Chapter Twelve
Lee
I have no clue who she thinks she is, but I’ll be damned if she thinks she’s going to walk into this house and claim it as her home, because she’s sadly mistaken.
“Presley.” My mom quickly follows me out. “I think you—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I snap, standing still, careful not to get too close. “You don’t get to call me that.”
“It’s your name.”
I laugh. I laugh because it’s her only defense. I laugh because she thinks I want a name she gave me. I laugh because I’m here, in this situation, arguing with a woman who thinks she has the right.
“Yes, you are exactly right. It’s the name you gave your child. The same child you abandoned while you were off trying to…what was it you called it? Oh yeah.” I bring my hands up, making air quotes. “Make it big. Well guess what? The name went when you did.”
“Lee,” she pleads, as if it really matters. This woman doesn’t have a caring bone in her body.
“Hey, you’re a fast learner.” I applaud.
“Okay. You know what, Lee, why don’t you get whatever you have against me off your chest, because I’m not going to get a word in edgewise until you do.” She throws up her hands, walks across the front porch, and takes a seat on the second step. “Have at it, son.”
Son.
I roll my head from side to side, trying to shake it off. Son. It’s not a term of endearment, it’s not even a name. When she says it I feel like she’s marking me. She has no right to me. Everything I have is because of her parents.
I open then close my mouth, trying to find the right words. If I’m going to do this, fight with her, then I’m going to get some answers in the process.
“I hate you,” I seethe. “I hate you for loving the industry more than you love your family. I hate you for being so fucking obsessed with making it that you flung yourself at every goddamned tour bus. I hate that you don’t even know who my father is. Fucking your way through a band. Hoping to trap just one. How did that work for you, Mom?”
I clasp my hands behind my head. I just watch. Daring her to say something.
“At first, Grans lied to me. When you were gone weeks at a time, she told me you were on tour with these big bands. That you were, you are going to love this.” I laugh hysterically, taking a few steps closer, then stopping. “Grans said,” I bend over, resting my hands on my knees to look her straight in the eye, “you are so talented and that someday you are going to be somebody I can be proud of.”
Pushing myself upright, I pace back and forth, catching glimpses of her each time I pass by until I stop right in front of her. We lock eyes. “ALL. LIES.”
Inhaling, I wait.
Nothing.
Exhaling, I wait.
Nothing.
“Maybe I’m being too hard on you?” I tap my finger rapidly against my lips before I continue. “Maybe I should be thanking you?” I close the distance between us. “Mind if I have a seat?” I point to the empty spot next to her.
Not saying a word, she searches my face for a hint of what I’m doing, then scoots over.
“Thanks, Mom.” I reach over and squeeze her knee. “Thank you.” I pause. “Thank you for leaving and giving me the opportunity to have the best parents anyone could have asked for. For allowing me to grow up feeling loved. Every. Single. Day. For having someone teach me how to work hard. How to believe in myself. To treat others how you want to be treated. To be there when someone needs you.” I give her knee once last squeeze before I reach up and with one finger, turn her face to mine and say the two words I know will burn. “To stay.”
I stand and quickly turn around, walking backward. “So, thank you.” I throw my head back to the night sky, hands clenched in the air, and shout, “Best. Mom. Ever.”
“You spoiled little brat.” She’s up and running toward me and shoves me when she reaches me. “You think you know?” She pushes me again. “You have no idea about me or my life.”
“That’s right, Mom. How would I?” I grab her hands as she goes to shove me again. “You left. I had no choice but to not know you.”
“God!” She squints her eyes, letting out a deep breath. “I was so young and made so many mistakes. I know I messed up with you, but I wasn’t right. In here.” She taps her temple. “Or here.” She grabs her chest.
“I needed you.” It’s a simple response. Not one of rage as moments ago, but a simple statement from a boy who desperately wanted his mom.
“I know.” She shrugs a shoulder, her lips tight, and tears escape. “And I regret every single day I was gone because it turned out what I thought I was missing wasn’t what I was running toward. It’s what I was running from. It was you.”
“Why now, Mom? Why come back?”
“Your Grans called. Made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“There it is. I knew it.” I throw my hands up. “You know what? You really did have me there for a minute.” I walk past her. “Maybe you should have tried your hand at acting because I’m pretty sure that was an Oscar-worthy performance.” I’m almost to the steps before I turn around and unload on her again. “It wasn’t enough you had to take all Grandfather’s insurance money, but you couldn’t even come back to help Grans? You had to have an offer? What? Is she paying you? Write you back into the will? Ohhhhh, the house? What is it, Mom? What’s the offer?” I ask the million-dollar question and reach out for the railing to brace myself for the answer.
“Oh Presley.” She edges her way toward me.
“Lee,” I bark out.
“Lee, you have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Enlighten me.”
“The insurance money? I guess you can say I used it. Your Grans,” she points toward the house, “used it to pay for my rehab. The offer? Was you.”
“Me? I don’t get it.” I look toward the house, needing a break from her lies.
“I didn’t leave you because I wanted to. I left because I had no choice. They gave me an ultimatum. Lose the drugs or lose you,” she confesses, now standing right in front of me. “I was sick. I was sick, broke and had no place to go. I tried rehab. I exhausted all their resources, drained their savings. At the time I thought they didn’t love me and taking you was their punishment, but now I know it was the only thing they could do. Lee, honey, I had to want to help myself before I could be helped.”
“Then why didn’t you come back after rehab?” I look down at the woman I thought I knew, but in reality, I don’t know her at all. I’m beginning to think I don’t know the woman inside the house either.
“I was afraid,” she confesses. She wraps her arms around my waist and my body stiffens. “Of rejection.”
“Mom,” I whisper.
“I know I made mistakes. I missed out on all those years with not only you, but my parents, too.” Tears begin to soak my shirt, but I don’t care. I let her continue. “My father died thinking I was the same person you thought I was. And my mother, whom I have begged time and time again to forget the past, is not only going to forget it, but she
is going to lose the only good I had with them as well.” Her confession is too much for her to bear and her body begins to tremble as sobs rack her body.
Tonight, everything has changed, yet it’s still the same. At a loss for words, I find myself doing the only thing I can do, I hug her back. I comfort the woman who was never there to comfort me, because of the woman in that house. The same woman who taught me compassion but also robbed me of a life of truth.