Amy
Seth was avoiding me. Not that I cared or anything. I mean, I hardly knew him. But I knew he was avoiding me. It had been three days since he walked me home, and there was no sign of him. It was like he had vanished with no warning. It made me wonder if I had done something wrong or upset him in some way.
I was preoccupied with this thought when my mom walked into the kitchen. “Good morning, Mom,” I said.
She went straight to the coffee and poured herself a cup, ignoring me. She joined me at the table and cracked the window open. I knew what came next. She lit the cigarette and took a deep inhale. I stared at her as she exhaled the smoke out toward the open window. I felt my heart twinge out of hurt and sadness. She knew I hated sitting with her when she smoked, and if there was one way to kick me out of the room, that would be it.
I sighed and stood up. “I’m going to the grocery store. Do you need anything?”
I had planned to just restock the fridge in general, but I asked anyway to see if she’d reply.
“Eggs.”
I walked out, realizing this was more than just guilt-tripping, and it had nothing to do with me. She was grieving.
June was coming to an end, and John always had a big Fourth of July party. My mom didn’t enjoy big events with lots of people, but it was a compromise she had made for the past two years. It made me nervous because for the past two years she had relied on my help to get her through it. And now she wasn’t speaking to me. She was distant with John also, and just sat all day long at the kitchen table smoking. Things were bad.
When I walked back in an hour later, my mom wasn’t at the kitchen table. I started emptying the bags on the counter and John walked in.
“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” he said, as if he had been waiting for me to get home.
“Sure.” I set down the last bag and grabbed a mug. This was going to require coffee.
John and I had never been close. He hadn’t replaced my dad, and he knew it. That didn’t mean I didn’t like him or that he wasn’t nice—it was just that we had an understanding. When my mom married him, sure I resented him, but he was good for her and that was important. Plus, he stayed out of my life and business.
“It’s about your mom,” he said quietly.
“I figured.”
“Yeah, well, it’s just she’s never done this before. I know it started off because she didn’t know about you going away for college, but it has to be more than that. She would have gotten over that by now.” He sighed. I could tell he was really worried. He had lines across his forehead and bags under his eyes.
“I know,” I said, handing him a mug. He looked like he needed it. “My mom doesn’t like change. When my dad left, she got really depressed. I’m not sure how much she told you, but she was in a pretty dark place.” I paused. “It took a while for her to get out of it, but when you came along things got better. I’m not sure what to do to keep her from going down that road again.” I began putting the food away. John stood there watching me, thinking.
“Maybe Fourth of July will cheer her up,” John said, hopeful.
I stopped and looked at him. Little does he know. But then I got an idea.
“You need to cheer her up,” I said, realizing what was wrong with her and what would fix it.
“What?” he said, startled.
“Do what you did before you got married. She wants more attention. She wants you to be there for her.”
He stared at me, confused.
I stared back at him, not believing he didn’t understand what I was saying. “You know—buy her flowers, make her breakfast…” I explained, trailing off.
“Are you sure she doesn’t want you to do that?” he asked, still unsure.
I shook my head. “I’m leaving; I’m the cause of her pain. You are staying. You’ll be here. Just as I was when my dad left.”
He didn’t say anything but came over to where I was standing. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “I hope this works. Thanks.”
I nodded. He left the house and I let out a huge sigh, allowing the lump to rise from my throat. It would work. I knew it would. It was exactly what I had done when my dad left. When my dad first left, I was angry with her. I blamed her and lashed out. I remember that pain on her face as she tried to comfort me from the brokenness of our family, while still masking her own pain.
It wasn’t until a few months after the divorce that the silence set in and I got over my twelve-year-old tantrum period. This was the silent phase. My mom did not wake me up to see me off to school, and she was not waiting for me when I got back. I would quietly creep back into the house after school. The house felt the same, as if time were standing still. The phone ringing without being answered, the countless messages from family that were never returned, and the stacks of letters.
It was then I realized how much I didn’t understand, how much I would never understand what my mom felt. She stopped speaking, she stopped eating, and she stopped caring. I felt nonexistent, like she couldn’t see me. This lasted three months before my mom’s childhood best friend, who lived a few hours away, unexpectedly showed up one day. I remember opening the door and bursting into tears. Helen held me for a long time before disappearing into the darkness of my mom’s bedroom.
Helen stayed with us for the next month, forcing my mom to pick herself up. Something my twelve-year-old self didn’t understand how to do, but I learned. I watched Helen, her tactics, what worked and what didn’t.
When Helen left, she gave me another long hug and whispered in my ear. “Your mom needs you, Amy. I know you’re young, and I know this isn’t fair. Someday you’ll understand this better, but know that your mom is here and will always be there for you, even when it doesn’t seem like it. Let her lean on you like you’ve leaned on her.”
Helen’s voice rang in my ears every time my tactics didn’t work, and I never gave up. I brought her flowers, I made breakfast, I took her on walks, and we did puzzles. I became her new best friend. And now, since I was leaving, she needed to know someone else would be there for her. She needed to know that she wasn’t alone. That’s why John had to do it. To my mom, I was my dad and John was me. I was leaving and John would be the one to pick up the pieces. The only difference was that I hadn’t left yet. But in my mom’s eyes I was already gone.
After putting the groceries away, I slipped out of the house and walked over to Sarah’s place. I knew Sarah would still be sleeping, so when I reached her house I grabbed the spare key under the back door mat. It led straight into her bedroom. I walked in quietly. Sarah’s eyes opened as I shut the door.
“What?” she whined. I didn’t answer her. Instead, I took off my flip-flops and climbed into her bed. I pulled the covers over me and closed my eyes. Sarah rolled over and went back to sleep.
I did this all the time when we were younger. It’s the reason the spare key existed. Sarah got sick of me tapping on her window and scaring her half to death. When my parents started fighting and things got bad, I would show up at Sarah’s and crawl into her bed, causing her to wake up for a second before we both would fall asleep. There was something about climbing into her bed that would instantly take away whatever was bothering me. Maybe it was just knowing that, whatever happened, I always could escape to somewhere, somewhere where everything would just go away, even if it was just for a couple of hours.
“So what happened?” Sarah asked when she came into the kitchen and found me eating her cereal a couple hours later.
“My mom hates me,” I said, swallowing.
“Since when was that news?” she said, grabbing herself a bowl.
I gave her a look.
“Kidding.”
She sat next to me. I didn’t say anything and continued to eat.
She nudged me. “Really, what’s wrong?”
I sighed, pushing my bowl away. “I guess I’m feeling guilty about not telling her about Chicago. I mean, I should be able to go away to college without sending my mom into major depression, and I know it’s not all my fault, but I guess I just let her push me out of her life. It’s like she thinks I’m going to go and never come back. Like my dad.” I stared off as I said this; it was hard saying it out loud. I was never one to talk about my problems. Sarah was the only lucky one who knew anything because I knew she wouldn’t give me a pity look and tell me a bunch of crap that wouldn’t make me feel better.
“Why don’t you tell her that?” Sarah replied.
“I doubt she’ll listen.”
“At least you tried, though, right?”
“True.” I got up from the table and made my way to the back door. Sarah followed me.
“Hey, Kelly and I are going shopping. You should come with,” she suggested.
I shook my head. “I think I’ll pass. Shopping isn’t what I want to do right now.” I gave her a hug. “But thanks.”
“Anytime,” she said softly.
I walked down her driveway and looked back and waved. She waved back and watched me walk away. I knew she wouldn’t close the door until I was completely out of sight.
I walked out of the neighborhood, not going back home. I went toward the beach. It was close to two in the afternoon now, and soon the boardwalk would fill up. I grabbed a smoothie from The Shack, thankful Kelly wasn’t working, and went down to the beach. I walked along the shore and tried to cheer myself up.
It wasn’t working.
I should have expected it. I should have listened to Helen and leaned on her with this. Instead I let it create a distance to mask my fear. I guess it just took me by surprise that my mom would give me the same treatment she gave to my dad. To me, it made no sense at all. I picked up a rock and threw it in the water, getting my anger out.
“Bad time?” a voice said behind me, startling me. I whipped around toward the voice, a rock still in my hand.
Seth stood in front of me with both arms raised, as if I had a gun and was about to shoot him. “Um, no,” I stuttered. “You just startled me.”
“Sorry.”
I nodded, crossing my arms over my pounding chest, wondering what he was doing here. I didn’t like how my heart had skipped when I saw it was him. A part of me had been kind of hoping he’d left town.
He cleared his throat. “So, uh, I just came to give you this.” He walked over to me and held out a CD. I took it, surprised.
“Just let me know what you think,” he said, walking away and leaving me staring after him, confused yet again.
“Wait.”
Seth turned around and I felt my face flush. He walked toward me and as he got closer, I looked up at him, noticing the softness of his green eyes. The strangeness of his character and features brought me back to our lunch and the conversation he was avoiding. I wanted to know him. I kept these thoughts to myself.
“I thought you left town,” I said in a small voice.
“No,” he said, brushing a loose curl behind my ear.
“I’m still here.”