Back To Us

by Roman, Teresa

  For a moment I was tempted to explain myself to Justin, but I changed my mind. He wouldn’t get it, he’d never understand things from my point of view.

  Justin reached for my hand and laced his fingers through mine. “The truth is, I’m not in the mood for a party. I hate the attention and I’d much rather spend time with you alone.”

  “You shouldn’t miss it because of me.”

  “The only reason why I agreed to the stupid party in the first place was to make my mom happy. After everything she’s done for me, I don’t like letting her down.”

  “You don’t owe her for taking care of you, that’s what mothers are supposed to do.” It was funny hearing those words come out of my mouth. I had a mother, but even though she was supposed to have taken care of me, she hadn’t. I sighed and slumped my shoulders as I realized how wrong what I’d just said was. “If it makes you happy, I’ll go to your party.”

  “No.” Justin shook his head. “I don’t want a party. I don’t want to be stuck inside with a bunch of people asking me to tell them war stories, and that’s always how it is when my mother throws one of her get-togethers. I’ll just tell her we already had plans.”

  “You sure?”

  Justin nodded. “I’m sure.”

  On the Friday before his birthday, Justin left work early to pick me up. After we checked into our hotel room the two of us walked across the street to Central Park. The weather was still gorgeous, sunny and warm with just a slight breeze that made the branches of the trees sway. As the sun began to set, the wind picked up speed and I regretted leaving my jacket behind as it started to get chilly. A strong breeze left me with goose bumps on my arms.

  “C’mon,” Justin said noticing that I was getting cold. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  We walked a little farther until we reached Tavern on the Green. The restaurant was packed inside and out, which would have normally meant a long wait, but we were led right away to an empty table.

  “I made reservations,” Justin explained as the two of us were seated.

  I sighed. “You weren’t supposed to do that. It’s your birthday. . .”

  “Exactly. And what I want for my birthday is another weekend with you.”

  Justin seemed perfectly happy with the way things were, but I couldn’t help but to feel bad about a whole list of things. It was his birthday, and he was the one taking me to dinner. I couldn’t have afforded a dinner at Tavern on the Green for one, much less for the both of us, and knowing that made me feel like crap.

  “Is this your first time here?” Justin asked.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Sometimes it threw me how little Justin understood about the way I lived. I looked around the restaurant as the two of us waited for our dinner. The inside was huge and outside there was a patio with even more seating. I liked the chandeliers and the artfully strung lights and as we waited for the waiter to return with our orders I imagined Mike and Melanie having their reception here.

  “They have weddings here, don’t they?”

  “Uhhh, yeah. Why are you asking?”

  “I was just thinking about Mike.”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Justin said. “So when’s the big day anyway?”

  “They haven’t set a date. I think my brother’s gonna wait until I graduate since I can’t really afford another place right now.”

  “How many times have I told you I’d help you out?”

  “And I told you I’m not letting you pay my rent,” I said. “Unless. . .” I stopped myself from continuing, but it was too late, Justin was going to want to know what I had on my mind.

  “Unless what?”

  I crossed and uncrossed my ankles, which were thankfully hidden under the table so Justin couldn’t see how nervous I was about the question I was about to ask. “I was just thinking, maybe one day, we could get a place together.” My face flushed after the words came out. Justin was supposed to be asking me, not the other way around. When I saw the frozen look on his face I immediately regretted opening my big mouth.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Well, I don’t mean right now. I’m just saying at some point.”

  “I don’t know, Jess. I’d love nothing more than to wake up next to you every morning, but. . .” Justin shook his head. I waited for an explanation to come, but it didn’t.

  “You can’t live at home forever, Justin.”

  “Of course, I know that. I just don’t think being on my own is something I can consider right now, though.”

  “Why not? Plenty of amputees live on their own. And you wouldn’t really be on your own, you’d have me.”

  Justin looked at me stone-faced. “Everything is harder for me now, Jess. Just because I don’t talk about it doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

  “I could help you with those things.”

  “I don’t want to feel like my girlfriend is taking care of me.”

  “But it’s okay for you to try and take care of me? That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “That’s different. I’m a guy. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.” His face still hadn’t softened.

  “What are you so afraid is going to happen, anyway?”

  “Do we really have to talk about this right now?” I could hear anger edging into Justin’s voice. He wasn’t the only one getting upset. There was a whole list of things I wanted to say, but I didn’t want to start our weekend together fighting, especially because it was Justin’s birthday. Still, it was hard to just forget that I’d brought up the idea of moving in together and Justin had basically said no.

  I tried tucking my hurt feelings away. When we got to our hotel room I took a shower hoping the hot water would relax me, but alone in the bathroom all I could think about was the conversation I’d had earlier with Justin. There was no way things would work between us if Justin didn’t learn to trust me enough to be there for him when things got hard, which made me wonder where our relationship was headed. The rational part of my brain told me that we’d only been together for seven months, and there was no reason to rush things—I’d done that before and wound up regretting it. Eventually Justin would come around and see that I was willing to take the bad with the good, and I wouldn’t go running in the opposite direction when things got hard.

  By the time I was dressed in my pajamas I felt a little better. Better enough that I was able to paste a smile on my face as I walked out of the bathroom. I would not ruin Justin’s birthday, no matter how bruised my ego was.

  Justin was sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard. “Can you come here?” he asked. I scooted next to him on the bed. He put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

  “Lie down,” he whispered in my ear.

  I looked at him quizzically, not sure what he had in mind.

  “Just do it.”

  I lowered myself down onto my back. “Not that way,” Justin said nudging me. I turned over so I was lying on my stomach. He got up and sat beside me, brushed my hair aside with his hand, and kissed the nape of my neck. My body tingled. Justin lifted my shirt over my head so my back was exposed and started to massage my shoulders. His hands were strong and I felt the tension melt away. He kneaded the muscles in my back gently, and when he was done he kissed the spots that his hands had rubbed. When his tongue grazed over my skin I felt goose bumps rising on my flesh. I managed to turn around and then I wrapped my hands around the nape of his neck.

  “It’s your birthday.” I stared into his handsome brown eyes. “I’m supposed to be the one spoiling you.”

  “I feel spoiled whenever I’m around you.” Justin pressed his lips to mine. “Besides, I like making you feel good.”

  “I know something else you can do to make me feel good,” I breathed in his ear. Justin kissed me again.

  “So do I.” He slid my underwear down and kissed me between my legs.

  “Oh, Justin,” I moaned and tried to pull him up.

  “Not yet, my love.” He kept
kissing me, over and over in ways I’d never been kissed before until I felt like I’d go crazy if I didn’t have him inside me. I stopped worrying about where our relationship was headed. The only thing I thought about was the here and now and how alive and complete I felt when I was with him.

  Afterward we lay in each other’s arms. Justin stroked the soft pale skin on the inside of my arm. “I don’t know how I got to be so lucky.” It sounded like he was talking to himself.

  “I’m the lucky one.”

  “No. No you’re not.” Justin got real quiet after that.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why are you so quiet?”

  “I’m just thinking.”

  “About?”

  Justin shook his head. “It’s nothing important.”

  I didn’t press him to tell me what was on his mind. Instead I looked up at him and smiled and said,” I love you.”

  “I love you too, Jess. I love you, forever.”

  Chapter 19

  In school I’d learned about the Chinese philosophy of yin and yang. It was the first time I’d been able to put a name to the way my life seemed to work. For every high, every happy moment I had, there seemed to be an equally painful and low moment that lurked around the corner and waited for me to let my guard down.

  On Sunday afternoon when I turned the key to unlock the door to my apartment and heard music blasting from my brother’s room it didn’t occur to me that my low was getting itself ready. Even the smell of marijuana wafting into my bedroom from my brother’s didn’t clue me in. Normally I would have ignored both, but the music was just a bit too loud even for me. There was no point in knocking on Mike’s door, he wouldn’t have heard me. I pushed his door open. He was sitting on his bed, back against the wall, knees bent smoking a joint and bopping his head to the beat of the music he was listening to.

  I walked over to the speakers and turned down the volume. “What is going on with you? Are you trying to wake the dead?” I was surprised the neighbors hadn’t called the police already.

  I knew my brother liked to smoke, and that he liked his music loud, but something about the expression on his face told me there was more going on. I prayed it didn’t have to do with Mel, because that would be bad, real bad.

  “Same old shit.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He looked at me square in the face. “It means I’m a stupid piece of shit.”

  “Oh come on, Mike. You are not.”

  “Yeah, I am. If you don’t believe me, just ask your parents.” He held up a letter that was in his hands. “It’s all right here.”

  “What is that?” I asked almost afraid of the answer.

  “It’s a letter from your dad.” By the way he was calling our parents ‘your parents’ and our father ‘your dad’ I knew whatever was written on that letter was something I wouldn’t like. It was something Mike and I had been doing for years, referring to our parents as yours instead of ours, like neither one of us wanted to claim ownership for either of them. I knew reading the letter Mike held wasn’t a good idea, but curiosity got the better of me. I grabbed it out of his hands.

  “Why is he writing now anyway?”

  “Like I said, I’m an idiot.” I stared at my brother, waiting for the real answer. He took another puff from his joint before replying. “I emailed him. I thought he might be interested to know that I’m getting married soon. I even asked if he thought him and Ma could make it for the wedding. Mel really wanted me to try, and so I did, for her. . .and a little bit for me, too.”

  “What did he say?”

  “You have the letter, read it.”

  The paper was a bit crumpled. I smoothed it out and looked down at my father’s familiar handwriting, and with my heart thumping in my chest, I began to read.

  I would like to say it was a pleasure to hear from you and to congratulate you on your upcoming wedding, but I can do neither. For days after receiving your email I asked myself why you bothered to let me into your life again now, and inform me of your news, and then the answer came to me. A wedding needs to be paid for by someone, and why not your parents who you have always viewed as simple and foolish immigrants? Your mother and I struggled for years to do our best to raise you and your sister and provide you with things we never even dreamed of when we were children. What did we get in return, you ask? The answer is nothing. When your mother and I left Croatia we were in search of the American dream, what we wound up with was a nightmare. Insolent, spoiled children who care little for their family is what we ended up with. You think because you are getting married I should be proud of you. Well, I am not. Marriage is a commitment, something you will certainly fail at as you have failed at everything else. I will not be a part of a celebration for a marriage that will go nowhere.

  As I told you before your mother and I returned to Croatia, you and Jessica are my biggest disappointments in life. We have no son and no daughter. You are dead to us, and I am formally closing all forms of communication between us. My email address will have changed by the time you receive this letter. My only hope is that one day when you have children of your own they will give you what you have given me and your mother. Unfortunately, I will not be around to see that wish come true.

  Regards

  “What the fuck is this?” I asked after I finished reading my father’s words. Without question I knew they were his. He was always exceptionally good at turning words into weapons even though English wasn’t his native language. “You invited him to your wedding? Are you crazy?” My brother was supposed to be smarter than me. How had he expected anything less from our father?

  Mike snatched the letter out of my hands. “Great, now my sister thinks I’m a piece of shit, too.”

  “I do not. You know I love you. But if I wrote a letter to Mom and Dad and got this back you would have told me I was an idiot for expecting anything less.”

  “I know, I know. I don’t know why I let Mel convince me to reach out to them. She just doesn’t get it. No one does. No one understands how a mother and a father can just decide they want nothing to do with their own children.”

  He was right. No one got it. When I lived in the group home people assumed I was there because my parents were drug addicts or alcoholics or something like that. But they weren’t, my father was plain crazy, and he and my mother just didn’t love me and Mike enough. I sank onto my brother’s bed. “Don’t let him do this to you, Mike. A wedding is supposed to be good and happy. Don’t let Dad take that from you. You know he’s messed up in the head.”

  “Yeah, I do know that. But what I don’t know is why it hurts so much.”

  That was a question I wished I had an answer for, because it wasn’t just Mike hurting. It felt like someone was inside my chest piercing my heart with sharp pieces of glass. My father’s words were bad enough, but seeing what they were doing to Mike really got to me.

  For all the times my parents had hurt me and let me down I should’ve built a strong enough wall around my heart so nothing they said or did could ever get to me, but a wall like that probably didn’t exist. I still remembered like it was yesterday waiting in the courthouse for the family judge to decide on visitation. I’d been living in the group home for a few months and even though I was relieved to be away from my father and thankful that I didn’t have to be scared anymore, it hurt that my parents never showed up. They weren’t interested in being parents any longer. They’d convinced themselves I was a strung-out teen who was beyond redemption, even though that wasn’t even close to being true. I wasn’t a perfect child, but I certainly wasn’t the devil child my parents made me out to be. A few weeks later I found out my parents had left the country for good. They’d left me and Mike behind without even saying good-bye.

  The open bottle of wine on my brother’s nightstand called to me. Without even asking for permission I reached for it with a shaky hand and took a few swallows. I was not going to cry. The more I drank, the madder I got. It had been years since
I’d had contact with my parents. The last time we talked I’d hoped for an apology from them for how badly they’d hurt me, but that apology never came. They didn’t see things the way Mike and I did. To them we were ungrateful spoiled children who defied their parents and showed them no respect. They saw themselves as immigrants who worked themselves to the bone for children who turned out to be failures and disappointments. I couldn’t understand how they’d arrived at that version of events. Mike was at the top of his class when he graduated high school, and while I wasn’t as smart as Mike, I made good grades in school. Mike didn’t experiment with drugs until after my parents decided to leave us behind, and I never had. Sure, sometimes I drank too much, but even that I didn’t do very often.

  “Promise me you’re not going to be writing them any more letters. You know nothing good can come of it,” I said, after drinking enough that the hurt was pushed away by the murky feeling that came with too much alcohol.

  “Couldn’t even if I wanted to. Remember what the letter said. ‘I am closing all forms of communication’.” My brother’s attempt at imitating my father’s Croatian accent had me laughing so hard tears started streaming down my face.

  “You’re such a loser.”

  “Yeah, well you’re a whore.”

  “And you are not a man, you are just a little boy.”

  Mike and I hurled insults at each other. The same ones my father did when we were growing up. Somehow turning the hurt into jokes made things better, but that was a lot easier to do when I was goofy from half a bottle of wine.

  The next morning I woke up with a splitting headache. It would have bothered me more, but the heavy feeling in my heart distracted me from the throbbing in my head. It took me a minute to remember what was eating at me, and then the memory of reading my brother’s letter the day before returned to me. I tried to brush it off as I dressed. I had a class to get to by ten and I didn’t need to be distracted by thinking about my father of all people.