When Hunter called to tell Jackie we were planning to stay at Emmett's for the summer, she began to cry.
"Well, I know you don't like Rowan, so . . ."
"What? Baby, I love Rowan. Any girl that makes you happy makes me happy. I just don't want her taking advantage of you."
"Mom . . ."
"Baby, I work too hard to be supporting the both of you. That girl has gotta carry her weight."
Jackie hadn't worked in over a decade. When Hunter was fifteen, they'd gotten into a car accident, and she'd been collecting disability, and Vicodin, ever since.
Eventually, she wore him down, and Hunter and I headed to Jackie's for the summer.
One thing I could never accuse Jackie of was not loving her son. Hunter was truly the best thing she'd ever done with her life and she wanted me to know it. The morning after we arrived, she cooked an enormous breakfast. Hunter inhaled two huge pancakes, and knocked back a glass of orange juice, before leaving me alone with his mother while he went off to work with Emmett.
Jackie and I sat in silence for what seemed like a long time before she asked me, "Do you love him?"
"More than anything," I said.
"Bullshit. You can't shit a shitter, and girl, you're trying to shit me."
"No," I stammered nervously, "I do. I love him."
"He's got a future, you know. A bright one."
"I'm not trying to get in the way of that."
She stared at me hard, trying to discern if I could be trusted, before smiling and squeezing my hand. "Good. You know how to make a Bloody Mary?"
* * *
As the summer progressed, Jackie became my friend. We'd take her Mercedes to the salon to get her roots treated, her acrylics filled in, her Botox injected. We tanned by the pool and selected outfits we thought might look good on Hunter.
As the Fourth of July party approached, Jackie enlisted my help.
"The sauce is key," she said as she rolled the meatballs.
"Okay, where do I find it?"
Jackie threw her head back and cackled. "Oh, you won't find jarred sauce in this house, Rowan. Your mom doesn't make her own sauce?"
I hadn't thought about Mom in a while. Hunter had me call Verizon to get her number blocked, and set it up so I couldn't receive calls from private or blocked numbers. It was the first time I realized I missed my mother.
"No," I said, trying not to cry, "she buys hers."
"Bleh," Jackie said, sticking her tongue out. "Please tell me she doesn't buy Ragu or Prego." She laughed.
"No," I half laughed. "She gets her sauce from this Italian place by our house, Ceriello's. They have all sorts of meat and cheeses and stuff there."
"Oh, well, you'll have to bring me some the next time you go home!"
"Definitely," I lied, wiping a few tears away.
"Aww, baby," she said, setting down the tomatoes and putting her arms around me. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just haven't talked to my mom in a while, is all."
"Well, why don't you call her?" Jackie suggested, walking over to grab her cordless.
"No, no. I'm okay."
"You know, Rowan, Hunter told me about your mom."
"Yeah?"
"I get it. Mothers are not easy. But you know, whatever it is you two are fighting about, I'm sure she'd love to just talk to you and see how you're doing."
"I know," I said. "I'm just not ready yet."
"Okay, well, the phone is here whenever you are."
As I showered later that night, Hunter burst through the door, and pulled me out by my hair. I tripped over the tub and my knees crashed against the tile. The curtain hooks snapped against the rod, as I gripped the shower curtain trying to steady myself before I lost my grip and my head became surrounded by water.
My breasts were crushed against the cold porcelain, Hunter's fingers squeezing my hair, pushing my head against the toilet trap, before pulling me back up. I gasped for air and rubbed my eyes, trying to come to.
"Do you hear me?" he screamed.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I replied instinctively.
"If you miss your fucking mother so much, then fucking go. Go!"
"Hunter, I don't—"
SLAP.
"Don't you fucking lie to me!" he screamed, pushing my head into the toilet again.
My wet hands slipped against the toilet, trying to break free.
"I swear to god, Rowan," he said, pulling me up. "You say you love me. You say you want to be with me. You say you can't imagine life without me, and yet here you are, using my mom to help you get back. You fucking hate your mother!"
"I'm sorry, Hunter," I said, slowly getting up from the soaked floor, and turning the water off. "I'm so sorry." I embraced him.
Hunter pulled me in close, and began to cry. "I just love you so much. Your mother is a fucking crazy, controlling bitch. She doesn't understand what we have and she never will, you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
* * *
Before we left Hunter's mom's house to return to Cabrini after summer break, Jackie gave him $500 for textbooks, and told me to make sure he got to all his classes on time. I hadn't realized break was over until Hunter started packing.
"Senior year," she sighed. "No more second chances after this, mister, so get your butt to class. What about you, Rowan? You excited about graduation?"
"Me? I'm not graduating this year. I've got one more year left," I lied.
"Well, enjoy it," she said, opening her arms to me. "I'm so happy Hunter found you. He really loves you, you know."
"I love him too."
"I gave Hunter some money for textbooks and groceries, but I wanted you to have this too." She placed two hundred-dollar bills in my hand.
"Oh, Jackie, no—I can't take this."
"Sure you can!" she said, pulling me in tight. "I know you don't have the greatest relationship with your parents, so take it. Just a little something to start the semester off right."
"Thank you," I said, hugging her back.
We stood there in each other's arms for a moment, before Hunter's horn pierced through our embrace.
"Take care!" she called out as I got into the car.
Hunter barely waited for me to close the door before peeling out of the driveway, speeding down the block, and coming to a halt at the corner. He said nothing, and simply held his hand out between us.
I bent forward to grab my bag, using my hair to cover me as I slipped one of the hundreds under the seat and put the other in his hand.
"That's it?"
"Maybe she doesn't like me as much as you think she does."
"I don't know how we're going to make this last," he said, taking a left toward the highway.
"It would if you didn't spend it all on alcohol."
I wasn't surprised that he hit me, only surprised that he pulled over to do it. We spent the rest of the ride in silence, until he made the turn onto King of Prussia Road. As was our routine, I unclicked my seat belt and climbed into the backseat to hide from Public Safety.
* * *
It had been a year since I sneaked out of the house on Elderberry. Things were good for a while. It seemed natural—like it was always meant to be just the two of us. But Mom was relentless. She called, e-mailed, sent letters. Erin was the first to tell me that Mom found her number in an old phone of mine, and was calling people asking for information.
I headed her off, calling all my friends and advising them not to tell her where I was, to say they hadn't heard from me, to lie. I got frustrated when people asked me why I was doing this, what was happening, if everything was okay. Of course I was okay . . . I was with Hunter.
Mom called Public Safety every morning, and also at three p.m. during shift change. "Yes, Mrs. Kelly, we're aware your daughter is living on campus . . ."
Mom and Public Safety shared the same problem—they couldn't find me. Since I was no longer a student, I was living on Cabrini's campus illegally, thereby also implicating Hun
ter for allowing it to happen. Public Safety often performed routine checks and inspections on his dorm, but we were always one step ahead.
Hunter's network of clients was on the lookout for Public Safety. They helped me out windows, down halls, into their rooms for hiding—anything to score an extra dime bag. Hunter and I would laugh at how stupid Mom was, how stupid Public Safety was.
Now, I wonder if I'd have laughed if I had known her hair had begun to fall out. If I'd witnessed the rapid weight loss, her sleep deprivation. I wonder if I'd have thought it was funny to hear her cry at night, at church, on the way to the grocery store. I wonder if I'd have thought myself a badass if I'd watched her examine herself, her actions, her existence, wondering where she went wrong—desperately searching for the answer as to how I could have gone so far off the path she'd so carefully laid out for me. I wonder how I ever could have thought she didn't love me, didn't want me. I wonder what right I had to ever claim she wasn't my mother.
And yet she kept going, for she knew I was alive, and she knew I was in trouble.
* * *
"I think we need to wash this blanket," I said, sitting up once we turned into the parking lot.
"Hey," he snapped, reaching his hand backward to throw the blanket back over me, "did I say you could fucking come out yet? Jesus, Rowan."
I lay back down, and waited for Hunter's Explorer to come to a complete stop before running into his new building, and up to his new room.
Knowing better than to touch anything or to try and go outside in an attempt to unpack the car, I sat on his bed and waited.
"At least you got a single this year."
"Yeah, that freshman in housing hooked it up."
Hunter walked along the perimeter of the 164-square-foot room, deciding where to place things."So, I'm going to bring the stuff up. Just start unpacking the clothes and we'll worry about the rest tomorrow."
He brought in box after box of shirts, pants, and unmentionables followed by the posters, bedding, and the samurai swords he was convinced were authentic.
"What do you think of this carpet?"
"I don't know," I said, looking down. "It's okay, I guess. I like the blue but I'd want something darker."
"Me too. You know, when we get our own place I'd really like to have hardwood instead of carpeting in every room."
"Really?" I looked over to see him wedged between the wall and the dresser, no doubt trying to find the Ethernet jack, and decided to take the risk and sit down beside him. "What else are we going to have in our place?" I asked.
"Well," he said, dropping the cord and putting his arm around me, "I want a really big kitchen with a special display for all the chopsticks you got me."
"Oh, that'll be nice." I closed my eyes tight, trying to imagine it.
"Yeah, and upstairs we'll have, like, eight rooms—one for my games, one for your writing—"
"I get my own room?"
"Of course," he laughed. "You can't write with me or the dogs bothering you all the time."
"We have dogs?"
"Three."
He kissed me on the forehead and squeezed me before turning back to the Ethernet cable. Up until now, I'd been wondering if I'd done the right thing by leaving home. The year had been bad, but Hunter said it wasn't always going to be this way—that things were going to get better. He said my parents wanted to control every aspect of my life—that they couldn't be a part of my life because they didn't understand our love. And I believed him.
* * *
Rain came a few hours later. Most of the car had been unpacked, and the rest of the House 6 residents had arrived on campus. There was a knock at the door, and Hunter shooed me into the closet.
"Nick!" Hunter said, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Hey man," Nick said, extending his hand, bringing Hunter in for a handshake. "Rowan! How's it going?"
"Good, good," I said, coming out of the closet.
"What's up?" Hunter smiled.
"Just wanted to let you know Wayne's throwing a party over in the apartments. We're getting ready to head over—you guys want to come?"
"Absolutely! I'll meet you downstairs in ten?"
"Cool," Nick said, closing the door behind him.
"Are you really going to the party?"
"Yes," Hunter said matter-of-factly.
"I thought . . ." I began.
"What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I just thought—"
"Rowan, I can't just stay in this room with you forever."
"I'm not asking you to. I just wish you'd spend some time with me since I know classes are going to be starting soon and—"
"Fucking Christ," he said, slamming his hand against the door. "I fucking feed you. I give you a place to live and still it's not good enough."
"I didn't say that."
"Oh no? Well, you could show a little appreciation by letting me spend some time with my friends."
"Fine," I said, spinning on my heel and walking toward the bed. "Go. I don't care."
I took two steps before Hunter yanked my hair and hurled me against the door, the impact sending my skull forward, causing me to bite my tongue.
"I don't need your fucking attitude."
"I wasn't giving you one."
Slap.
I held my palm against my face where he'd struck me, trying my best not to cry. "I'm sorry. Have a great time," I said, kissing him on the cheek. I slid past him and took a seat on the bed. "I'll be here when you get back."
He slammed the door behind him without another word. I went to the window, and watched him and Nick take off toward the Cabrini Apartment Complex. I looked past them to the other students—some smoking, some laughing, some still unpacking.
Erin and I would have been juniors this semester. We probably would have gotten the same god-awful internship, and made fun of the people for whom we fetched coffee. I wondered whom she was living with—if she'd be going to Wayne's party.
I wished desperately for Erin to walk by. I'd tap on the window, and run for the door. We'd meet in the middle of the stairs and throw our arms around each other. I'd wipe away the tears from my eyes, apologizing for being such a bitch, and she'd forgive me instantly—telling me to fetch my things, and that we'd find a way to get me home. But the truth was that even if Erin did walk by, and if she did look up after I tapped on that window, I didn't know her anymore. I didn't know me.
As I stood there, I thought of all the things I used to blame Hunter's violence on—our living situation, his finals, the weather. He always apologized, told me he loved me, promised it would never happen again. Bruises had somehow turned to broken bones, cracked ribs, dislocated shoulders.
I was wishing for Erin because I realized what all victims of domestic violence know—eventually, my abuser was going to kill me. But more than that, I realized I didn't want to die.
I reached under the bed and grabbed the blue Kipling bag I'd run away with and threw it onto the bed. When I was in high school, I begged my mother for a personalized sweatshirt so I could match the girls in my class. But I never got one. Then, two Christmases ago, she found herself in Lord & Taylor, and what should be on the rack but a hoodie with Rowan Rock across the front. There was no way I was leaving it behind.
I took the $500 Hunter's mother had given him for textbooks, and filled the envelope with folded paper towels. As I went for the door, I dropped my bag and sat down on the bed. If I left now, I risked being seen by any number of people—Public Safety, his friends, or worse, a semi-sober Hunter. No, if I wanted to get home I'd have to wait until he came back, and take off when he finally passed out.
The sky grew dark, the hour late, and still I found myself at the desk, awaiting Hunter's return. I'd just lost my umpteenth staring contest with the ceiling when I heard the doorknob jiggling.
"Fuck, Rowan!" he screamed, slamming his head against the door. "Let me in! Keys no go in hole . . . fuck!"
I opened the door. Hunter was wearing the smile I o
nce loved so much, and wrapped his arms around me. He kissed me tenderly, taking my face and hair in his hands as he did so. The side he'd punched a few hours ago ached under the pressure of his hand. He pushed me into the room, and we collapsed onto the bed. Hunter's tongue slithered up my neck and into my ear while his hands clumsily attempted to rid me of my clothes.
"Hold on, babe," I said, sitting up, "give me a second. I need to go to the bathroom."
Hunter pushed me back onto the bed, and buried his face in my chest. "No, don't go. I need you here."
"Hunter, come on. Stop!"
"Bitch!" he screamed, slapping his palm against my face.
When I opened my eyes, I saw my blood splattered against the cinder-block wall, and I vowed it would be the last of myself I'd lose. He pushed me onto the floor and took what he felt I owed him. The harder I struggled, the more I called for help, the harder he buried his hate within me. His nails wedged themselves deep into my thighs—tearing open wounds that had long since healed. Blood ran down my legs; tears down my cheeks.
Once he finished and rolled onto his side, I crawled away and leaned against the dresser and waited for Hunter's night to finally catch up with him. I crawled over him to retrieve my bag and was seized immediately. "Rowan," he said, tightening his grip, "get in bed."
"No," I whispered.
"What?" Hunter ran his fingers through my hair and, for a moment, I almost believed I was wrong to leave. His gentle caress had once been preceded by kisses and laughter. Now, it seemed to carry concern and worry. Maybe we'd talk about it, agree to work on things—become better people. Maybe he would cry, apologize, and say something like, "I've never felt this way about anyone before. I just don't know how to do this. These feelings are so new to me."
I knew better. No amount of apologies and sweet nothings could erase the horror I was destined to relive in my nightmares. But waking from those horrors was worth fighting for. I suddenly realized I was no longer Hunter's. I hadn't been for quite some time. He wasn't afraid that I would belong to someone else—he was afraid that I would belong to myself. And so, I let the idea of our love slip away and repeated, "No."
Inconvenient Daughter Page 13