“He cheated on my mom? And that’s why they got divorced?” He’s asking the questions out loud for himself even though he knows the answers.
“I’m sorry, Brett. I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to be mad. I know how much you love your dad and...I’m so sorry. I wanted to protect you so I kept the secret.”
His eyes start to water as his thoughts process. His silence is deafening and my heart can’t seem to find it’s regular beat. He opens his mouth and I’m terrified of what he will say.
Please, God, don’t let him be upset with me.
He drops his head into his hands, remaining quiet. I unsurely reach my hand out to rub his back. His body releases tension and his head and shoulders sag down deeper.
He shivers and his fingers sink into his hair, grasping tightly in fists. He sniffles. “I–I–” he starts. He breathes deep. “I’m s–sorry, Ramona.” He sniffles. “I don’t–I don’t know what to say.”
I drop my hand and nod even though he can’t see me. I sniffle, suddenly noticing my own tears. I swing my legs over the bed, stand up and smooth out my clothes.
“No,” he blurts out. He looks at me, his face pink and puffy. “Don’t go. Please,” his voice hitches.
I sniffle. “Are you mad?” I look at him nervously.
He shakes his head slowly. Wiping his eyes with the pad of his hands, he meekly says, “Yes.”
I release a loud, pent up sob.
My entire soul seeps into the ground.
“But not at you,” he adds.
“We were just kids and–and it wasn’t my secret to tell.”
He reaches for my hand and pulls me back to the bed. “It’s okay, Ramona.” He embraces me and kisses my neck. “Just…stay, please.” We lay back down and he holds me until I have to go home.
***
I’VE NEVER PACED SO hard in my entire life. My mom and dad are about to walk through the front door any minute. My chest feels tight and my heart keeps dropping to my stomach. I keep wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans but the sweat seems to never go away. I’ve spent the last three days trying to imagine what it’s going to be like seeing her. The high I got from being with Brett a couple hours ago has worn off and I’ve since lost all of my guts.
All that’s left is my heart, which is a minute away from exploding.
I don’t get to obsess any longer because the latch pulls and my parents walk through the door slowly.
Hesitantly, my dad says, “Hey Bean, we’re home.”
My mom shyly walks in. She steps out from behind my dad and I’m stunned at the worn woman looking at me. It’s my old mom but the exhausted, feeble version. I know it’s my old mom because her smile, even though hesitant, starts to reach her eyes when she looks at me. It’s like a zombie has been zapped back to life but the scars, bruises and welts, are all still there.
She looks rough on the outside but I can see hope in her eyes now. I thought it would never come back but it has. I can feel my tears swelling. The bruises, cuts, scrapes, and welts, can heal. She has the ability to heal now.
“Mom.” I grab her just as she clasps me in her arms.
I didn’t know I had any tears left to cry. These are the good kind of tears. The kind of tears that blossom in your soul and make your entire being filled with gratitude.
She rests her cheek firmly against my head.
“Bean, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” I squeeze my eyes shut and hold her tighter, my face pressing against her light blue cashmere sweater. We both sniffle between sobs. “I promise to get better, okay? Please forgive me.” The lump in my throat doesn’t allow me to say anything so I do my best to nod profusely. After a few more moments we gain composure and pull back from each other.
“I’m so glad you’re home, Mom,” I tell her, wiping my cheeks. I take in a shaky breath.
“I’m happy to be here with you and Dad.”
“Bean ordered Mexican take-out for us. Let’s sit down and eat. We can talk about what the next few months are going to look like.” He shuffles us to the table.
I got my mom’s favorite Mexican dish, cheese enchiladas. I ordered horchata for us to drink and my mind flashes to the memory of Mom dancing while pouring cinnamon whiskey in hers the last time we ordered it. Guilt pangs me, wondering if I should have skipped the order this time.
Dad and I spent all day Sunday throwing out every bottle of alcohol. We poured them out then dropped the bottles off for recycling.
She had bottles hidden everywhere.
There were some in the regular kitchen liquor cabinet but there were also bottles stashed in the laundry room, underneath her bathroom sink, in the cabinet above the fridge and in the closet of the spare bedroom.
We also had to take Dad’s expensive scotch from his office and pour it down the sink. He didn’t even wince like I expected him to. Dad expected to find a stash of empty bottles somewhere, but my mom handled the recycling. He said she probably dumped them off regularly enough for us not to notice all the empty bottles.
Next came the pills, which were tricky because some of them she genuinely needs. Some were in her room, a couple in her car, and the rest were in her purse. Neither of us fully realized how sneaky she had gotten about it so each new find was another shock.
This addiction made her secretive, paranoid and a bit of a hoarder. The social worker suggested that we should go through the house but Dad never thought we would find so many bottles...
“This looks delicious, Bean,” she says unfolding her napkin. I can’t help but notice her shaking hands.
“Yes, it does. Thanks, Bean,” Dad says, before shoving his enchilada soaked fork in his mouth. I can’t muster a bite quite yet so I play around with the cheese on my plate. My dad continues talking.
“Mom knows that we’ve picked a couple places we think she might like and she understands that she can go for as long as she wants. Right, Mary?” he asks, grabbing her hand from across the table. I’m on pins and needles awaiting her reaction to this news that’s been decided for her.
She nods, wiping cheese from her chin. “I understand and I think that going away for in-patient treatment is the right thing for me to do. For all of us. I’m not willing to give up on you guys. I want my life back. I-I love you both so much.” She starts tearing up again. She looks down in shame for a moment then, taking a deep breath she courageously looks up and says, “Let’s see what you’ve found.”
“Well,” I pull out one brochure. “I think you’ll really like this place in Idaho. They specialize in addiction and mental disorders. They use nature, art, and wolves specifically to help in the rehabilitation process. It’s really cool actually. They talk about the way wolves are receptive to emotions and it’s been proven that the connection between wolves and humans can help. It seems like a spiritual place. It’s up in the mountains in Idaho. Look, it’s really beautiful.” She takes the brochure and nods in approval.
“Oh, they are beautiful and the wolves too. What’s the other one like?” Her hands are shaking and her voice keeps catching. I can tell it’s taking every ounce she can muster to not breakdown in shame in front of us.
I sigh and look back down at my orange colored dinner.
“This is the other one.” My dad shows her the next brochure. “It’s in Miami in a state of the art facility right on the beach. They specialize in addiction and mental disorders, also. It’s art and nature based. The ocean has healing and spiritual powers…or so they say. What do you think? Think you could go to either of these places?” he asks softly.
My mom puts down her forks and starts sobbing into her enchiladas.
There’s something inexplicably grotesque about someone crying and eating at the same time.
Her tears drop from her chin and cheeks directly into the greasy red sauce. My mind gets side tracked watching her practically collapsing into her enchiladas, her mouth sort of just hanging open unable to fully chew.
My stomach churns.
Throug
h sobs she manages to say, “You guys have done all this for me and I’ve let you down.” She hiccups. “I’m so sorry. I’m so ashamed.”
Hiccup.
My heart bleeds.
“No, Mary, we’re taking care of you for once. It’s not about shame and guilt and blame,” Dad tells her.
Hiccup.
“You haven’t let me down. We made our vows and as long as you’ll let me, I will take care of you,” my father states seriously, his eyes glistening with potential tears. My mom nods.
Hiccup.
“We’re not mad, Mom,” I say, honestly. “We love you and we just want you better.”
Hiccup.
She closes her eyes with her head tilted up slightly to the kitchen chandelier. After a moment, she opens them.
Hiccup.
“I’ll do whatever it takes. So,” she takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Babe, we better book our tickets to Idaho.” We all take a breath of relief with tears in our eyes, exhausted but triumphant.
Hiccup.
She takes a mouthful of water, holds it in her mouth, plugs her ears with her thumbs and plugs her nose with her pinky fingers and then swallows. My mom is convinced this is the only successful tactic to get rid of hiccups. She may have a long road to recovery but she’ll always be weird. The ritual is oddly comforting.
“I’ve looked into travel arrangements for Idaho. We can leave in the morning and we’ll have to layover in Salt Lake City for an hour then land in Idaho early afternoon. Once we land in Idaho we have to rent a car to drive in to the mountains. The car trip will take about two hours.
The facility is pretty secluded. We’ll check you in tomorrow evening and then in the morning I’ll fly back and land tomorrow night around eight.”
I silently take in the information and do the scheduling calculations. I’m begging to get more alone time with Brett.
I get out of school at 12:30...
I have tutoring with Ryan...maybe, yikes, I haven’t even thought about that.
Then I’ll be back home in time for Brett’s practice to be over and he can sleep over.
We haven’t talked about sex considering we only officially started dating yesterday but I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I’m sure he’s definitely thinking about it.
Ramona, get your neurotic head out of the gutter!
“And no Brett Dixon, Ramona Bean Scott.” My dad points at me, sternly.
Crap.
I immediately blush at his uncanny ability to read my mind.
“Brett Dixon?” my mom asks, confused.
I groan.
My dad laughs.
“Ramona, has gone and gotten herself her first boyfriend who is none other than, drum roll, please,” he bangs the table like drums. “The one––the only––Brett Dixon!” I cover my face, embarrassed by the theatrics. My mom grins and claps.
“I suppose it was only a matter of time,” my mom says knowingly.
“Matter of time that I get a boyfriend?” I ask, slightly offended.
“No, matter of time that you and Brett realize that you’ve always liked each other and are finally doing something about it. You guys have liked each other since you were in middle school.” My brows furrow in confusion and I look at my dad who’s flashing a knowing smirk at me.
Apparently everyone else knew except Brett and I. I think back for a second and realize that even Jimmy knew. I guess that makes Brett and I Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. I chuckle and shake my head at the silly thought.
After dinner Mom and Dad go to their room to pack and plan to go to sleep early for their morning flight. She’s in good hands now.
I have something else I need to take care of.
CHAPTER 31
THE WILDER’S HOUSE IS a ranch style house with a dark burgundy brick front and a black roof that needs to be mended. The renovations––interior and exterior––since the Wilder’s moved in (twenty years ago) have been few and far between. That’s not to say the Wilder’s can’t afford it, they just simply haven’t bothered.
I find myself in front of their unusually heavy screen door after having just pushed the yellow doorbell that resides near a few lone cobwebs. Dad gave me some words of ease the other day about Veronica and I’s predicament. It’s nothing that honesty and a willingness to listen won’t fix. I hope she’s willing to patch things up because I really need my best friend right now. I’m not even sure how to go about telling her everything that happened since I last saw her at the dance. I’m reminding myself to breathe while I hear all members of the Wilder household shouting inside about who has to go answer the door. My anxiety rises when I hear that Veronica lost and she’s a mere footstep from the door.
The front door swings open and her face illuminates when she recognizes me through the cumbersome screen door. “Ramona!” She thrusts the door open, almost smacking me. “I’m so sorry.” Her arms are around me and she’s squeezing me like I’m about to float away. “Ramona, please forgive me. I’m sorry. Jimmy told me about your mom. I wanted to come over sooner but I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” Her voice cracks and the last words come out shaky.
My mind goes dizzy. I’m not sure I heard her right.
Her arms are wrapped around me so relentlessly that I can’t hug her back even if I want to.
But I don’t want to.
I want her to get off of me but I don’t tell her that.
Instead, I ask, “You know?”
“Yeah,” she confirms. “But I’ve only known for a couple of days,” she adds quickly.
“Days? You’ve known for days and you didn’t call me?” I seethe. She releases me and backs away. I see her shameful face about to be ridden with tears. She might as well have punched me in the gut and pushed me down to the ground.
“No! Well, I mean, yes. But it’s not like that, Ramona,” she says, in a small panic. “I wanted to I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think you’d want to see me. I know, I fu–”
“Stop! You knew and you did nothing? I needed you! I thought you hated me. I came here to apologize to you! I can’t believe you.” I start to back away, my eyes pooling.
“No, Ramona, wait! I’m sorry!”
I shake my head at her and turn away. There’s a softball size lump in my throat but I manage to choke out the words, “I have to go. I need some space.” I walk back down the driveway.
I hear her sob and yell after me, “Ramona, I’m sorry!”
I need my best friend but right now, I need to think about things and process before I can talk to her. Otherwise, I might say something I’ll regret.
I cry all the way home.
***
SAYING GOODBYE TO MY mom is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. A piece of my soul is leaving for ninety days and I’m not sure how I will be able to live with only part of my soul present.
A tiny light in my heart went out and only my mom can make it turn back on.
And she can only turn it back on if she gets her life completely back.
Brett Dixon
Tuesday 11/5
So get this, Mr. Chan...my dad cheated on my mom.
This entire time I never understood why my mom wouldn’t even talk to or listen to my dad no matter how hard he tried. It’s so fuc it’s so messed up. I’m PISSED. I still don’t know what I’m going to do about it. I mean, there’s not a lot I can do but I’m still going to call him out on it. I’m their kid. I deserve to know the truth.
MOVING ON...
I thought I had been zapped to a parallel universe today. I went up to Veronica to apologize, fully expecting to have the wrath brought down on me. I even thought about wearing my lacrosse helmet in case she started to show signs of violence.
She didn’t seem caught off guard when I approached her so I’m assuming Jimmy told her to expect me. In fact, she looked kind of awful. She looked really tired like she was getting sick or something.
Anyways, she accepted my apology. She must be getting sick because she didn’t make me beg or grovel. Actually, she was very forgiving about everything. It was kind of weird.
I really thought that there might be something wrong with her until she told me that with absolute certainty, no doubt, no hesitation, she would rip my balls off if I ever hurt Ramona. It scared the hell out of me.
I’m going over to Ramona’s tomorrow night. It sort of seemed like she was hinting at sex because her parents will be gone. I’d be really surprised if she did want to do it but I would also be happy if she does. I want to make sure it’s how she wants it to be and that everything is perfect for her.
I’m trying not getting too excited cuz I don’t want to be disappointed if it doesn’t happen. I would be happy holding her and sleeping next to her all night.
None of that matters.
She’s the only one that matters. I’ll do whatever she wants to do.
But I’m still really hoping for tomorrow.
CHAPTER 32
ON THE THIRD DAY, God said, “Let all students at Mount Saint Mary’s Catholic High School get released from their studies at 12:30.”
Okay, he probably didn’t say that but it doesn’t change my affinity for Half Day Wednesdays.
I think I officially scared Jet enough for him to never speak to me again. Our eyes briefly met during class and he looked down in shame like a misbehaved mutt. I thought that I would feel bad by now about slapping him. I do feel bad but not as much as I probably should for physically harming another human.
Now, in gym class I’m trying to avoid Veronica. I miss her and I need her but...I’m just not ready to talk to her quite yet. I’m not so much angry as I am disappointed.
When we ran our laps at the beginning of class she jogged behind me the entire time. I was conflicted on whether to tell her to go on without me and let me be or to cave and allow her to join me. My indecision won and I opted for neither. I ended up ignoring her completely even though I did actually appreciate her solidarity in not abandoning me during laps.
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