LIVVY’D LIED. She cried all the way home.
With grim determination, she took ten minutes in her mother’s driveway blowing her nose and using the tiny tube of concealer in her purse to cover the puffiness under her eyes. It was late, but it was entirely possible her aunt may still be awake.
She would not let anyone see what a mess she was inside.
Like an object of pity.
Don’t think about it. Get upstairs, get to your room, and then you can fall apart.
When she entered the house and heard the murmur of a late-night talk show, Livvy was glad she’d taken the time to tidy up. She crept to the stairs, wincing over every creak. She was almost to the first step when her aunt’s low voice came from the living room. “Livvy?”
She hastily ran her fingers through her hair, then walked to the arched opening, tugging on her wrinkled dress. Her aunt sat in her usual chair, her usual knitting in her hands. The only light in the room came from a small Tiffany lamp next to her chair and the T.V. Livvy stuck to the shadows right inside the door. “Hey, Aunt Maile.” She was proud her voice wasn’t tear-fogged and hoarse.
“You’re home late.” Maile looked at her, and her ready smile faded. She put down her knitting. “Are you okay?”
Livvy nodded, trying to control her lower lip. “Y-yes.”
“Come here.”
“I should go to bed.”
“Come here.”
Livvy didn’t often hear that commanding tone from Maile. Her feet moved before her head could catch up.
She tried to straighten her shoulders as Maile surveyed her in the light. Head up, chin up, no tears. She was tough and strong, not some dumb girl screaming in her bedroom over a boy.
Maile’s eyes softened, and she held out her hand. “Oh, my love. What did that man do to you?”
Her lip quivered, and the next thing she knew, she was on her knees next to her aunt’s chair, her face buried in her lap as she sobbed. Maile’s calloused hand swept over her hair, keeping it from her wet cheeks.
Livvy didn’t know how long she wept there, her aunt stroking her, but eventually her sobs turned to silent tears. She turned her head to speak. “Does everyone know about me and Nicholas?”
“I don’t know about everyone. I ran into Darrell’s mother at bookclub, and she told me he saw the two of you together at the café.”
Darrell. The cheerful kid behind the café counter.
Maile continued petting Livvy’s head. “It was natural for you to want to see him again, honey.”
“I slept with him.”
“That’s natural too.” There was no judgment in her aunt’s voice.
“I thought we could resolve what was between us.”
“Is that really what you thought, my love?” Her voice was incredibly gentle. “Is that really why you saw him again? Or were you holding out some hope that this time it would all work out?”
Livvy started to say no, but her breath arrested.
It was never pity.
Then what was it?
She knew what she’d wanted him to say. “I’m so stupid.” Counter thought. I deserve compassion.
“No, you’re not.”
“It could never work out.”
“Never isn’t a good word,” Maile said. “It’s complicated.”
“I think I still love him.” The words whispered into the dimly lit room, her worst truth fully revealed. “I can’t stay away from him, even when I try. Even when I know it’ll only hurt me. If that’s not stupid, I don’t know what is.” I deserve compassion.
“That’s love, not stupidity.”
“It’s irrational.”
“If someone told you love is rational, they’re a liar. Sometimes you can’t stop loving someone.”
There was such understanding in Maile’s voice, Livvy looked up. In her memory, her aunt had always been happily single, but there was a brooding sadness in her dark eyes that told Livvy she understood. “Did you love someone like that?”
“Yes. Her name was Jacinda.” Maile’s fingers separated Livvy’s hair and started braiding. “We were young. My parents disapproved. Your father told me he would give me money to run away with her. Start over fresh somewhere new. But I was scared, so I broke things off.”
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. She left for New York City. She came back a few times. Until one day she didn’t.”
“You could find out where she is now.”
“I don’t know if I’m brave enough for that.” Maile tugged on Livvy’s crooked braid affectionately. “I’m not quite like you.”
“I’m not brave at all.” I’m a good person. Please let me be compassionate to me.
She just couldn’t.
Fresh tears stung her eyes. “Nicholas found out how I reacted when we ended things last time.” And she would be giving Jackson a piece of her mind. Later, when she could concentrate more on her justifiable anger instead of this deep, yawning despair.
“What do you mean?”
“About how depressed I was.” She shied away from the word suicidal, though that was what she’d been. Her depression had been triggered by multiple events, that meeting in the woods the final push she’d needed. If Jackson hadn’t hid everything that could have harmed her in the house that first night, she wasn’t certain what she would have done.
“Good. He should know how much he hurt you.”
Livvy lifted her head at the unexpectedly bloodthirsty relish in her aunt’s voice. “I never wanted him to know. It makes me look so weak.”
“Olivia.”
Livvy straightened at her aunt’s stern tone. “Yes?”
“You were hurt. It’s not a weakness to love someone like that. It’s not a weakness to be in pain when that love is ripped away from you.”
“It’s not exactly strength to fall apart when a man dumps you.” And that was how Jackson, and probably Nicholas, had seen the episode.
“Says who?”
“Says everyone.” Strength was soldiering on, with or without a man. Strength was being invulnerable.
“Oh, is that right?” Maile straightened, her nostrils flaring. “Who did the heavy lifting in yours and Nicholas’s relationship, Livvy?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, you were the one who made sure his needs were being met.”
“He met my needs too,” she felt compelled to say.
“Yes, fine. But it was you who said ‘I love you’ first, I bet. You who coaxed him into asking you out. You who kept your sadness a secret from him at the end, partly out of pride, but probably also because you didn’t want him to be hurt.” Maile grimaced. “Society tells women that they have to be responsible for the emotional health of their relationships and then tells them they’re weak for feeling emotions. What kind of message is that? Nicholas was part of your world, and up until the end was a good, dependable part of it. Why shouldn’t you have grieved when you lost him?”
“Because . . .”
Maile tapped her under her chin. “Do you know what I remember during that time? I remember you curling up next to me at your father’s funeral after I read his eulogy and holding my hand. I remember you getting out of bed when Jackson was arrested and helping me find an attorney for him. I remember you packing up your things in one duffel bag and leaving for a new city where you knew no one. If you fear you aren’t strong, put those fears to rest.”
She swallowed. “Some nights I cried so hard for Nico I physically hurt.”
“So?” Maile made a dismissive noise. “Strength isn’t about how much you cry or the bad nights you might have. Strength is here.” She tapped Livvy’s forehead. “And here.” She poked a blunt finger into Livvy’s chest. “You can be strong and have moments of incredible despair, when everything feels like it’s collapsing in on you, and yes, when you feel like you want to die. Those moments are not weaknesses. They are simply moments. And they are not you.”
Maile spoke with such certainty, the tiny, defenseless part of her bleating how she was dumb and silly was momentarily silenced. Livvy brushed at her cheeks. “Okay.”
“Livvy, you are sweet and rebellious and talented and soft-hearted and mouthy. You have had to endure a number of tragedies in your short life, and you still put one foot in front of another. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Cut yourself some slack.”
Her fingers trembled. I deserve compassion. “I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Do.”
Livvy nodded. It was hard after so many years of berating herself for every emotion she’d ever had.
Maile was right. That needed to stop. “It’s late,” she finally managed. “We should go to bed.”
“Go on, then.” Maile gave her another sweet smile, her round cheeks creasing. “I have to finish this row, and then I’ll be up.”
Livvy headed for the stairs, but then made a detour around the corner to her mother’s room. She was surprised to find a faint light coming from under the doorway. She hesitated for a second, then knocked. She pushed the door open after her mother’s muffled acknowledgment. Tani sat in the armchair next to the bed, watching the large flat screen on the wall. “Mom? Why are you awake?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Her mother’s voice was gruff. “You’re coming in late.”
Livvy raised an eyebrow. Tani hadn’t said anything before about when Livvy got home. Livvy ran her hand over the edge of the door. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me. You’re an adult.”
She wanted to have to apologize to her mother. Perhaps you shouldn’t come home for a few weeks and expect your relationship with your mother to be magically fixed.
Humans were complicated. Parents especially so. She glanced around the dark room. “How about tomorrow we go shopping for something to brighten this room up?”
Tani looked away from the T.V. She appeared especially small in the chair, her walker by her side. “You don’t like the room?”
“I mean, it’s not—” Livvy cut herself off, not eager to have any more emotional conversations tonight.
If her mother hadn’t opened up to her about mental health before, she definitely wasn’t going to do it now.
“Not what?” Tani asked.
“It’s not what we used to have.”
“What do you mean?”
“At our old house.”
“Of course it’s not.” Tani stared at Livvy like she was a simpleton. “Because it’s not the same house.”
“I’m not talking about just the house. You decorated so nicely back then.”
“Your father cared about all of that. Not me.”
She raised an eyebrow, not only at the words, but also at her mother even bringing up her late father. “Dad made you do all of that?”
“He didn’t make me. I wanted him to be happy,” Tani said stiffly. “I enjoyed him enjoying it.”
Livvy nodded, mildly disturbed. How much of her parental dynamics had she missed when she was young? “Oh. Well. I’ll let you sleep.”
Livvy turned to leave, but then she noted the sketchpad on her mother’s nightstand. She was too far away to see what she’d drawn in it, but the pad was open, suggesting use. “Have you used the charcoal I got you?”
Her mother glanced at her hands. “I did.”
“What other stuff do you like to use?” She made her tone brisk and matter-of-fact.
Her mother looked like she wasn’t going to respond, but then she shrugged. “Watercolors.”
“I’ll get you some while I’m out tomorrow.”
Tani pursed her lips. “That may be nice.” She picked up the remote.
Livvy started to back out, but Tani continued speaking. “I heard you with Maile.”
Livvy stopped, her blood freezing, and turned back to her mother.
Tani nodded. “I know why you think grieving a relationship is a weakness. Because you think I was weak, when your father died.”
Livvy shook her head, numb.
“Yes. I’m not dumb. You, Paul, Jackson. You resent me for how I was then, and I cannot blame you. I was unresponsive to your needs for a long time, and then you were gone, and . . .” Tani’s lips tightened. “And that was that.”
Livvy found her voice. “I can’t speak for Jackson and Paul. But if anyone in the world can understand a fraction of how you felt then, it’s me. Especially in hindsight.” Whether or not her mother dealt with depression too, Livvy would never say Tani was weak.
So why did you call yourself weak?
Because it was far easier to be kind to other people than it was to be kind to herself. I deserve compassion. Ugh. She did. She really did.
Tani fiddled with her collar.
Livvy scuffed her toes on the carpet, wishing she knew how to speak to her mother. “You know, it’s funny you asked for watercolors. Watercolors are kind of my specialty, you know. I love the finished product, how it’s supposed to look imperfect. How people celebrate its flaws and find beauty in it.”
Her mother eyed her. “What on earth are you talking about?”
She bit her lip, regretting the silly words. “I don’t know. Thinking about things we have in common, I guess.”
Tani’s eyes gleamed. “Do not see that boy.”
Livvy stiffened. Selfish, greedy bastards, Paul whispered in her ear. If anyone had a beef with the Chandlers, it would be Tani. “I know you hate—”
Her mother spoke over her. “You said you can empathize with me. I can empathize with how crushed you felt then.” Tani met her gaze. “The difference between you and me and how we lost our partners is Nicholas left you voluntarily.”
Livvy had to stop herself from buckling under that harsh reminder. “Oh.”
“I do not want to see you hurt like that ever again.” Tani picked up her remote and refocused on the T.V. “Go to bed now.”
Unable to compose any kind of response, Livvy dumbly left, closing the door behind her.
Her chest ached and her cheeks were dried out from too many tears. She’d probably weep more tonight, and curse Nicholas’s name.
The darkness wasn’t swallowing her whole, though. Maybe it would later. Maybe it would be triggered by something unrelated to Nicholas. And how he left her.
Why had her mother had to say that to her? It was so needlessly cruel and—
Think about what else she said.
Livvy stopped on the stairs.
I do not want to see you hurt like that ever again.
Livvy blinked. Her mother cared.
So did Maile, who would hug her and pet her. So did Sadia, who would feed and fuss and threaten to stab people for her.
A tiny kernel of contentment bloomed inside her. Connections. She may have gotten her heart batted around, but she’d found what she’d come here for.
Livvy continued up the stairs. She’d battle the darkness with whatever tools she could find.