“I don’t know, Bean. We won’t know unless she tells us and...she might not tell us at all. I’m sorry, Ramona. I know she’s been drinking excessively for a long time now. I’ve been in denial.” He takes a deep ragged breath, his bottom lip faintly quivering.
“I didn’t want to believe that she was hurting as much as she is. I didn’t know the pills were getting out of control. Bean, I’m so sorry. I should have been here.” He squeezes his eyes shut, lowering his head for a few moments. I move my hands to cover his on the table.
When he musters the strength to bring his head up, he has tears in his charcoal colored eyes. Seeing my dad cry for the first time is gut wrenching.
“I did know,” I confess. The tears leak over and keep flowing. “I knew about the pills and I didn’t say anything.”
His tears trickle delicately down his cheeks as he takes my hands and squeezes them tightly.
“Ramona, this is not your fault. Look at me,” he commands sternly. I raise my head. “This is not your fault. You are barely eighteen and it is not your job to look after your mom or me. It’s our job to look after you and I’ve let you and your mom down.”
I shake my head back and forth quickly, like a little kid. I half expected to loathe the sight of him when he showed up this morning. I spent all night silently blaming him for not doing anything to help her. Seeing him here in front of me with the same dead, watery eyes as mine, I know it’s not his fault.
“You and your mom are my entire life, okay?” he whispers. I nod my head, wiping my tears.
“Mom will be coming home Tuesday morning. The social worker explained that Mom’s going through a lot and will be for a while and we have to make sure that we’re supportive. We have to be patient with her and allow her to give us answers at her own pace. She also said that might mean that we’ll never get the answers we’re looking for and we have to respect that.” I nod my head in understanding. “We have to respect and support her, no matter what,” he says uneasily with a massive sigh. “Angela strongly suggests a thirty to ninety day stay at a recovery center.”
“You mean like rehab?” I can’t imagine having my mom away for thirty or more days.
“Yes, rehab. Angela told me that these centers allow visitors if the patient allows,” he says, carefully.
“You mean...she might not want to see us?” I choke the question out. I can’t imagine what I must’ve done if my mom does not want to see me.
“It’s a little more complicated. Ultimately, she needs to do what’s right for her and if she needs time to process without seeing us, then we have to be okay with that. I know that this is a lot to comprehend all at once but do you think you’re starting to understand what I’m saying? It can take a long time for this all to sink in. I haven’t even fully processed it all.”
I ponder for a few moments. I can’t imagine my mom being gone. “I don’t know,” I manage to choke out.
“You’re not alone in this, Bean. We are together. I’m taking time off from work regardless of whether she wants to enter into treatment. But Bean, I’m really going to encourage your mother to go for in-patient treatment for at least thirty days. I want to be open and honest with you about that.” He pauses. “Please understand that it’s not that I want her gone. It’s that I want her to get the help she needs and deserves. I’m going to meet with the social worker and she is going to give me some pamphlets and some rehab centers to look into. We can go over them together and maybe find a place she’ll like. Okay?”
“Okay,” I reply meekly. I can’t rub away the tears anymore because the delicate skin surrounding my eyes has gotten red and scratched up from all the crying and wiping in the last sixteen hours.
He stands up and pulls me up for another hug. He holds me tight, my head smashed against his chest, and says, “I hope you know how much I love you, Ramona Bean Scott.” He releases me. “I have to shower and then I’m going to lay down for awhile. Will you be okay?”
“Yeah. I think I might nap for a little bit too.”
He starts making his way toward the stairs and stops by the front door. “Ramona, is that a Sherlock Holmes hat?”
My eyes widen at the hat lying by the door. Brett must have dropped it on his way out this morning. We woke up and he was able to bolt ten minutes before my dad walked through the door. I know my dad loves me but I also know he wouldn’t have wanted a boy to be sleeping over without parental supervision.
“Oh...Um–it’s–” I stammer.
He half-smiles and continues walking. “Tell Brett Dixon that he’s coming over for dinner so I can thank him in person.”
I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment. Maybe I can stop beating myself up about being in love with Brett and start enjoying it.
Because I fully intend to enjoy all of it.
CHAPTER 29
DAD AND I DECIDED THAT I should take a couple days off from school to rest and process.
In actuality, I asked and he just said “okay.”
We sat around yesterday, ordered Chinese food and watched our favorite movie, Almost Famous[15].
“Dad, what is this? It looks incredible,” he says as he places some eggs and potatoes down in front of me.
“It’s an egg scramble with basil, caramelized onions, sausage, tomatoes and cheese.”
“Oh my god. I had no idea you could cook. It’s delicious,” I say, shoveling forkfuls into my mouth. He chuckles.
“I went to culinary school before law school,” he says with a smile.
“No way! You never told me that.”
“Yup. I spent two summers after high school in culinary school. It almost gave your grandpa a coronary. Then I went to college, where I met your mother.
Grandpa always pushed me to go to law school at Yale because that’s where he went and I finally caved and went. Your mom stayed with me all throughout law school. I think I’m the only one that wore ripped jeans and flannel to classes. Grandpa couldn’t say much though because I was at the top of my class.”
“Don’t you miss cooking though?”
“Sometimes. I definitely wish I did more of it but I like my practice and I like being a lawyer. Grandpa would roll over in his grave to hear me say that,” he chuckles. Grandpa died three years ago, before Dad opened his own firm. Their relationship was rocky but I think Grandpa would be proud of him. He looks lost in melancholy. His eyes are dark and the circles under them are shadowed and heavy. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days and looks pretty rough around the edges.
“I think Mom should go to treatment like you said,” I surprise myself saying. He snaps out of his melancholic memories.
“I agree. We need to support her but I think she also needs some tough love. She might really fight us on it but I don’t think we should give her the choice. Dealing with addicts can get ugly, Bean. I can’t lie to you about that.”
“Well…what happens if she fights us?” The question leaves a bad taste in my mouth and I’m tempted to block my ears, like a child, so I can’t hear the answer. I need to know but I really don’t want to.
“I love your mom but if she’s not willing to get better than I don’t know if I can stay with her. I can’t live with the constant fear of coming home and finding her dead. I can’t live with the thought of you coming home and finding her dead. If you hadn’t come home when you did, who knows what would have happened. She’s been a zombie in her own body and she needs to get the life pumped back into her. It is possible with treatment and recovery, but she has to be willing and committed.”
“Are you saying that if she doesn’t want to go that you’ll get a divorce? I don’t want you to get a divorce,” I pout. I know we haven’t been a fully functioning family for a while, but the mere thought of my parents divorcing sends me over the edge.
“I don’t want to either, Ramona, but I have to do what I think is best for all three of us. If she refuses in patient treatment then I’m going to have to take a serious look at our marriage. We can try and
force her to go to rehab but ultimately she has to choose to get better and do the work to get her life back. There’s only so much we can do.”
I’m glad he’s telling me all this. At the same time, I don’t want to hear it. I want to be little again when they would fight quietly in their room and then smile and tell me everything is fine even when it wasn’t. Growing up hurts like a harpoon to the heart.
“Let’s table the talk about Mom for right now. I think I need to hear what’s going on with Brett Dixon. And don’t obfuscate. Tell me all the details. I’m a lawyer, I spend all day listening to long and complicated stories.” I snort into my apple juice when I hear the word “obfuscate.” Talking to my dad about boys is the last thing I want to do but I really need to tell someone and he’s sitting right in front of me practically demanding I tell him all the sordid details.
So, I do.
I unleash the entire contents of my social life from the last two weeks, minus the sneaking out of the house and heavy petting parts. I tell him about Jet, Brett, Ryan, Veronica, Jimmy and what happened at the dance and how I haven’t heard from anyone since Friday night.
“Sometimes, we like someone so much that we make up this idea of who they are. At first we don’t know much about them and it’s exciting because it’s new. They’re new. So we fill in the blanks to create the person we want to them to be. Then we fall in love with this person that we’ve created. Once we get to know the person––who they truly are––we’re let down because they don’t live up to our expectations.”
He’s right.
I’ve liked Ryan for so long but I didn’t really know him. I still don’t really know him.
I was in love with the Ryan I created in my head.
It’s kind of like the inside of Stinky McGee’s house. The imagination and wonder is what makes it interesting, enticing even. If I actually knew what the inside of Stinky McGee’s house looked like I would be disappointed. The imagination and fantasy are almost always better.
I’ve pined after Ryan for three years and when I got my opportunity to be with him, I ignored all the parts of him that bothered me. I convinced myself that I knew him and it didn’t matter what anybody else said because I already made up my mind.
I’ve been in serious denial.
“Does that make sense?” he asks, studying my expression.
“Yeah, it actually makes perfect sense.”
“You have a lot going on right now. I think it’s a good idea that you make regular appointments with the student counselor...what’s his name...the guy with the creepy seventies mustache?” He gulps the last of his apple juice.
I groan and throw my head back dramatically.
“Mr. Dirks? What’s he going to do?”
“I think it will be good for you to have someone you can talk to that isn’t me or your friends. Counselors have degrees in this kind of thing. They’re job is to help students work out their lives, personal and academic. Please tell me you’ll make at least one appointment.”
I’m surprised that he even knows who Mr. Dirks is, not to mention what his mustache looks like.
I’m both impressed and annoyed at his parenting skills. I can’t remember the last time he forced me to do anything.
“Solely for your entertainment, I’ll make the appointments with Mr. Dirks when I go back to school on Wednesday.”
“And maybe tell him to shave that ‘stache.” He smiles then firmly adds, “You can go back to school tomorrow.”
“I’ll think about it,” I respond. He grins and shakes his head. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I’ve got some information about some treatment centers and I think we should spend the day assessing programs and which place we think Mom would like the best. I say we give her two options of centers and let her decide on thirty days, sixty days or ninety days. I’ll pick her up Tuesday and then we will leave Wednesday morning to whatever facility she chooses. What do you think?”
“I think that’s a good idea. I’ll come with you Wednesday morning.”
He bursts a single laugh. “Ha. Nice try. No. You’ll be in school Wednesday and I’ll be back Thursday. Are you okay with one night alone?”
My thoughts immediately jump to Brett coming over. “Yes,” I say a little too quickly.
“Brett Dixon is not allowed in this house while I’m gone. I’ll know if he was here.”
“How?” I ask, skeptically.
“Dads just know these things. It’s like a sixth sense,” he says confidently. Confidently enough that I almost believe him.
Almost.
“Fine. No Brett. School on Wednesday. One appointment with Mr. Dirks,” I say, taking mental notes.
“At least one. After that appointment, he can help you get ready for your Notre Dame early acceptance application.”
Dang, he’s good.
“You still want to go to Notre Dame, right?”
“Yes,” I confirm.
“Perfect. It’s a plan.” He collects all the dirty dishes and puts them in the soapy water. He walks over and slaps the dish gloves on the table in front of me. I groan.
“I miss Mom.” He chuckles.
“Me too but I cooked, you clean. I even got the sink full of soap and rinsed off all the dishes for you.”
I reluctantly grab the gloves and give him the stink eye. “Maybe I should cook next time.” He smiles.
“That’s a great idea. I’ll teach you how to make eggplant parm tonight.” My eyes dart up in excitement. “Okay!”
“I’ll be in my office to get some work done. I’ll print off some pamphlets for us to go over after dinner. If you need me, just come in.” He kisses my head and walks out of the living room.
After I finish the dishes, I text Brett. Hopefully, he remembered to turn his phone on vibrate. I picture it ringing loudly in class and I giggle.
Me: Hi, Try not to miss me in math today. ;)
I make my way to my room to read some Art History. My phone beeps while I’m walking up the stairs.
Brett: I miss u without the Math. I’m home today.
Me: Are you sick?
Brett: Suspended for fighting. 3 days.
I didn’t even stop to think that Ryan and Brett were going to get in serious trouble for fighting.
Me: I’m so sorry! If it makes you feel better, Mrs. Novoa forgot about our detention slips. Permanently detained detention slips. Say that ten times fast!
Brett: LOL permymydetendenships. Wanna hang for a little bit?
Me: Oak tree in an hr?
Brett: Don’t forget a sweater. It’s kinda cold out.
Brett: Then again we could always make each other warm...
Yup, same old Brett.
Me: You wish, Dixon
Brett: U have no idea, Bean
Me: See you soon, perv
Brett: Olly olly oxen free ;)
I giggle and shake my head.
I shower and am sitting under the big well-groomed Oak tree on my blanket in under an hour, like promised. When he arrives, he silently joins me on the blanket. He’s wearing dark fitted jeans, a blue sweater and a gray beanie with tufts of dark curls peaking out the front and sides. The wind blows and I get a nose-full of his woodsy musk. It sends shivers down my spine and I get goose bumps.
“When I was chasing you down at the dance...” He starts as he leans his head back against the tree, his eyes grazing the various shapes of the puffy clouds that are littering the sky.
“I’m really sorry, Brett. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Bean. You’re not the one that hit someone. Anyway, I was chasing you down to tell you that I apologized to Jimmy. We talked and hugged it out.” He chuckles, no doubt, for some reason I’m not privy to and continues, “I’m going to be hanging out with him more once lacrosse is over. If Veronica let’s me, anyway.
I still need to talk to her. She scares me though. I would really like to not get
hit anymore this year. My beautiful face can’t take much more.” I laugh sarcastically at his joke. “What? You love this face,” he says, pointing at all the bruises and scrapes.
“I do not,” I say with a widening smile and pink cheeks. He gently shoves my shoulder and I giggle. “Okay, I like it a little bit.” I pause for a moment then let out a heavy sigh. “I have to talk to Veronica too. She’s mad at me for ‘withholding information and fraternizing with the enemy.’ Best friends don’t do that. I betrayed her,” I say, pulling out the grass that lines the blanket edge.
“You didn’t. She’s stubborn and holds grudges. If you and Jimmy can forgive me than she should too. I just have to apologize to her in public with no sharp objects around.” I laugh because it’s true. Veronica has a bad temper.
“I should also tell you that after you left, Jimmy punched Ryan.”
My eyes widen and my eyebrows rise. I can’t picture Jimmy hurting anyone. Veronica, yes, but not Jimmy. He’s always calm and collected.
“Crazy, huh? He told me that he takes boxing classes at the Y. I think I might start going with him when lacrosse is done.”
Oh, that’s right! Boxing classes.
He really is a badass.
“Honestly, I think him and Veronica are more alike than not. Jimmy expresses his anger through different outlets. I don’t think Veronica knows how to do that as well,” I state.
“I think you’re right. They’re more alike I think then they’re willing to admit.” We smile at each other because it’s completely true. “Anyway, all three of us got suspended on the spot for three days. I’m going to try and get Jimmy out of it. I emailed Mr. Dirks today. I didn’t mean for him to get dragged into it. That kid has always had my back. I can’t believe I let him down like that.” He looks down with shame painting his face.
I gasp covering my mouth with my hands, just now remembering something else that happened Friday night.
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