EDDIE WAS A good friend, but he was no Cindy. He had send me home with some toast in the morning, but I still felt exactly the same as I had when I first arrived at his home. One of the best things about Eddie was that he never pushed, but I had wish, just this once, that he had.
I sat in my parked car in my driveway for an hour before I finally forced myself into my home. My mom was cooking pancakes, music blasting from a speaker in the kitchen. This confused me. My mom hated cooking. Julian was dancing in his seat while he ate. My dad and Martha were watching with big smiles before my mom spotted me.
"Oh, Marina! Come eat." She gestured to the tall chair next to the island counter.
I didn't look at her. "I already ate. Thanks," I muttered, heading straight to my room. I tossed the bag with my school uniform to a corner, before changing out of the sweats my dad gave me for the night. My eyes lingered towards my calendar, pretty glittery stickers placed on days I had a match. I lifted the whole thing up, looking at the photos of Peter and me hidden underneath.
I wanted to talk to him, but I dropped my head a little at the thought. It seemed like a far-away dream to ever be close to him again. I had a feeling that even if I tried to contact him, he wouldn't respond.
Wasn't this what I wanted when I ghosted him? To keep myself from feeling the guilt? Why did it feel, then, like there was a hole in my chest? And why did I feel evil for hoping he still missed me deeply even though a lot of time has past? Wasn't that a terrible thing to hope for?
My dad opened my bedroom door, making me dropped the calendar. I crossed my arms, stepping closer to my bed, raising my eyebrows at him.
"I'll let you spend the night at Eddie's. Now you have to be nice to your mom."
I wanted to push back and say we never had a deal, but I nodded instead and followed him out of my room and back to the kitchen. I felt as if I did owe my dad this favor, like he deserved it since he let me go when I needed to leave. I was only doing it because of him. I smiled awkwardly at my mom as I hovered, unable to jump in the conversation, adding very little when asked a question directly.
I just had to grit my teeth and endure it.
-- -
THE RESTAURANT WAS filled with chatter even when the birthday cake came out, it's own set of waiters following behind it. It wasn't until the main guy blew a small whistle that people in the restaurant whipped their heads towards us, and bend their backs to get a good view of a couple of strangers singing happy birthday to my mom. She clutched her hands together, bring them close to her chest as her eyes glistened watching them sing. I wanted to scoff in disbelief.
I wondered what the people around us thought? That we were a happy family, maybe? That this was a great night of celebration, perhaps? Definitely not that we were a circus of a family. I doubt they could imagine just how angry I was at her, while also feeling guilty for being angry at her, and being angry for feeling guilty. Most of all, I wondered what everyone would think if they knew what kind of person my mom was and how my mom would rather eat dirt than have people sing happy birthday to her.
This whole thing felt phony and like an act to me, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I was getting annoyed.
My dad gave me a look. It seemed I was doing a poor job at hiding my feelings. I wiped any expression I had off my face, playing with the food left on my plate instead.
When we were paying in the foyer of the restaurant after we had finished, it started to rain. We stood just outside the restaurant, starting at the direction of my dad's SUV parked too far to even make out in the fog. Julian had fallen asleep half way through the dinner. How he was able to sleep among all the noise? I wasn't sure. A skill I was jealous of, though. Oh, how I wished I could be unconscious during this night too. Julian was on my dad's back, his head rested near my dad's neck, and a bit of saliva falling from the corner of his mouth. As I watched him, standing behind my dad, I grew a bit nostalgic at the scene, having a sudden yearning for when I was Julian's age and I could rest on my dad's back, sleeping without a care in the world, having the world there for me, just at the ends of my fingertips. I could become anything at that age.
I was never going to experience that feeling again, was I?
"Alright, we'll go get the car, you guys wait here," my dad said, referring to only Martha and him.
"Wait, what?" I said, glance at my mom before looking back at him. "No."
"We'll be quick," Martha assured me, before following my dad into the rain towards the parking lot, using our only umbrella to shield Julian.
There was no discussion. They had left me. I looked over to my mom, crossing my arms as I did, feeling as if I had been set up somehow.
Had this always been the plan? Did my mom ask for them to do this? To get me alone? To force some kind of intimacy between us? Maybe in hopes that I would wish her a happy birthday, be kind to her, or even look her in the eye. I had been avoiding her eyes. I didn't want to see her longing for my forgiveness, or any hurt she felt due to the distance I was keeping from her. The thing was, I was raw skin right now, and I didn't want to give her a chance at making a gash in me.
God, and the worst part was I knew this wasn't normal. Moms weren't suppose to make you feel this way.
I watched her take out a cigarettes from her purse.
Ah, so she was smoking again. I wasn't surprised. She always went back to it.
I made a small sound of disgust.
"You don't mind, right?" She asked me, her voice on edge. It was like she had dropped her fake grateful attitude along with the soft voice she had been using all day now that my dad and Martha were gone. When I didn't respond, she added, "Do you want one?"
I made a face of disgust. "No."
She broke out a small smile, looking towards the parking lot. "I'm only joking, Marina."
"Could've fool me."
"God, you really are so miserable, aren't you? Look at you. You act as if I was torturing you."
I looked in her direction, still avoiding her eyes. Maybe there was another reason why I found it to so hard to make eye contact with her. Maybe I didn't want her to recognize the hurt that were in my eyes. Maybe all I ever been doing was living in fear that people could see just how easy I was to bruise.
"Don't worry," she told me. "I'm leaving soon. You won't have to suffer for much longer."
I clenched my jaw, anger brewing inside me. I didn't know how much longer I could tough it out. She was so condensing, so clueless, so reckless, it drove me insane. What was it exactly that she thought of me? Like I was some kind of brat? Like I was being ungrateful? As if I was hurting her for the pleasure of it?
"I didn't want to come," I told her as calmly as I could.
"Yeah, you made that clear."
My face was burning up from rage.
"But I did," I continued, ignoring her comment. "I show up for you. At least I can say that. Can you?"
She stayed quiet, then said back in her soft tone, "I'm trying to. I came to your game."
"Yeah, it only took me leaving for you to start caring about me."
"I've always cared about you."
"Doesn't feel like it," I muttered. "Sometimes it feels like you don't love me at all." I looked towards the rain, watching as drops hit the top of cars, my watery eyes making the parking lot lights extra shiny. "And sometimes I hate you for that. And then I feel guilty."
"Look at me, Marina."
"No."
"I have something to say, and I need you to look at me."
"I don't want to."
"Come on. It can be my birthday present."
I stayed quiet.
"Just look at me and I'll say what I need to say, and I'll leave you alone afterwards. I promise."
I sighed, but raised my eyes to hers. The cigarette laid in between her fingers. Thankfully, the wind was blowing the smoke away from me.
I was half expecting her to give me a lecturer about how I should love her because she was the only mom I had, half excepting her to tell me something similar to what my dad had told me -- that she had a hard life. Either way, I knew that as soon as she was done talking, that I would do all in my power to never look her in the eye. At least, not any time soon. Maybe, with time, as I grow older, maybe the anger and guilt was lessen. Not disappeared, but allow me to look at her and not feel my insides burn. Maybe time could do that for me -- or at least that was my thinking processes. That was until she said something I didn't expect.
"I'm not a good mom," she confessed. "I've never really been a good mom. I don't think it's ever something I wanted to be, it just happened, really, and then suddenly you were born and then Rosie was... and I was a mom. I had this idea that I would just suddenly, one day, I would become mothering. That I would want to be a mom if I just told myself I would want to, but it never happened. And then Rosie died, and then I didn't want to pretend anymore, but your dad left, and you were stuck with me. I'm sorry."
I felt the ends of my lips turn downwards, tears tickling my skin as they traveled down my face fast and violently, the rain next to us pouring harder.
My mom frowned too. "I didn't mean to make you cry," she whispered. She stepped forward, placing her hand on one of my arms to try and confront me, but I pulled away. "It's not on you," she added. "There was nothing you could have said or done to make me feel differently. It's a me thing. It's just how I am. I'm just not meant to be a mom." She tried to make eye contact with me again, succeeding successfully. "I'm sorry you had to have me as a mom. It's not fair. I know. I can't be your mom, Marina, but I would like to have some kind of relationship with you. If you let me."
I sunk to the grown, unable to keep myself upright. It was as if my body was shutting down. For a second, I thought I was having another panic attack, but there was no feeling of doom, no feeling of lack of control -- it was extreme pain all over my body. My muscles sore from so much feeling, them growing tired and heavy. They were carrying too much. I was carrying too much. My breathing was rapid, ugly mourns coming from my lips. You would think I was just someone someone had died. It felt like I was just told someone was dead.
My mom crouched beside me, but she didn't try to touch me this time. "It doesn't have to be now. You don't have to decide now. I can wait. I'll wait forever, if needed. And if you do decide you never want to see me, that's okay, too. If you hate me, well, that's okay. I don't want you to feel guilty." Her eyes lingered to the side of my face. Her hand reached forward. For a moment, I thought she was going to crease my cheek. I craved for her touch, for her love, but she only pushed a strain of hair behind my ear, and looked me in the eye. "I'll call a cab for myself. Tell your dad I'll come tomorrow morning for my stuff, okay? Then I'll be out of your hair."
She went somewhere inside the restaurant, leaving me alone.
But a few seconds later, my dad's SUV pulled up. He opened the driver side door of his car, rounded the car in a hurry, and allowed the rain to drench him to get to me.