“Then you got pregnant,” I supply, filling in the dots. “And couldn’t leave.”
She nods. Just once, but it’s a knife to my heart all the same. “I had no money, nowhere to live, no way to care for you by myself. I know it sounds selfish, but I did what I had to do to survive and keep you safe.”
Letting the door slide shut, I step back and cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t begrudge you the things you did out of necessity.”
“I know, but you think I left because I wanted to. I didn’t, Jonas. Leaving you and your father was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t okay, mentally. After I had you, I started noticing changes in myself. Emotions and thoughts I didn’t have any control over. Thoughts like…”
Her voice shakes, cutting off.
My stupid heart pinches.
“Thoughts of harming you, or myself. I couldn’t take care of you because I was so numb, and just didn’t feel like doing it. The doctors diagnosed me with postpartum depression a few weeks after you were born, and it was nice to get a diagnosis, because I could research it and find out how to get better.”
Silently, I wait.
“Only, it didn’t. It never got better, and eventually spiraled into a chronic thing. I could be okay for a little while, and then I’d fall into these major depressive episodes, where all I wanted to do was die. I couldn’t…”
Another sob racks her body, and she covers her mouth with the back of her hand. “I didn’t want to subject you to that, so I left. Not exactly a shining moment of mine, but when you’re young, every decision, every thought, is life or death. I had to choose life. I’m sure you don’t remember, but it had already stolen so much joy from us at that point.”
When she finishes, the air feels thicker. Heavier, now that it’s laced with the burden of truth.
I’m not sure what to do with the information or the fact that it hasn’t shifted anything for me. I still don’t know how to forgive her.
“I didn’t know because you didn’t tell me.” My words are quiet, competing with the ocean waves to be heard.
She chews on a fingernail. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice just as soft, yet so bloody loud I can barely think straight. “I only did what I believed was best. And I failed you still.”
We stare at each other for a few moments, and I can tell she wants me to accept it. To say I’m over it, and that we can move on and start anew.
But the truth is, I hold grudges. Let them fester like infected wounds in the chambers of my heart, diseasing my soul because it’s better that way. Keeps me from continuing to get hurt.
As I turn back toward the door and head inside without saying anything else, a little thought peeps up, knocking the breath from my lungs as it slams into me.
Better, or easier?
Easing the door shut behind me, I find Lenny standing in the kitchen with a blueberry scone hanging from her mouth, eating over the sink. Pausing to admire the outline of her curves in the sleeveless, skintight navy gown she has on, I walk up behind her and press my lips against her ear.
“You look divine, love,” I murmur, and she almost drops the pastry. “Though I quite prefer your mouth stuffed with something else, this is good too.”
She jolts forward, swallowing. “Yeah, well, scones are good for that, as we both know.” Tossing the pastry onto a paper plate, she spins around in my arms, reaching up to adjust my tie. “Everything okay? I heard yelling out there.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I consider lying again. But when I look into those green eyes, I can’t bring myself to do it. “Not really, but… I don’t know. Maybe one day it will be.”
Even if I don’t know what exactly that means, it feels more truthful than anything else I’ve ever said.
39
For some reason, I’m not expecting the whole of Aplana Island to turn up at this gala.
When Jonas and I arrive, there’s a faux red carpet set up outside the gallery, a white brick building with massive windows and skylights. It sits across from the courthouse and newspaper offices, though it’s one of many places I’ve not even ventured inside of before because of the strict rules Mama and Daddy always enforced.
Funny how Daddy seems keen to support my art now that he thinks he can use it as leverage against me.
What’s not funny is the fact that as we leave the Range Rover with the valet, my parents are the very first people I spot. Fear and anxiety collide in my throat as we approach, making it difficult to breathe.
“Relax,” Jonas whispers into my ear, slipping his arm around my waist. He pulls me flush with his side, smoothing circles over my hip with his thumb. “They can’t touch you, remember? You left them and are better off for it.”
That doesn’t really help. It feels like I grow smaller the more we walk, and suddenly my heart is far too large for my chest. “What happens when this is all over, Jonas?”
Coming to a halt at the curb, he turns me to face him. “What are you on about?”
I gesture wildly between us, not sure what he isn’t comprehending. It’s obvious to me, so why is he pretending? “We’re on borrowed time here, you know?”
“Our contract doesn’t have an expiration.”
“So, what? You just want to be fake engaged forever?” I laugh, but my face heats with shame, and it feels like I’ve been dipped in the thick of it. “Kind of unrealistic for a guy who doesn’t date, don’t you think?”
Asking that question feels like I’m cutting myself wide open and begging him to stop the bleeding.
But I still want to know the answer, either way. Even if it hurts me.
He opens his mouth to respond, a strange, unreadable look passing over his face like a dark storm cloud, but someone cuts him off before he has a chance. Pulling me back against his side, he grips my hip so tight that I can feel bruises forming, but I don’t ask him to let up.
I like the reassurance, even if it is a little hollow.
Mama and Daddy make their way over to us. Behind them, people line the red runway, posing for pictures and stopping to speak to photographers and reporters. As if any one of them are important enough to warrant such attention.
“My goodness, Helene,” Mama coos as she approaches, grabbing my cheeks and leaning in for air kisses. Jonas doesn’t let me budge, though, and after a moment, she releases me and pulls back to peruse my outfit. “What an… interesting fashion choice. A little warm, isn’t it?”
The thrifted faux-mink coat I grabbed right before we left the house felt like a good idea at the time. Something to hide my insecurities in, since I’ve fallen out of the habit of these publicity events.
Running a hand over the soft white material, I shrug, giving a pointed look at the alligator boots she’s paired with a bright-pink pantsuit. “It may be warm, but it’s not more interesting than yours.”
Daddy clears his throat, grinning down at me in his gray three-piece suit. It’s a fake gesture, one I could spot a million miles away, but he leans into it regardless. As if the majority of my life wasn’t spent cataloging those gestures, taking mental notes so I’d know what to do in the spotlight myself, and so I’d know when he needed reigning in.