by K. Ryan
But I couldn’t do it when I was hanging on to all these skeletons in my closet. So, I systematically went through each article, hanger by hanger, and tossed everything the old me used to wear into a pile. That pile grew exponentially by the time I’d finished, but the purge was rejuvenating...and now, I felt like I could finally breathe. I couldn’t keep hanging on to all these ghosts, dragging them around, and beating that same old dead horse over and over again. All it’d gotten me was loneliness and more heartache. All I’d done was push away the best thing that had ever happened to me.
I hung on to a few blazers and dress pants for practicality purposes and threw everything else into a garbage bag. Goodwill could thank me later. Next, I hopped into my hairstylist’s salon chair for the first time in way too long.
“Chop it all off,” I told her. And she did.
Now, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection, and I liked what I saw. My hair sat just a few inches below my chin, styled in beachy, fresh waves, and luckily, my bangs had grown out enough, so the style looked more chic than awkward. It was a good change—a change I’d needed for a long time. A change that felt like I’d finally taken a few steps in the right direction to becoming the person I wanted to be.
It was crazy how a wardrobe change and a new hairstyle could make you feel like you had a new lease on life, but that’s exactly how I felt. I’d embraced the change and embraced the new me, even if I was still working out who that girl really was.
I wasn’t fully healed yet. That would take more time and I wasn’t naive enough to believe that one written rant, a new wardrobe, and a new haircut would be enough to get me there, but it was a start. I wasn’t completely okay, but now, I felt like maybe I could be. The potential was there. The anger was still there. The drive to move forward was still there.
But what was that next step? Where did I go from here? I was still living in my one-bedroom apartment with Oliver, still blogging, still working at the café…
I had a college degree, didn’t I? I could probably do more with the degree I had, but I’d gravitated towards a job like waitressing primarily because I knew the odds of my boss, Marcus, caring about my past were slim to none. I mean, I knew for a fact that Joe, one of our line cooks, had been in jail for petty theft and Marcus still hired him in spite of Joe’s arrest history. I figured I was pretty safe there and it was that sort of hiring behavior that had sparked my ability to move in and out of each shift with ease and without too much attention on myself.
I had a degree in broad field social sciences. There had to be something I could do in Milwaukee that would utilize my degree as much as possible...I had skills, didn’t I? Communication skills, interpersonal skills, presentation skills, teaching skills...wouldn’t someone pounce on that? I could be doing more, but I’d hidden behind the general privacy I’d gotten from my job at The Corner Café. My waitressing job had just been another crutch. Maybe it was time to leave that behind, too.
It had taken losing Finn to see what had always been right in front of me—the only thing holding me back was me. Finn wasn’t like my mom or Justin or anyone else from my old life. I think I’d been so afraid of letting him in because letting him in meant giving him an opportunity to hurt me. The people who I’d trusted to love and protect me hadn’t done that and that was why I’d been so scared to open myself up to that again. I’d lumped Finn in with anyone who’d ever hurt me and it was so unfair. I didn’t want to be that scared little girl hiding in the corner anymore.
From here on out, I would be a survivor.
I might have lost Finn, but somewhere along the way, I think I also might have found myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Two weeks after my eventful and highly productive Christmas, I found myself passing that ‘Welcome to Hickory’ sign again. This time, however, I hadn’t needed to pull over and dry heave on the side of the road halfway there. This time I made it all the way to town without stopping once. Sure, my heart drummed in my chest, my sweaty palms gripped the steering wheel like my life depended on it, and my breathing was a little sketchy, but who was keeping track?
I had some business to take care of and I wasn’t leaving this town until I did it.
I’d decided somewhere in between drunk-texting, throwing out three-fourths of my wardrobe, and chopping off my hair that this was the next logical step. There were things that needed to be said, air that needed to be cleared, and it wasn’t the kind of thing I could do over the phone. This was the kind of thing I needed to do in person.
When I pulled into my mom’s driveway, I froze for just a moment. My hands cemented to my steering wheel and sweat dripped down my back and pooled underneath my armpits as my body readied itself. This was it. Now or never. With a heavy inhale for strength, I slid out of my car, walked the short distance from the driveway to my mom’s front door, and knocked.
I knew she was here because I’d texted Noah to do some discreet reconnaissance for me and when I got the go ahead, I made my move.
She couldn’t hide from me because I wouldn’t let her.
The door opened and my mom blinked back at me, surprise flickering across her face. Just as quickly, suspicion replaced that surprise and her icy green eyes narrowed at me. She ran a hand over her carefully coiffed and styled brown hair and I knew what was coming next.
“Emma,” she greeted me coolly. “What are you doing here?”
I didn’t miss a beat. “I’m here to talk to you, Mom.”
She glanced over her shoulder as if that would somehow make it so I wasn’t standing there and then when she finally spared me another glance, her tight eyes trailed up and down the length of me, taking shrewd inventory of my appearance. I could practically hear her thoughts, What did she do to her hair? My God, it’s dreadfully short.
“Well, I really wished you’d called before just coming over here,” my mom told me in her familiar clipped tone. “I was just about to leave to run some errands.”
Sure, you were, Mom, I thought ruefully. Nice try.
“Mom,” I tried again. “I just need 10 minutes. You can wait to run errands for 10 minutes.”
She blinked back at me, most likely stunned by the fact that I hadn’t asked her, I’d told her. But when she disappeared into the house, I knew what was happening here. She was heading right for the garage to evade me and planned on leaving before another word could be said. That wasn’t going to happen. I flung the door open and tracked through the house, following her footsteps, and gaining ground before she even realized I’d advanced on her. Even though she’d already slid into the driver’s seat and had her key in the ignition, I didn’t hesitate. She didn’t get to leave until I said what I’d come here to say.
I opened the passenger door, sat down, and slammed the door shut before she could even get a word in.
“Emma, what are—”
“What the hell is your problem, Mom?” I cut in harshly and stared her down. “I’m your daughter. You running out on me like this, trying to sneak away without even giving me a chance—what’s wrong with you?”
She reared back like I’d just slapped her and I guess I might as well have.
“How dare you speak to me like—”
“Mom,” I cut her off yet again and shook my head. “Just let me say what I need to say and then I’ll go and you can run your fake errands like you fake planned.”
My mom opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it. I took that as my sign to push forward.
Time to bury some demons.
“Mom,” I started again, my heart already pounding with the weight of what I needed to say. “I have some things I want to say and all I’m asking is that you listen. I don’t need you to do or say anything. Just listen, okay?”
Her jaw clenched and both hands turned white-knuckled as she gripped the steering wheel, her gaze focused directly ahead of her. Well, I didn’t need her to look at me in order to do this, so she could stare blankly ahead all she wanted.
>
“I’m really disappointed in you, Mom,” I told her and for a moment, I almost didn’t recognize my own voice. “I’ve felt that way for a long time. I just never figured out how to tell you until now. When everything happened last year, I can understand you being embarrassed and even a little disappointed in me. But once the shock wore off, you should’ve been on my side.”
I paused long enough to gauge her action, but her face remained a cool, impassive mask. If she was feeling anything right now, she didn’t show it.
“You were too busy worried about your own reputation and what your friends at church would think to care about what was happening to me. You made it about you when...honestly, it had nothing to do with you. You should’ve went on a rampage trying to protect me and help me. Instead, you made me feel like it was my fault.”
At that, my mom finally came alive and whipped around to face me. “Do you mean to tell me it wasn’t your fault? That you honestly believe you didn’t do anything wrong? Emma, everyone in this town has seen more of you than anyone should ever see and you’re not to blame?”
Normally, this would be the point where I’d shut down and surrender to guilt. Tears would already be flowing down my cheeks and I’d be consumed by humiliation and shame. Not today.
“Yeah, Mom,” I nodded tightly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The only thing I did wrong was trusting Justin with those pictures. You thought Justin was the end all to be all and he just wasn’t. He planned everything he did to me and he knew exactly what would happen the second he did it. He used those pictures to publicly humiliate me and ruin my life. Some people would call that sexual assault, Mom. It’s a crime now to do what he did to me. Did you know that?”
She barely even flinched.
“I would’ve given anything to make those pictures go away, to go back and make it so I’d never taken them in the first place. But you wanna know something else, Mom? It’s taken me a long time to realize this, but...I’m not sorry I took them. I’m sorry I sent them to someone who couldn’t be trusted with them and I’m sorry they were used to hurt our entire family, but I’m not sorry I took them.”
Still nothing.
“I know you don’t wanna hear this and I know it’s gonna make you uncomfortable, but I’m gonna say it anyway. I’ve had sex before, Mom, and I’ve enjoyed it before, too. Many times. There—now it’s out there,” I laughed a little in spite of myself and for some reason, it felt really good to say it to her face. “I was with someone a few months ago. I don’t know if Noah told you about him or not, but I loved him, Mom. I still love him and...I pushed him away because I wasn’t ready to deal with all the things I’m talking to you about right now. He was...everything. He was sweet and kind and patient and understanding and funny and all the things Justin wasn’t. He loved me, too, Mom, and I had sex with him because I loved him, because I wanted that physical connection with him, too. I’ll just come right out and say it—he was the best I ever had. And I think it made me love him even more. Why is that wrong, Mom?”
Instead of answering, she sucked in a heavy breath and her hands dropped into her lap. I just lifted a shoulder—it wasn’t like I’d expected anything less from her once the topic turned to sex.
“It’s not,” I answered for her softly. “But after everything happened, I felt so dirty. Like I couldn’t let myself enjoy something our bodies are naturally supposed to do. I couldn’t even handle anyone looking at me for too long because I was so scared they’d seen my picture somewhere. I felt like a slut. I felt like a whore. That’s what’s wrong here. I never should’ve felt like it was wrong because it’s just not. And if you feel like it is then that’s your problem, not mine.”
I figured she wouldn’t have much of a reaction to that, but that impassive mask slipped for just a second to reveal an emotion that looked a little like anger and frustration. She could be angry and frustrated with me all she wanted. God knew I was angry and frustrated with her, too.
“And you can throw the whole ‘no sex before marriage’ thing at me until you’re blue in the face, but Noah and Cris lived together before they got married and you never said a word to them. You know, I don’t remember much from Sunday school—I think I’ve blocked most of it out—but I do remember something about judging others and all that. I had to look it up online, but the Bible verse goes something like, ‘You have no excuse, you who judges, because in passing judgment on others, you pass judgment on yourself because you, the judge, practice the very same things.’”
I left that hanging there for a few moments to see if that would garner some sort of reaction from her, but if anything, that mask didn’t move.
“The only reason you cared in the first place was because everyone knew about it, right? That’s what it’s always been about. Everyone knowing our business. And those horrible, ugly rumors about me having an abortion...you knew it was a lie, but you treated me like it was the truth just because other people thought it was. And even if that’s what actually happened, it would’ve been my choice, my business, not yours. Justin committed a crime and I was the one who got punished. How is that fair, Mom? How could you stand there and let people treat me that way without even once stepping in?”
Now, I paused because I needed to wipe my eyes free of the tears clouding my eyes.
“The only reason those pictures had any power was because we gave it to them. I’m not gonna say I took all my cues from you because I need to be responsible for my own actions, but I will say that, out of all the people who hurt me, you were the one who hurt me the most.”
I sighed heavily and glanced one last time at my mom, whose gaze was still fixed in front of her. I shrugged just once and shook my head.
“If you want to talk, you know my number. Until then, I don’t have anything else to say to you.”
Then I opened the passenger side door and slid out of her car. I got into my own car without so much as a glance over my shoulder and when I backed out of her driveway, she was still sitting in her own car with her hands clenched around the steering wheel.
It didn’t matter. If she never came around, if our relationship had been severed beyond repair, that was something I could live with. At this point, the ball was in her court. If she wanted to talk, we would. If she didn’t, I didn’t feel like I’d lost anything that wasn’t already gone.
There was nothing more to say and for once in my life, I’d stood up to my mom without backing down.
. . .
After stopping in by Noah and Cristina, relating the details of my conversation with my mom, and kissing my niece, I was back on the road. Now, as I drove through the familiar streets of my former hometown, I didn’t feel any of the anxiety and panic that used to plague me. No feeling like the walls were closing in on me. No feeling like I had to constantly look over my shoulder.
I just drove right through.
But just as I neared the outskirts of town, I took a quick detour. I wasn’t hungry and I’d never really cared for the cheeseburgers dripping with grease from the Burger Bar, but I knew some people who did. Or rather, a certain kind of people who did. Putting the word ‘bar’ in any place that didn’t actually serve alcohol made it catnip for the kids here in Hickory. They felt cool and sort of hip, or as hip as you could be in a town called Hickory, and the owners cashed in on that feeling like nobody’s business.
Since it was a Friday afternoon and just a half hour after school let out, I knew exactly what kind of patrons would be in the Burger Bar right now and as I pulled into the parking lot, I was counting on it. I’d already exorcised one demon today. Might as well make it two.
My plan, or the spontaneous, probably reckless idea that sort of resembled a plan, was to just walk inside and order something to go. I wouldn’t stay there and eat. I’d just stay long enough to make an impact and then I’d leave.
The second I stepped into the restaurant, that old familiar panic slipped down my back in cold beads of sweat and I almost turned right around and walked
back out. I needed to be strong now and I needed to stop running.
My feet carried me all the way to the counter and I did my best to ignore everyone else inside. It didn’t matter if anyone was looking at me or whispering about me. If I didn’t see or hear it, then it wasn’t happening, right? Well...it was happening. It might have taken them a few seconds to not only realize I was there, but realize who I was, too, but as soon as they did, the assault of stares and the flurry of whispers started.
It doesn’t matter, I told myself, they’re just teenagers. Nothing to be scared of. You’re the adult here. Now act like it.
So, I straightened my shoulders and held my chin high. I easily recognized the employee at the counter as a former student from a U.S. history class last year and smiled at him.
“Hey, Mason,” I greeted him. “How’s it going?”
Mason blinked back at me for a moment and then his eyes darted to something, or probably someone, behind me. When his eyes flicked back to me, he pressed a hesitant, slightly flustered smile on his face.
“Hey, Miss Owens,” Mason finally acknowledged me as he swallowed tightly. “I’m, uh, I’m good. How...um, how ‘bout you?”
“I’m good,” I told him warmly. “I’m actually living in Milwaukee now, which is a lot better than this place, you know? School going okay this year?”
He seemed a little taken aback that I’d continued the conversation, but nodded anyway. “Yeah, school’s...school, I guess.”
“Fair enough,” I laughed and figured it was about time to put the poor kid out of his misery. “Alright. So, I should probably order something here, huh? I’ll take a number seven with no onions and a Mountain Dew. And that’ll be to go, too.”
His fingers flew across the screen to enter my order and after I paid, I quietly took my leave to the side of the counter to wait for my food. By that point, it was very clear the majority, if not all, the teenage patrons inside the restaurant were well-aware who was standing at the counter and those little pinpricks of awareness snaked right down my spine—just like old times. My palms felt clammy, but I rubbed them on my jeans to wipe it away. No point in ruminating on something I couldn’t control. No point in worrying about what a bunch of teenagers thought of me.