by Calia Read
This part of the story I know. I smile back at her, encouraging her to finish. “I would hear all these woman complain about morning sickness and everything that happens in pregnancy, but I was just so happy to know that I was pregnant,” she croaks out. “I took every time I was sick as a sign that the little baby was growing inside me. I had my first ultrasound at 8 weeks. The doctor saw three babies instead of one. Three! Your dad and I cried for days. I was going to have three babies and we were so happy. You three were born at 33 weeks. Ethaniel was the biggest.” I nod my head and smile down at the pew sadly.
“Emiliana,” she smiles fondly at me, “was next and you were smaller. You were born and you looked around silently. The nurses thought something was wrong with you, but you were always that way. Never said anything. You were my quiet little one.” She smiles over the memory.
“Elizabeth was the smallest. She was this delicate little bundle at three pounds but she had the strongest cry. Your dad used to say it was for all the laughter she was going to do later on.” My eyes filled with tears, but I nodded my head because it was true. “I didn’t know until months later that she wasn’t developing like you and your brother. You and Aniston were crawling at six months and she would sit there on her back and not move. She started to get seizures when she was a year old and it terrified us.”
Wiping more tears away, she stares ahead without blinking. “I knew something was wrong. I knew, but it was impossible to think she was behind you two, or had any disabilities holding her back. How could I think that?” she asks quietly with her lips quivering. “Elizabeth was alive and breathing, it just took her longer to grasp on to things. All that mattered was that I had my three little everythings: Ethaniel, Emiliana, and Elizabeth. Shouldn’t that be the only thing that matters?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I don’t know how to move on, though,” she confesses and hiccups loudly. “I can’t see her anymore and I can’t watch her grow. I just have to picture it all, what she would have done. I know she could have done anything. I don’t know how to let go of you three. I just picture the three of you as children and I-I just miss her so much.”
Her head drops back into her hands and she sobs loudly.
During those sobs I whisper, “I miss her too.”
I feel my mom’s arms wrap tightly around my shoulders. My mind shuts down and I drop my head onto her shoulder like I’m a child again. For the first time in years, I cry with someone supporting me.
Chapter Twenty-seven
MACSEN
There’s really no reason why I should still be here.
I did what I came to do. Laurena needed me to make an appearance at a charity event, so I did. I think she thought of it as her good mother-of-the-year deed. But a few hours with her and I’ve met my quota. I think she’s reached her limit, too.
When I got on the plane to fly to New York, I didn’t consider that I would see Emilia so soon. I thought about surprising her after the charity event, kept thinking how I could find her.
The last name Wentworth is familiar in New York. I went to school with a Wentworth. But I had no fucking clue that the Wentworth I knew was her fucking brother.
But that’s the least of my worries, because three nights ago I had my heart ripped out of my fucking chest and mutilated by Emilia’s hands.
And thinking about her right now only brings me anger; anger and so much fucking confusion.
I still want to know the truth, why I was blamed for something that doesn’t even involve me. I want to know why she was desperate enough to create a list with names of people she wanted to get revenge from. That isn’t the Emilia I knew.
Taking the keys out of the ignition, I quickly get out the car. I borrowed my friend’s car for the day, told him I needed to do something important.
With my hands buried in my coat, I jangle some change. The bitter winter air slams against my face and I keep walking toward the one place I need to be.
Taking my steps two at a time, I ring the doorbell.
Laurena’s house is across the street. I struggle to not turn around and look at the place I once lived. It’s like turning around for all your worst memories, to watch them play out again.
I ring the doorbell one more time and clench my jaw. A part of me is dying to turn around. I want my mom to be looking out the window, and I want to show her who I am. Anything good that I have was never from her.
My biggest fear is that I have her personality, because it’s the cold truth that who we hate is who we fear. And we fear them because we don’t want to turn into them.
That thought makes me turn around, and when I do, I remember…
“I want to see Thayer and Mathias.”
My mom sucked in her cheeks tightly as she stared at me sharply. She was getting ready to leave. Even at the age of ten I knew where she went. I knew that her day started out with shopping and ended with drinking. I knew that she would come home drunk and would fight with my newest step-dad, Jeff.
I knew I would be the one to hold her hair back when she was sick. No one else would be there to do it.
It’s taken me a long time to get used to the mom in front of me. At first, none of her reactions made sense to me when I asked to see Thayer and Mathias. I did what she wanted. I lied for her and she had gotten what she claimed to want. All I wanted was to see my brothers.
I tried to stand still, but my arms kept fidgeting as I waited for her answer. It was obvious my question made her angry. She pressed her cigarette to her lips and watched me before she stubbed the cigarette onto the ashtray on the end table and walked toward me. When she smiled and kneeled down to my height, I felt relief.
“Sure, Macsen.” She patted my hair and smiled. “Why don’t you go pack right now? I’ll call Owen right this second.”
It was never Dad. Always Owen. I didn’t point it out to her. I was too happy. I was going to see them again.
Spontaneously, I hugged my mom and ran upstairs before she could say anything. I packed everything I could in my black Nike bag. My hands were shaking as I walked out of my room. When I ran into our housekeeper, Lisa, I proudly held up my bag. “I’m going to see my dad!” I announced happily.
Her hands were filled with folded towels and she quickly placed them on the ground and rushed over to me with concern. “What do you mean?”
I liked Lisa. She would sneak me snacks and was the only housekeeper that didn’t gossip about my mom in front of me. Plus, her daughter, Haley, was my age and sometimes, Lisa would bring Haley with her. Those were the best days—having someone to play with.
“She said I could see everyone,” I gushed. “I’ll see my brothers, Thayer and Mathias. You’ve never met them before.”
Her smile was brief and sad. “No, I haven’t. Maybe I’ll meet them soon.”
“You will!”
“And that will be great.” She rubbed my cheek and patted my hair. It was a similar action that my mom had done minutes ago. But it was different with Lisa because she had affection and joy in her eyes. Usually, when my mom patted me on the head or gave me a hug, it was followed by something in Bavarian: ‘All that dark hair.’ Or ‘You’re a Sloan if I’ve ever seen one.’
I understood what she said. She was the one to teach me the language and I think she wanted me to hear her words. Wanted me to unravel her words in my mind.
Lisa stands and I want to hold onto her, but ten-year-olds don’t do that. “I need to pick Haley up from the sitter soon. Your mom has your schedule planned out, yes?”
“She will, or my dad will.”
Reluctantly, Lisa picked up the towels. “All right. But if you need me, you go across the street and tell Mrs. McKissick. She’ll call me, okay?”
“Okay,” I promised even though I knew there wasn’t really anything to worry about.
My legs shook as I ran downstairs. I was so excited that when I reached the third stair from the bottom, I jumped with a big smile on my face.
My mom�
��s face wore a serene expression as she took in my bag. She grabbed her purse and slid her cigarettes into her bag. “You seem excited, sweetie.”
Gripping my bag, I nodded my head. “I am. Did you call him?”
“Mmhmm, I sure did.”
She opened the door and held out her hand to me. Cool air breezed into the room and I quickly grabbed my coat from the closet. With my overnight bag in one hand, I happily grabbed her hand with the other. She was my mom and I knew I could trust her.
Zipping up my jacket, I looked up at her. “Are you driving me there?”
Her expression was blank as she stared at her waiting limo. “No. I have to go out.”
I frowned and looked at the ground. “Then who is taking me?”
She locked the door and looked down at me. “Owen is coming to get you.” Dropping her keys into her purse, she smiled over at me and gave me another absentminded pat on the head. “Now you just sit here and wait for him. It shouldn’t be long.” She hurried down the steps and called out, “Schüss, mein Liebling!”
She never once bothered to wave at me.
“Bye,” I said back quietly. I had too much excitement in me to be scared or nervous.
For the first thirty minutes, I sat there and watched the cars go by, people walking past me. And after an hour, I looked down at my watch and checked the time. Right around then I started to get nervous. I pulled out my Gameboy and played away my boredom and fears. After the battery died, I counted the amount of yellow taxis that drove past my house.
When that got old, I counted how many times Mrs. McKissick, our nosy neighbor across the street, would pull back her curtains and stare at me. I knew Lisa said to go over there if I needed to call her but I was reluctant. My mom complained about Mrs. McKissick, called her a nosy, old bitch. But right now, I was comforted that someone was watching after me.
I decided to wait on the stairs and other than checking my watch, I did everything but get up and move. My butt became numb within the second hour. After that, I couldn’t feel anything because the sinking feeling that no one was meeting me started to set in.
My dad wasn’t coming, and I wouldn’t see Mathias or Thayer.
When the sun started to set, I watched Mrs. McKissick walk out her door and down her front steps. She strode across the road with a frown on her face and when she got to the front steps of my house, her frown increased. Her small lips were set in a tight line when she asked, “Where’s your mother, Macsen?”
I shrugged and kept my lip from quivering. I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t a baby. “She’s shopping.”
“Well, I know that, boy,” she huffed out. “I saw her get into that car without you. When is she getting back?”
“I don’t know. I’m waiting for my dad.” I said the words out loud to prove that I wasn’t a fool—that I wasn’t abandoned.
“You’re meeting your dad,” she repeated back to me. Mrs. McKissick nodded and looked over the street with tight lips. “Why don’t you wait for your dad at my house?”
It was starting to get chilly and the jacket I was wearing was too thin against the cold air. Plus, I had to pee. I nodded my head and stood up reluctantly. She held out her bony hand. I took it and she squeezed my hand reassuringly.
She wasn’t an old bat, or a nosy bitch.
Nosy bitches sit and watch. They never help. Even I knew that.
When we were getting ready to walk across the street, my mom’s limo finally pulled up.
The driver walked around the car and held her door open. I knew before she got out that she was drunk.
I think I scared teachers at my school. They would ask what I did during the weekend and I’d tell them I held my mom’s hair back while she puked in the toilet, or listened to the housekeepers as they gossiped along with the rest of the staff.
I knew too much at too young of an age. I realized that. Everything I learned was from my mom.
My mom walked on uneven legs up the sidewalk and laughed hysterically at herself. She straightened when she saw me with Mrs. McKissick.
“Macsen, sweetie,” she slurred out. “What are you doing?”
Mrs. McKissick stepped forward and shoved me behind her back. Not that it would do any good. I’d still listen. “Laurena, he’s been outside all day, sitting on the steps. He told me he was waiting for his dad.”
My mom’s face blanched for a second. She toyed with the strap of her purse. Nonchalantly, she shrugged. “Well, if Owen didn’t come that’s not my fault.”
“I do not care whose fault it is. I watched you leave him on your front steps while you walked away.” My mom went to open her mouth, but Mrs. McKissick pointed an accusing finger at her face. “You’re his mother, act like it.”
My mom’s eyes flashed hurt for a quick second before she sneered at Mrs. McKissick. “I don’t need you telling me how to raise my son. He wanted to see his father and I called, but clearly he doesn’t care enough about my sweet Macsen to come visit. That is not my fault.”
Mrs. McKissick looked over her shoulder at me with sadness. “Laurena—”
“Enough.” My mom stepped forward and painfully held my upper arm. “You snooped out your window and watched Macsen, good for you. But that doesn’t give you the right to start spewing off your opinion.”
Mrs. McKissick looked like she was going to say more until she looked down at me. She gave me a sad smile before she walked back over to her house.
I wanted to go with my neighbor, because all I’d do for the rest of the night was eat by myself, listen to my mom scream at my step-dad for never being home and play video games in my room.
“Come here, Macsen,” my mom said softly.
I walked over to her and all I could smell was smoke. She was drenched in it. I hated that smell. “I know Owen didn’t come,” she said thoughtfully, “but you know what this shows you? That you can’t trust him.” She petted the side of my face repeatedly, and tears gathered in her eyes. “He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t want me. He gave up on us a long time ago.”
That day, I realized something. My dad really didn’t care and the chances of ever seeing my brothers were slim. I could only rely on my mom in life and when she was lying on her bedroom floor drunk, I could always go to Mrs. McKissick.
I ended up going to Mrs. McKissick my whole childhood, until we moved. She took me in as her own and let me come over whenever I needed to. The older I got, the more sporadic my visits became. I came to her when I had nowhere else to go, when I had no clue what the fuck to do.
In a way, she was Mother and Grandma wrapped in one...
The doorknob in front of me turns and I’m back in the present. Those memories are gone, but being on this street, only steps away from my childhood home, brings them flooding back.
Mae opens the door and leans on her walker. She smiles up at me, and I’m reminded that all the good in me is because of this woman.
“Macsen.” She sounds put off, but I know she’s happy to see me. “Don’t just stand there! You’re letting cold air in. Come in, boy.”
She struggles to open the door wider and I quickly help her. Mae is getting older at a rapid pace. I frown as I look at her wrinkled face and pure white hair. Physically she’s declining, but her eyes are still sharp. She watches me keenly as I walk into her house, one that I’m more familiar with than my own home.
Mae McKissick has lived in this same house for thirty years. She has seen everything, and more than that, she saw me when I needed someone.
The two of us walk into her living room and it’s like walking back in time. Old furniture, old carpet and wallpaper. I think the only thing that has been updated is the flat screen television. I helped her set it up a year ago and it took forty minutes just to show her how to change the channel.
On her end tables and the ledge of the fireplace are pictures of her family and her deceased husband, Donald. His pictures are everywhere. He died twelve years ago. Mae hasn’t been the same since he passed away.
> Placed in between those pictures of her family are pictures of me. Most of them are school pictures, and most of them make me cringe.
Mae shuffles to her seat in the corner and calls out to me. “Sit yourself down.”
I sit on the floral couch that is old in age, but still looks brand new.
She relaxes deeper into her chair and looks over at me with a sigh. “So what did you come over for, Macsen?”
She can see right through me. I use her house as an escape when I need air or answers.
And right now, I need answers.
I learned a long time ago, from this one tiny lady, that you should never discredit someone that has lived a long life. She can hand out advice, tell you a story, and scold you all in one sentence. But it’s guaranteed that you will come back with something.
Leaning back against the stiff cushion of the couch, I cut right to the chase. “I was dating someone.”
Mae slips off her glasses and grabs the handkerchief next to her. “You were?” She cleans one lens and moves to the next. “Are you still with this girl?”
“I don’t know.” Mae lifts a brow and stares me down. “I was just revenge for her—a part of some fu-ahhh, some list of hers.”
She places her glasses back on and folds the handkerchief back into a tiny square. “How do you feel about that?”
“I’m angry,” I admit heatedly.
Mae nods her head and cuts me a look. “But you’re still with her?”
I see red when I think of Emilia. I’m so fucking angry and confused and hurt that I can’t picture her face without wanting to throw something. No matter how angry I am, I still want to see her. And that makes me fucked up for still wanting to be around someone who saw me as a simple name on a fucking list.
My shoulders shrug. “I need time,” I say slowly.
“What’s this girl’s name?” she asks.