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Ace
Mom has been sad. I’ve watched her. Toby hasn’t been by once, and Grams acts like everything is normal. It’s weird, Nate has called every day since Mom got back. Dad, too. Mom avoids both their calls almost every time, but when it lights up with their names, her face falls in response, and I know it’s because she’s scared. I’m proud of her for ignoring Dad, but Nate? That, I don’t know how to feel about.
Uncle Nate hasn’t been in mine or Jazzy’s life very much. I remember when he overdosed once, I was eight and Mom was frantic. She wouldn’t tell me what happened but her and Dad talked about it the next morning. Dad said he wasn’t allowed to see us anymore and he refused to give Nate any more money.
Mom wasn’t happy. He’s her brother after all. After a hefty discussion while I sat around the corner listening, they decided to cut ties. Until he came over, I hadn’t seen him since.
Now he’s calling, trying to make amends, I’m sure, and she ignores him. Who does that to family? Maybe he’s trying. I’d never abandon Jazzy like that. Never.
Besides her dislike for him calling, she seems better.
I’ve seen Mom smile more. It makes me feel less on edge, but I’m still worried. She’s turning into the old her, the one who hid beneath smiles and niceties. She doesn’t see what I see or recognize that I feel the shift. She misses Dad. That, or she misses Toby.
Regardless of what she always told Dad, I know she and Uncle Toby had something going on. Maybe it wasn’t returned on Mom’s end, but he looked at Mom like he couldn’t breathe without her and watched her with love in his eyes. They all think I’m too young to understand, but I know. There are things you just can’t avoid, things that are beyond obvious.
When my baby sister, Lilac, died, I was a mess.
I love being a big brother to Jaz and would have loved Lilac the same. She would have been under my wing, too. She would have been protected, adored and cared for. It took me a long time to move on. I thought maybe if I was a better kid, if I tried harder and did better in school, things would get easier.
But you can’t change the past no matter how hard and constantly you try.
My sister swings in the back with Grams and Mom. She’s smiling, lit up like a Christmas village during the holidays. Mom watches her, a big grin on her face as Grams pushes her higher. This has been our routine for almost four weeks now.
They pretend life is good, so I pretend life is normal, but it’s far from it. The light in my Mom’s eyes dim daily. She struggles with everything, like there’s a big part of her missing. She probably doesn’t realize how much she touches her finger where her wedding ring used to be. She probably doesn’t even know that I know it’s been gone since she’s been back. Hell, she probably hasn’t even realized Dad had taken his off long before, about a year ago. She also doesn’t know that I overhear the late calls where she tells whoever is on the other end to stop calling, that nothing has changed, that she’s moving on. But I do. I barely sleep. I barely eat. Watching her like a hawk feels like the only purpose I have.
Gramps always tells me to take a break, that she’s okay, that I don’t always have to be the strong one. But that’s who I’ve been for years—the strong boy, the kid who pushes for his family’s happiness and care.
It’s exhausting, so much to bear that I’m in a constant battle of restlessness.
I love my mom so much, but she’s draining me. How do I explain that to her? She’ll tell me it’s not my burden, to not feel so overwhelmed, but if I don’t watch out for her, who will?
Dad is gone, and he did a shit job anyway.
The more I fester, the more I miss Gray. We haven’t spoken in so long. Just seeing her face in my dreams is enough to haunt me. She could have told me sooner and saved my mom from heartbreak, told someone, anyone... done something.
I hate her for her betrayal to me and my family and most of all to our friendship. She’ll pay one day, and it’ll be a long time coming. Bitterness doesn’t just recede because one wants it to.
I shake my head, watching as my mom takes Grams’ place, pushing Jaz as she giggles and squeals. In these moments, I see her, the mom who always hugged me, tucked me in, kissed my head, and told me how special I was.
We’ve drifted apart since then, and as much as I hoped it wouldn’t happen, I resent her. It feels as if I raised Jazzy these last five years, held her when she cried, got a booboo and everything else in between. I fed her, bathed her, made sure she was okay.
My parents abandoned us both.
They chose to be selfish.
Now, they need to pick up the pieces.
Mom makes her way to me, a smile present, warming me from the inside.
“Hey, baby. Why don’t you join us?” She takes a seat next to me, her face a little flushed from the warm air. Her gaze drifts back to Gran and Jaz, a tell-tale sign she’s happy.
“Can we talk?”
She peers at me, her eyebrows pinched in concern. “Of course. Let’s go inside and get something to drink. They’ll be out here for a bit.”
I nod and follow her to the kitchen. She grabs the freshly squeezed orange juice and pours herself a glass.
“Want some?”
Shaking my head, I take the juice and put it back for her. After picking out a Pepsi from the fridge, I turn around.
She smiles proudly. “You’re such an amazing kid, Ace.”
Unlike her, I can’t give a smile in return. Too much weighs on me.
“Mom, why don’t you go to therapy?”
She seems taken aback by my question. Setting down her drink, she avoids my gaze and then leads me to the table. I pull out her chair, as I always have, then scoot her in. It’s something of a habit that Grandma taught me. She taught me a lot, including everything I needed to know about being a gentleman and a good son.
“Uh,” Mom starts, scratching her head as I take the chair beside her. “It’s a long story.”
I give her the look. That’s not going to cut it.
“I have time,” I comment, not allowing her the cop-out. We need to have this conversation.
“When y-your... Lilac died, I tried. It’s not easy admitting defeat when it comes to being a mom. Even admitting it was possibly my fault for her passing was too hard.”
I shake my head at her, having done enough research to know she isn’t to blame.
She stops me from speaking by continuing. “I went to a therapist after, and I tried, or at least, I thought I had. Being on the couch, speaking with someone about everything that’s wrong with you... that was my downfall. I didn’t want to hear it. Why would I? It wouldn’t change that my mom was gone or that my daughter was, too. It wouldn’t fix me or help me or give me hope. It’d only tear apart my soul to bare it for this man that knew nothing about me.”
She’s talking in circles, and my confusion has to show.
“I realize now that I was wrong. He wasn’t someone I was comfortable with. He may have cared clinically, but he didn’t care in a way that resonated with me. The easiest way to explain it would be by saying I didn’t give therapy a real chance. Instead of thriving for closure, I stuck onto everything that ate away what made me me.”
Tears leak down her face, transferring her pain onto me. Before I know it, she’s wiping my face. I must’ve started crying at some point.
“Don’t blame yourself for me, ever. It was my choice to not give it a chance. It was me that messed up by abandoning my life for numbness. It was always me, Ace.”
My heart throbs, or maybe it’s my head that hurts. Hearing her admit it was her is all I ever wanted. I needed her to see she forced me to grow up.
“You left me all alone, Mom,” I cry. For the first time in years, I truly weep. The tears don’t stop, and the pain just comes harsher with each breath. “You made me raise my little sister and be an adult when you couldn’t bear to be around. You made us orphans because when you checked out, so did Dad.” The words tumble out of me, oozing like the cancerous hatred they’ve become. “He likes to claim he was this amazing person that took care of us while you had shut down, but he didn’t. Just like you, he was consumed. He just didn’t realize it.”
She hauls me out of my chair and into a hug. We sob together as my heart lets out all the bitterness it held against her.
“I’m so sorry, baby boy,” she coos, running a thoughtful hand through my hair. It’s been so long since she’s truly hugged me, so long since she’s been my mom.
“I was so alone,” I admit, my voice small, like the kid I actually am.
She doesn’t respond but continues to rub my hair and back and shoulders.
“Seeing you that day you tried to kill yourself broke something in me,” I keep on, not trying to trouble her but attempting to absolve myself of all the hurt. “The tub had blood in it. Your wrists were sliced open.” I shudder, conjuring the memory. “Your skin was so cold.”
She shakes, her whimpers the only acknowledgement that she’s present and hearing what I’m saying.
“Knowing you didn’t want to live, didn’t want to be my mom anymore... I hated you for it.”
“B-Baby,” she chokes, pulling away to look at my face. “I’ll always be your mom. I’ve never not wanted to be. My mind and heart couldn’t handle life any longer. I couldn’t stand the thought of being without them, too.”
My mind grasps her lackadaisical explanation of depression, but it doesn’t make the pain I experienced go away.
“You should have tried harder, Mom, tried to get help. Whether it be meds, doctors, or therapy... you should have done more,” I accuse, the anger rising back inside me.
“You’re right,” she confirms, bringing me back into a tight embrace, “and I will now. I’ll push for better. I’ll be better and work toward fixing all the pain I’ve caused you, Jazzy, and your father.”
I nod, hoping she’ll take action this time and her words aren’t just empty promises again.
“You miss him,” I offer.
She shakes her head, but her eyes tell another story. She loves him. After it all—the agony, the grief, the lies—she still cares.
“That sadness I mentioned is there. Does he help with it? Does he heal you?”
Her eyes close. It’s like she’s braving herself to lie to me. She doesn’t want me to know she needs his love as much as he needs hers. They’re fated that way. Horrible together but destroyed apart.
“I’ll always love him,” she whispers, wiping away stray tears. “He’s my soul. He keeps me together, even when I fight him the entire time.”
Nodding in understanding, I kiss her cheek. “I love you, Mom. For always.”
She bursts into another fit of sobs, and I know, with those two words Mom and Dad recited to each other over the course of my life, she needs him. Jaz and I won’t be enough.
I latch onto her, hoping my warmth will seep into her and give her some relief.
“Loren, honey!” Millie calls out, making me break apart from her. I don’t want her to see me crying like this, and there’s something else I have to do.
“Mom, I’m going to go back out for a bit,” I mutter. “Clear my head and all.”
She looks at me like she wants to push, but she doesn’t. Jazzy barrels through, and I’m rushing away before she can ask me why we are both crying.
I know what I need to do now, even if what I need to do goes against everything I’ve been fighting for.
“Dad,” I say when he picks up.
“Ace,” he finally responds, his voice hoarse and worse for wear.
“We need to talk.”