“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nichole asks my mom. “Hitting her? Really? Don’t you think you’re a little old for that now? Didn’t you beat her up enough when she was younger? Or did you not get enough hits in when she was living under your roof?”
“Nichole, stop,” I say, pulling her back to my bedroom.
“You will not talk to me like that under my roof,” my mom snaps.
“Really? I dare you to fight me. Go ahead, give me your best blow.”
Mom doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just stares blankly.
“That’s what I thought. You can hit the girl you terrorized for years, but you can’t hit me. It’s a shame you’re not the one who died from a heart attack. Lord knows we need less of you in this world.”
“Nichole, please,” I beg, pulling her into the bedroom and finally shutting the door.
But she’s not done. She pushes off the door and then forces me to look at her. “How many times did she hit you?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me. And where the hell is Ryot? Why is he letting this happen?”
“He’s at an away game in Washington.”
“What?” Nichole shouts. “He just dumped you here with that monster and took off?”
“He can’t get the time off, Nichole. They’re close to the playoffs, and every game counts.”
“Uh-huh.” She nods and folds her arms over her chest. “You’re telling me that baseball is more important than you?”
“No. It’s just . . . it’s not that easy.”
“It could be, but he chose for it not to be. Unbelievable. Well, you’re not staying here another night. I won’t leave you here alone with her.”
“Nichole, I can’t leave her here. The funeral is in two days. Some things still need to be done.”
“Who cares? Let her do everything on her own.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? She’s obviously taking her anger out on you. How can you let her do that?”
I take a seat on my bed and sit there in silence.
“Myla, you’re a grown woman. You’re no longer the little girl who used to cower in the corner whenever she heard her mom’s voice. You’re stronger now.”
“Yes, but she’s hurting.”
Nichole blinks a few times. “She’s . . . hurting? Because she lost the husband she stopped loving years ago? Are you hearing yourself?”
I look away and quietly say, “Nichole, if you’re not going to be supportive, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“I am being supportive. This is called tough love, sweetheart. And it seems like I’m the only one who cares to give it to you. What is Ryot even doing to help?”
“Keep him out of it.”
“Why? Because you’re going to defend his passive behavior as well? Tell me you’re okay with him not being here, that you’re not miserable that he’s in Washington while you’re here, getting slapped around by your mom?”
I can’t look her in the eyes, nor can I answer.
Because I’m struggling with the idea that something this important, this monumental in my life has happened, and he can’t be there for me. Granted, he told me if we were married, this would be different, but there aren’t exceptions for girlfriends.
Still, he’s the one I need. He’s my rock, my comfort, and the fact that I’m going through this without him is so painful, that it’s almost impossible to comprehend.
“Nichole,” I finally say, “I know you’re trying to help, but you’re not. I’m struggling with a lot, and I know you have your mama bear pants on, but I just need a shoulder.”
She pauses, unmoving for what feels like minutes before she sighs and sits next to me on the bed. Her arm drapes over my shoulders, and she pulls me in tight. It’s enough to break me. I spend the next few hours crying into her shoulder off and on.
I tell her how lonely I feel without Ryot. How empty my heart is and how bitter I feel. As someone who can step outside the situation and see what’s going on, I know he can’t be here. I get that, I truly do, but it doesn’t make me any less bitter about the fact he’s not.
That baseball is first.
Baseball will always be first.
I tell her that I’ve felt so lost, so confused, so wretched about losing my father, a man who I wish had stood up for me more but I know loved me with all of his soul.
I tell her that because of this empty feeling, mourning my father, and the bitterness, I’ve started to . . . to hate myself. I hate everything about myself. Why didn’t I ask my dad those important questions? Why didn’t I plead for him not to leave me alone with my mom? Why didn’t I confront him later in life to clear the air?
Why didn’t I beg Ryot to stay?
Why am I avoiding him now?
All of it has led to self-loathing, which has caused me to hole up in this house, this toxic, meaningless house that offers absolutely no value to my life. And, worst of all, it’s led me to sink back into a world I never wanted to revisit, a world I thought I was too strong to ever see again.
Yet . . . I’m not.
I’m weak.
I’m defeated.
I’m lost.
And I’m not sure anything will help me get out of it.
“You were a disappointment to him, you know?” Mom whispers as I stare at the picture of Dad next to his gravesite.
The ceremony is over, everyone has retreated, and because my mom is such a cold-hearted bitch, she canceled the reception because she didn’t think it was necessary. I heard rumblings that a lot of Dad’s friends were meeting at his favorite pub, but I feel frozen, like stone, unable to move.
“Why did he let you do the things you did to me?” I ask, trying to find an answer from the wrong person.
“Are you playing the victim once again?” Mom asks. “You realize it’s your father who died, not you.”
I turn to her as I see Nichole in the distance, pulling up her car. “It’s a simple question.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if your father wanted any say in the discipline that I was forced to serve on a constant basis because of your insubordination, then maybe he shouldn’t have been tied to his second family.”
“Wait . . . what?” I ask.
“Oh, sweetie, you didn’t know?” Mom taunts in a condescending tone. “You thought he was away on work trips?” She tsks. “No, he was visiting his other family. His mistress and his two sons. Twins, actually.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re lying. I don’t believe you.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“Because you hate me, because you’re cruel, and because you haven’t taken enough of my childhood and want to take this away too.”
“I have better things to do with my life than worry about taking away what pitiful life you have. You wonder why your dad and I fell out of love? Because he fell in love with someone else, that’s why. And his mistress, she followed us around to every duty station. He would spend long nights and days with her, and when the boys were born, his time with us diminished even more.”