chapter 37

landslide

Evelyn is just as I remembered her. I’m not sure why I thought she’d be any different. I suppose that after my dad’s revelation—I imagined coming across a different woman completely. Someone who was misunderstood in my eyes… until now. However, she’s the same—except for her face: which looks a tad tighter and more lifted than the last time I saw her, causing her to look not only expressionless, but emotionless, as well. I suppose the divorce settlement has afforded her more trips to the plastic surgeon.

I want to be fucking snide with her because of everything she’s done, but seeing the woman before me now, I can’t bring myself to do it. She has nothing left—whether she wants to admit it to herself or not. No amount of alcohol, trips to her cosmetic surgeon, or late nights with her girlfriends is going to make her feel whole again. She loved my dad; even with her cold heart, she loved him. My dad has left her and her only son has died. Sure, she has a shallow group of friends, but they all have lives and families of their own. Despite Evelyn appearing to be calm and put together on the outside, her entire fucking world has imploded. How can I treat her like shit after all that? I can sympathize with her. I’m not some asshole without empathy. We both lost Dean. We’ve both experienced heartbreak.

“Evelyn,” I politely greet her before taking a seat in a leather chair across from her.

This is the first time I’ve called her by her name and not by the title “mom.” Of course, I’ve referred to her by “Evelyn” in my head when I was angry with her, but I’ve never said it aloud. She doesn’t seem disturbed by this in the slightest. She takes a long drink of her Pinot Grigio, despite the fact that’s it’s just after twelve o’clock in the afternoon, before addressing me.

“So, you want to hear all about your father’s little girlfriend.” It’s not a question. She stares at me coldly as she swirls the contents of her glass around before taking another sip.

By the hostile look in her brown eyes and her lethargic appearance, it’s obvious this isn’t her first glass today. I can’t believe she’s fucking doing this when she knew I was coming over! I keep my mouth shut, though; I tell myself to just bite my tongue and be nice to her. She is doing me a huge fucking solid, after all. At first, I didn’t think she was going to meet with me. Honestly, I think the only reason she agreed to this meeting because she finds the idea of bashing my dad thrilling. Which I can understand, considering her position.

“Well,” I pause, trying to find the right words to say. “I just wanted to hear the story from your perspective. I don’t want a sugar-coated version or anything like that. I just want the truth. Even if it’s hard to tell me.” I don’t know why I say the last part because I doubt any of this will be hard for her.

Of course, I know her side of the story will be somewhat biased, but I also know that she won’t worry about hurting my feelings when she tells me the truth from her point-of-view. She hasn’t cared about sparing my feelings before this, so fuck me sideways if she has a change of heart now.

“Well, your father had an affair while I was busy taking care of our son,” she spits out before taking another drink.

Dad told me she was out of town, not that it fucking matters now, of course. However, this is her side of the story and she can only relay to me how she viewed the situation.

“He told me the affair only lasted a weekend… was that true?”

Evelyn is silent for a moment. She finishes off her glass of wine and pours another before staring off into space. Her face mirrors the conflict that must be brewing inside of her. Suddenly, I wonder if I should trust her story at all. Fuck, what can I trust anymore? I’ve been lied to for so long that I can barely fucking believe a word anyone says.

“He said it was a weekend, but who can tell with that man. If a man’s morals are loose enough to cheat, what makes you think he isn’t capable of lying, as well?”

He has lied to me my entire life. Lying by omission is just as fucking bad as telling me a lie to my face every single fucking day. He had ample time to tell me the truth, despite how horrific the truth allegedly is.

“I don’t know, Evelyn” I respond, my voice already filled with resignation. “Did it feel like he was telling you the truth?”

“He was. Although, he didn’t leave her because of his feelings for me. She was married and her husband came back. What kind of woman cheats on her husband while he’s deployed? Anyway, that’s the sort of woman your father seems to find appealing.”

Despite the bitchiness in her tone, I can still hear the hurt in her voice. I’ve never seen my mom—Evelyn—act this way. She’s always been so composed, artificial even. I’ve never seen her show any true emotion. Even at Dean’s funeral she barely shed a tear. I knew she was hurting. I could see it on her face, but she didn’t dare sob. I hadn’t cried as much compared to the inner-turmoil raging inside of me because all I felt was fucking anger. Dad cried, though. He silently wept and it hurt me to watch him. Evelyn had acted strange that entire day—which was to be expected considering it was her son’s funeral—but some of her odd behavior just stuck with me.

That day I was so distressed and so fucking angry. On top of that, I was trying to get to know my nephew. I hadn’t been focused on how I looked or what I was wearing. Who the fuck would care anyway? It was my brother’s funeral for fuck’s sake. How composed did anyone expect me to be? As soon as Evelyn saw my appearance she was horrified. She acted like I was going to embarrass her because of my “grunge” outfit. “Are you really going to wear that, Trevor?” she had asked, her voice filled with contempt as she took in my outfit, which fully displayed my ink. She had me change into a borrowed shirt from my dad and a pair of shoes I hadn’t worn in years because they were the “best ones I had.” I’d been so fucking baffled. Dean was dead and she worried about our family’s appearance.

Even now, I sit across from her, watching her sad face as if it were a fucking exhibit, I wonder where her feelings are stemming from. Is she upset about losing my dad? Is she upset because the man she loved cheated on her? Or is she just upset because how his affair reflected on her? I don’t know if I’m just being negative and judgmental, but she hasn’t given me any reason to feel otherwise.

“Apparently, she was an old girlfriend of his. His parents had loved her until she left and married someone else. Of course, I stuck by your father, but they never showed me the same respect,” Evelyn tells me, completely miffed about how she wasn’t acknowledged in the same way as Felicity was.

So, she was an old girlfriend. Had he always been in love with Felicity, even when he chose Evelyn? Why hadn’t my mom waited for my dad to return from school? Why would she move on her with life without him? Every answer I get seems to raise more questions.

“Mom,” I begin before quickly shutting my mouth. Should I call her “mom” anymore? God, I don’t fucking know anything at this point. Sure, she was shitty to me, but at least she was fucking there. “Evelyn,” I finally start again, “why did you take care of me? Why would you allow me to call you ‘mom’ knowing I wasn’t yours?” My eyes water as the question leaves my lips. Is it possible that she ever fucking loved me? Or had I been unlovable from the very beginning?

“What was I supposed to do?” she asks, her voice hoarse. “Do you have any idea what it was like? I had a constant reminder of my husband’s infidelity staring me in the face. When we took you in, I made him promise me he’d never say that whore’s name ever again. I wanted no part of her in this house. You needed someplace to live and your father talked me into allowing you to become a part of our family. I allowed it, but only under my conditions.”

Did you love me? I want to ask. Did you ever fucking love me? I can’t find the courage to utter the words, but with a trembling lip and clenched jaw, I’m certain Evelyn can read my thoughts by just looking at my face.

“I tried, Trevor.”

“Did she not want me?” I quietly ask, not trusting my own voice.

Evelyn’s face softens. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Did she try to contact you or Dad after she left?” I press.

“I think she tried to contact your father, but her husband put a stop to that,” she answers with a hint of a smile.

She stares off into space again, deep in thought. The small smile fades to a blank look. I can understand her conditions; she was hurt and didn’t want my father’s “mistress” lurking around. I lean back against my chair and close my eyes, enjoying the silence as I try to decipher what the fucking hell I’m feeling. I feel lost, so incredibly lost that I no longer know who I am. How can I go about understanding my emotions if I feel like I’m looking at a fucking stranger every time I see my reflection in the mirror? My dad supposedly had my best interest at heart when he took me in—but what he did was fuck me up beyond measure. Now, I doubt everything while being constantly confused about my true identity. I hope that during my search for the truth—I’m able to gain my confidence and a better understanding of myself.

“How old was I when you got me?” I want to know how much time I spent with my biological mother. How old was I when she abandoned me?

“You were ten months old. We had to convince Dean that a stork dropped you off on our doorstep,” she states with a mirthless laugh. “Luckily, he wasn’t old enough to know any better.”

Felicity missed my first birthday. That thought is so fucking depressing. Especially since I’m so close to celebrating my son’s first. I wish I could remember my time with her as a baby. I wish I knew what type of mother she’d been before she gave me up.

“So, she dropped me off and moved away?”

“Your dad went to get you. You weren’t in the best shape so he had to take time off work to care for you, while I tended to my own son.”

What the fuck? I wasn’t in the “best shape”? I feel my brows knit together in confusion and my jaw clench as I try to let her words sink in. Was I malnourished or some shit like that? What can you possibly do to harm a baby? What kind of monster would do something so fucking vile?

“I don’t know the whole story, Trevor,” Evelyn says dismissively, obviously fucking bored with our conversation. “You had a normal childhood, despite it all. I took care of you because your bastard of a father was always working.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly. My mind still reeling from this new information.

“It’s fine, Trevor. I’m not a monster,” she says dismissively, laughing at what seems to be a preposterous idea to her. 

I’d never been close to Evelyn, but she could’ve been far worse than she was. She was a self-centered, self-serving, passive aggressive, fucking bitch at times, but she never abused me. She just treated me like a terrible step-child—which now makes sense. When I was growing up, I thought she gave every Disney villain a run for their fucking money. Now, I wonder if I was too harsh on her. She didn’t have a happy marriage and she cared for a child that was a product of her husband’s affair. I don’t see us becoming close, but the revelation does put her in a different light for me.

We sit in silence for a while. Evelyn starts on her second glass of wine since my arrival and I sit back, my mind blank. We’ve never been ones for small-talk, at least, not with each other. I lean forward and run my hands through my hair, tugging on it and smiling at the small relief the pain provides.

“How are you doing?” I ask her. I can’t imagine the pain she must be going through.

She shrugs her shoulders and takes a gulp of her wine. “I’ve been better, Trevor.”

She looks tired all of a sudden, and I can tell she wants me gone. This is the longest she’s ever spoken to me, and I’m honestly surprised she didn’t throw me out earlier. I stand up to leave, but I stop to take one last look around before exiting the room. Knowing I’m saying goodbye to the mother I once thought I had has my feelings all over the place. Don’t slip, Trevor. Don’t let yourself slip. I don’t know if I feel relief, but whatever I feel is so bittersweet it makes my stomach turn. I’ve always hated goodbyes. Whenever you look back on things, you seem to forget about the horribly, wretched fucking times, and focus on the positives. That’s what makes saying goodbye so fucking tough—even with Evelyn. You walk away, knowing that chapter of your life is now over. No matter if you decide to revisit one day it or not, it will never be the same.

“Goodbye, Evelyn,” I say, as my eyes settle on her sitting in her favorite wingback chair in the living room all by herself.

She turns to me and with a sad smile, she replies, “Goodbye, Trevor.”

The words hang in the air and make my chest tighten. This is it. The quietness grows uncomfortable and I give her one last look. She has dropped her eyes back to the floor and sips on her drink in silence. The sound of the clock ticking is the only noise filling the room. I take a deep breath and turn on my heel and walk the rest of the way to the door. Goodbye, Evelyn, I say to myself before shutting the door to my childhood home.

 

 

“Baby, please just distract me,” I all but beg as I pull her shorts down her perfect legs.

I can feel her rolling her eyes at me. I know she wants to talk about all the shit that’s happened—but I’m not in the “talking about my feelings” sort of mood. I just want to get lost inside her body and forget about everything else that plagues me. She’s hesitant at first, but as soon as I slide my finger into her wet core all complaints cease to exist. I play with her sex for a while, and when I can no longer contain myself I slip on a condom and push inside her in one, hard thrust; tonight, I can’t restrain myself. Tonight, I just need a good, hard fuck. I begin to thrust into her at an unrelenting pace; fucking her into the couch as she grabs my ass and begs me to take her harder.

When we’re both sated and our bodies are buzzing with the effects of our orgasms, I pull out. Subsequently taking off the condom and knotting it up before throwing it away in the trashcan by the couch. Worn out and content, I sigh before nestling up beside her, holding her tightly against my body so she doesn’t roll off my small couch. She smiles at me, resting her head on my chest, running her hand up and down my body as we lay in a comfortable silence. Turns out, sex with my beautiful girlfriend was just what I needed.

“Did everything go okay? You haven’t said much since you got home.”

She’s right. I haven’t been in the mood to talk, but Evelyn tends to do that shit to me. Not only did I say goodbye to the woman I had believed to be my mother for over twenty-four fucking years, but I also said goodbye to the house I grew up in with Dean. After I left, I drove around for a long time—hoping to pull myself together before I returned home to Ronnie and Grey. I arrived home to find Grey asleep and Ronnie watching television on the couch; she was waiting up for me. She pressed me to open up and talk to her, but I knew I wasn’t in the right state of mind to discuss anything until now.

“It was fine,” I say with a long sigh. “I got the closure I needed, I guess.”

“That’s good, babe,” she replies, seeming to be happy that I’ve finally started to talk.

I’m silent for a moment, playing with her hair before continuing, “She told me I was ten months old when she and my dad took me in.”

Ronnie’s eyes widen at this and she sits up so she can get a better look at me. She takes in my dark expression and asks, “How do you feel about that?”

I have to smirk because she sounds like Dr. Russell all of a sudden.

“I don’t know. I guess I figured she must’ve had me for a bit.” I shrug, feeling fucking uncomfortable as I think of being a little vulnerable baby. I don’t like it.

“Did she explain why they took you in at all?” Ronnie asks as she plays with my hair in an effort to comfort me.

“Well, not really. I honestly didn’t press her as hard as I fucking could’ve or should’ve. She did say that I wasn’t in the best of shape when they got me.”

I’m quiet as I think about what that could possibly mean. I’ve been considering it for hours. I would’ve asked Evelyn, but she never really cared about anything that hadn’t directly affected her. I think I’ll ask Felicity because next time I see her, I intend to get my other fucking questions answered, too. I’m not going to let fear control my life or my actions. My mind would’ve been at ease right now if I had spoken up sooner.

“You weren’t in ‘good shape’?” Ronnie quietly asks, as if she’s saying it to herself. “Do you think you were abused before your dad got you?”

“By Felicity?” I ask incredulously. I don’t know her well, but she doesn’t strike me as the “abusive type.” Besides, if she had abused me, I know for damn sure my dad wouldn’t be chumming it up with her right now. “No. I really don’t think so,” I finally say.

“Maybe her husband then? Has your dad told you anything about him?”

I scrub my hands over my face and groan. I don’t want to fucking think about this shit. I don’t want to even consider it. I’ve always hated confrontation for exactly this reason. I don’t like to face up to shit that I wish I could go on knowing nothing about. “I have no idea, baby. All my dad said was that Felicity and her husband had gotten married while he was away at college. Her husband was in the army or something like that, so they would move around constantly. He died last year and that’s pretty much all I know about him.”              

Could her husband be the reason she gave me to my dad? If her husband was so fucking terrible, why didn’t she leave him? That’s the million-fucking-dollar question. I’m sure she had at least one person in her life who could’ve supported and helped her. Hell, there’s battered women’s shelters for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t she just leave him and go there? Did she really think she was giving me a “better life” by giving me to my dad and his wife to raise? I suppose she was inexperienced, and I’m sure in retrospect, she views this situation very differently. But hell—that doesn’t make the current situation any fucking better.

“I’m sure when you see your mother, you’ll get all your questions answered.”

I nod. “I know I will. It’ll just be her and I, so I know I won’t pussy out like I did last time.”

Ronnie grimaces and I smirk, despite my shitty mood. She fucking hates when I say things like “pussy out.” “Pussies have more power than you think, Trev. You don’t think my pussy is strong enough to take a pounding from that cock of yours?” she always tells me. Fuck, she’s funny. My Betty White obsessed, adorable fucking girlfriend. Comments like that always make me smile. Hell, Ronnie in general always makes me smile, no matter what she says or does.

“You’ll be fine,” she assures me, kissing my cheek. “I know you will.”

Fuck, do I hope so. I want answers. My meeting with Felicity can’t come soon enough.

 

I stare at the phone number scribbled on a piece of paper in my dad’s handwriting for a long time. This is another step toward finding the truth about myself, and yet, I find it impossible to just dial the fucking number. There’s something about Felicity that’s intimidating to me. I just feel like I have something to prove when I’m around her. I’m so used to contempt and rejection coming from the only mother figure I’ve known that now, I expect the same treatment from her. Despite the fact that she’s treated me so well since I’ve know her.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I look at the paper. I’ve got to call her soon. I can’t just wait for her to magically read my mind and call me. “Fuck it, you’ve got to do this, Trevor.” I say to myself as I enter her number into my phone.

I hold my breath as it rings, not knowing how I’ll react to hearing her voice. I never know what to do or say around her. I hope this feeling won’t be something I’ll become too used to. I hope eventually I’ll be able to grow accustomed to her. I want her in my life, despite what she’s done.

“Hello?” Her voice makes my jaw clench and I wonder if she even knows who’s calling. “Trevor?” she asks after a heartbeat of silence.

“Hey…” I awkwardly begin. Fuck, Trevor. Just spit it out. “I hope you’re not busy right now. I didn’t know when the best time to call would be.”

“No, it’s fine, Trevor. I’m not busy,” she says, sounding thrilled that I actually called her. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I reply, still sounding uncomfortable and insanely awkward. “I just wanted to call and ask if you still were available to meet with me this weekend. Maybe get lunch or something… I just had some stuff I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Of course,” she answers promptly, like my offer will disappear if she doesn’t respond right away. “I can be free to meet with you whenever it’s best for you.”

“Are you free tomorrow?” I feel like if I put it off for too long I’ll end up cancelling.

“Tomorrow is good,” she responds. Her voice sounds light—happy even. I can imagine her smiling as she talks to me over the phone. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you, Trevor.”

“Me, too.” My response is as awkward as it is honest. We make plans to get together tomorrow afternoon before saying our goodbyes. She seems happy that I called. That’s something, at least. I hope she’s still happy with me tomorrow after I give her the third degree. It’s finally time for me to hear the truth. I wonder who I’ll be tomorrow after I get my answers from her. It feels like I’m fucking transforming into someone different each day as I roll with the punches.