Chapter 4 - Mara
“Mara! Let me help you with those bags!”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, hauling the last of my suitcases out of the car and onto the sidewalk. She wraps me in a hug and I can’t help but feel like it’s all an act.
I’ve played this moment over and over in my mind for the past two days. How should I react when I see her? What should I say to her?
I’ve thought of a thousand different monologues that I could say to my mother and father. I could tell them that I see them for what they are – that I don’t appreciate being treated like a bargaining chip. I could tell them that breaking off the engagement with Vincent has torn me up inside. I could tell them I blame them for putting me in that position.
Now that I’m here, though, I don’t know what to say. My mother’s arms are around me and I stare at the town’s hotel over her shoulder.
My childhood home.
My room was on the ground floor, all the way down at the back. I never wanted for anything. I got sent away for private schooling, and was able to go to school as an interior designer. My career got put on hold when I met Vincent, but they still gave me everything I needed.
I shouldn’t be mad at them, but I am.
I should be grateful for all they gave me, but all I can focus on is what they held back.
Their love.
I remember when Aiden Clarke and I were dating. He was my first boyfriend, and I was head over heels in love with him. It was practically an arranged marriage, the way our two families were aligned. I remember seeing the way his father looked at him – the way he’d ruffle his hair and put his arm around his kids. I remember the sharp pain in my heart when I’d see that, knowing that I’d never get it from my own family.
When Aiden’s father died, I felt responsible. I still feel responsible. Based on his reaction last time I saw him, Aiden definitely still blames me for it. All three brothers do, I think. After all, it was me who fell in the river that day. It was me that Mr. Clarke jumped in to save. It was my fault he got pneumonia. At the end of the day, it was my fault he died.
My parents bought out the Clarke’s trucking and transportation business to ‘help pay for hospital bills.’ Like a fool, I believed it. It wasn’t until it was my turn to be the victim of their vulture-like behavior that I realised what they’d done to the Clarkes.
They benefited from Mr. Clarke’s death, just like they would have benefited from my wedding to Vincent. They didn’t need me to marry Aiden anymore when they got the trucking business. That, and Mr. Clarke’s death made our teenage relationship fall apart.
No wonder everyone paints me with the same brush as my parents. I can’t believe I’ve been so blind.
My mother pulls away and looks me in the eye. She frowns, with that fake smile still painted on her lips.
“Are you okay, pumpkin?”
I blink a couple times and force a smile. “Fine. Just tired, Mom.”
“Let’s get you inside. I had your old room prepared for you.”
All the monologues that I’d prepared disappear from my mind. Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to say to her. My father appears in the doorway and grabs my suitcase from my hand. He puts his arm around my shoulder and kisses my temple in a stiff movement. I nod, and try to smile again as the three of us head towards my childhood bedroom.
After what seems like an eternity, they finally leave me alone. I close the door and look at the stack of suitcases in the corner. I flop backwards onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. My chest feels heavy and my eyes are prickling with tears.
Even after all this, I still haven’t had the courage to stand up to them. I’ve walked right back into my old room and I haven’t said a word to them about anything.
I feel like a coward.
I feel like a fraud.
When I was leaving California, I was pumped up full of courage. This was my chance to finally stand up to them and tell them what I think. This was my time to be my own person and to take back my life.
And yet, here I am. I’ve come straight back to my old room without saying anything to them. I’ve let them take me in, and I haven’t even told them that I’m mad at them.
It makes me feel like an absolute coward. I take a deep breath to try to relieve some of the pressure in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m almost 30 years old, and I’m living with my parents again. I’ve run back home after a failed engagement, straight back to the people that used me as part of their business deal gone wrong.
When I open my eyes back up, the tears start streaming down my face. I can’t help it. All the pent-up emotion from my breakup, and from the series of realizations about my family and about myself – it’s all coming to a head.
I’m alone. I’m truly, completely alone.
I take a deep breath and blow it out of my nose. I sit up and wipe my face, shaking my head and making a gargled noise as I stand up.
When I fell in the river that day, over a decade ago, Mr. Clarke fished me out and stood me up on the bank. He wrapped me in a towel and looked me in the eyes.
“Are you okay, Mara?”
I remember seeing the little rivulets of water streaming down his cheeks. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his lips were turning blue. His hand were on my arms, rubbing up and down to warm me up. I remember seeing the concern in his face and feeling like his words had real meaning.
Are you okay, Mara?
I can still see his face, as if he was right here in front of me. When he said it, it sounded like he wanted to know the answer. When my mother asked me if I was okay earlier, it was like she was trying to avoid an inconvenience.
No, I’m not fucking okay. I’m very, very far from being okay.
I grab my jacket and slip out through the sliding glass door at the back of my room. I glance back across my room and I can hear my mother’s voice calling for one of the housekeepers. I turn the other direction and slide the door closed again.
As soon as the cool mountain air fills my lungs, my shoulders relax and I close my eyes. I take another breath and let the air cleanse my mind until I can open my eyes again. I look out towards the mountains and feel my heart beat a little bit harder.
I might be alone, but I’m in my favourite place in the whole world. I set off towards the little dirt path behind the hotel and start walking.
I’m alone, and I’m not okay, and I feel like a coward and a failure – but I’m still standing. I glance up the path towards the hill in front of me and I take a deep breath. The crisp air breathes new life into me, and I start putting one foot in front of the other. I tuck my chin into my chest and follow the trail until my mind is clear.
I’m still standing. I’m still walking. I’m still here.