'd opted for jeans and a flannel shirt that day because I knew I needed to do heavy lifting. Before I'd gathered myself fully, the door opened and in strutted my parents.
"What are you doing moving that alone?" my mother said straight away. "You're going to injure yourself. Peter. Help her, would you?"
Dad and I exchanged a knowing glance as Mom directed us to move the furniture to the back room. Even with Dad's help, it strained my muscles to the edge. When I finished, my body was exhausted. Sweat poured down the side of my face. I probably didn't look great, my hair hanging in a limp ponytail. My arms quaked, and my legs barely held me up. I leaned against a wall to catch my breath.
"Where's all your inventory?" Mom asked, looking particularly dewy and refreshed.
I shrugged, too tired to respond just yet.
She set her hands on her hips. "I thought you were already open."
"The house needs more work than I thought," I said.
"You're telling me," she said under her breath. "Are you going to hire someone to do the work?"
I pushed off the wall, heading back toward the kitchen for a drink of water.
"Don't walk away from me."
"Mom, I need some water or I'm going to pass out." I kept walking. This was the first prong in my attack. I had to keep my cool. I couldn't let her get under my skin. But damn, I was already finding that hard.
I tottered to the cabinet and took out two glasses, filling them with water. I offered one to Dad, who winked at me as he took it. Then I took a sip.
"What am I chopped liver?" Mom asked.
Don't let her get under your skin. Don't let her get under your skin. I forced myself to smile and like a light bulb going off in my head I realized where I had picked up that particular habit. It was a reaction to my mother. "Would you like a glass of water, too?"
"Sure," she said, nodding once. As I filled the glass, I thought about the contradictions that made up this woman who made me. She was a servant who loved to be served. Used to living in squalid places but hypercritical of my place. When I turned to her, my smile had dropped. The urge to please no longer remained, as if identifying it had cast it into the light.
I sat in the chair, hunching over, not caring about my posture or my face or anything else.
Mom sat across from me while Dad hovered by the sink, leaning against the counter.
"You're depressed," she said after some time.
I leveled a gaze at her like it was a weapon. "Why would you think that?"
"Look at you. You missed your goal by a mile, and you look terrible."
"Well, I am getting older. Maybe that's
just what comes with the territory."
"Speaking of getting older, have you thought about children?"
I'd practiced my announcement so many times the words appeared fully formed in my mind, but this question, this was so far beyond what I'd thought I'd be asked I nearly tumbled off my chair. "I'm not even married yet."
"This is what I'm saying. You can't have children forever. The biological clock is real, you know."
"I don't want any," I said, standing and walking to the sink. My legs felt wooden, but I would have done anything to get away from her in that moment.
"You can't be serious. Children are the greatest joy."
I gave a sardonic laugh. The laugh evolved into something like a cackle. I couldn't help it. The play was up. I was done being the lead in this production. My father reached out a hand and I shoved it away.
My mother's eyes opened wide, horrified. "Are you high?"
"No, Mom."
"Then what's so funny?"
"You. You're a liar. A lying liar of a liar." It wasn't exactly pointed, but it was the best I could come up with in the moment.
My mother's smile started to fade. "Alice Catherine, tell me what you're talking about right now."
"You know what I'm talking about, Mom. You abandoned me as soon as you could get rid of me."
"We did not." Mom stood. "We provided you with clothing, with food, with shelter."
"Sure. Yeah."
"Help me out here, Peter. Alice, you're rewriting this whole thing. We gave you everything you needed."
"No," I said, my eyes filling with tears. "You deprived me of the thing I needed most."
My mother folded her arms and jutted out her hip. "What was that?"
"Your love. Your presence. I needed you the day I got my period, not some boarding school nurse. And I needed you when all the girls ganged up on me and I didn't know what to do. And I needed you when I was trying to decide where to go to college."
"Don't be ridiculous. We paid for college, and it wasn't cheap, missy."
"I'm not being ridiculous, Mom. I'm being serious. Will you just listen to me for once in your life without arguing?"