Authors: Devon Herrera
“Is something the matter?”
“Thass a loaded quession, Loa.” She slurs and props herself up with her hip to the counter and her forearm braced on the marble top. Her breath smells of alcohol and there is a thin sheen of sweat plastering several baby hairs to her forehead. Her eyes are glazed over and red around the turquoise center. The woman who raised me is completely absent and I’m not sure how to respond to this alien person inhabiting my mother’s body.
Tread carefully
,
Lola.
“Really? Do you want to talk about it?
“HA!” She bursts out, spittle flying out of her lips as her face contorts with the hysterical outburst. It’s like the blast of a shotgun, harsh and loud and scary enough to send your heart pounding. “Is there anything wrong, she asks?
Wanna chat about it?” She leans down, teetering precariously with one hand braced on the very edge of the counter. I almost sprint around the table to prevent her from falling on her face. Before I can do so, she swings both legs around, slides to the ground, and then shoots back upright, holding a bottle of Three Olives Vodka. She steps back on wobbly feet, barely catching her balance before she takes a pull from the rim and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth.
“Mom, you’re scaring me.” Not very much would make me admit to such a thing, but a full blown breakdown of the most collected person I’ve ever known is enough to break my cool façade.
“Why? Because I’m drunk? Everyone gets a little drunk sometimes, Lola. No wait, I know, it’s because I’m a complete failure.” She cackles again and then takes another slug from the bottle. “I scare you, do I? You know what, Lola, I scare myself.” Another crazed laugh punctuates that unnerving statement, and I cringe at the sound. It’s like nails on a chalk board.
I just stare back at her for a minute trying to process the information. Nothing makes sense to me right now. One plus one equals what the fuck. She lifts the bottle once more to her lips and the sight is too much for me to bear at the moment.
“STOP!” I scream and snatch the bottle from her fingers. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
She stares defiantly at me for a few seconds before slumping down into the stool behind her. Her beautiful face contorts and her chest heaves outward and before I can prepare for it, she starts to weep. Nothing could have ever prepared me for this moment. The President of the United States could probably burst out in tears before me and I would be able to comfort him. No sweat. I could treat him as any other human being in pain, pat him on the back and tell him it was going to be alright. That would be easy.
This, this is different. My mind blanks out and I can do nothing except stare at my wailing mother. Her legs collapse underneath her at an awkward angle as she falls to the floor, her hands are clutched to her face, her nails biting into the perfect skin around her eyes and lips as salty drops pour out onto the tile. Her pain and despair radiate through me, and I still can’t move. In my mind’s eye, I see myself fall to my knees before her and take her into my arms, pressing her head into my chest and whispering soothing words.
Why can’t I move?!
I feel as though I’ve been handed a tool I don’t recognize and have no idea how to use. No one taught me how to use it.
Bull shit!
My mind shouts at me.
You comforted Nina when she was like this.
The truth is, Nina was not really like this, not around me anyway. She always seemed almost numb. Like a shell. That was scary as hell too. My job was snapping her back into reality. This is totally different. How do you comfort someone in the state my mother is in? How do you take the pain away without absorbing it into yourself? How do you fix something you don’t understand without breaking? I have no clue at this moment. So I stare, and she cries, and I die a little inside.
“Caroline?!” I hear the door open and close and a splinter of relief cuts through the tension. I still can’t bring myself to move. “What’s going…?” My father whips around the corner and I turn my head to see him standing exactly where I was when I first walked in on this tragic scene. His mouth drops for a split second before he rushes over to his fallen wife and takes her into his arms and lifts her from the ground.
See! It’s not hard! Why the hell couldn’t you do that?
He smooths her hair from her face and gives me a look of…
pity?
I nod at him, hoping he understands my non-verbal communication. I’ll stay until he’s done helping her.
As soon as my father carries my mother from the kitchen, the spell that was keeping me in place breaks and I take a breath that could fill the lungs of ten people. I feel tired, and heavy, but I need answers, and I need a drink.
I grab the bottle of vodka from the counter, a glass from the cupboard, and the orange juice from the fridge. After mixing the ingredients together, I take a large gulp and collapse into the chair. The sweet bite of the drink unlocks my mind, and a thousand thoughts run out at once. I have no idea what caused my mother’s breakdown.
Liar
“Lola.” My father sighs and leans against the wall for a minute, before walking over to the counter and taking the stool beside me. I take another big swig of my drink, unsure of what needs to be said first and terrified of the disappointment I’m sure he will share with me over my inability to comfort my own mother. “Can you just tell me what happened?” He asks.
I look down into my glass and play my fingers around the rim, contemplating my answer. “How is she?” I ask first.
Another deep sigh, and his hat falls to the granite counter top next to my glass. “She’ll be fine.”
I realize it’s not really an answer to my question. I plow on regardless. “I came in here to talk to her, and I found her here, drunk off her ass and spouting a bunch of nonsense.” I finally look up at my father and he’s staring right back at me, nothing except love and sadness in his expression. “She said she was a failure, Dad. Why would she say that? I’ve never seen her cry before, and that… that was a lot worse than crying. Normal crying doesn’t sound like your soul is being split in half.” I down the rest of my glass and walk it over the sink and set it down gently, then brace both hands on the counter top.
“I imagine, though she would never describe it so dramatically, that is exactly how your mother was feeling at that moment,” he says softly. “What were you coming here to speak to her about?”
I bite my tongue for a moment, almost afraid to add to the heartache. Something tells me I shouldn’t put this off. “He gets out soon. A few weeks right?” I’ve come to expect anger, indifference, and every so often, a hint of regret whenever my brother is mentioned. So when I hear my father’s soft chuckle I spin around, completely alarmed, and a little bit afraid both of my parents have gone off the deep end.
“Of course you’re here to speak to your mother about Nathan.” He looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. “You sure are an ironic asshole, aren’t you,” he whispers to the empty space. The gesture reminds me of Nina, and I frown at the back of his head.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I demand.
My father twists around in his chair and all the humor is gone, replaced by more sadness. “Why do you think your mother is so hard on you?” He asks, and the question beyond infuriates me. This isn’t about me. I open my mouth to tell him so, but he holds his hand up, silencing me. “When she said she was a failure to you just now, she wasn’t referring to you; she was referring to your brother.” That halts me in my tracks and I wait for him to explain. “Oh, Lola, there is so much I need to explain to you. So much you don’t understand.”
“I understand. I know what he did.”
“Yes, you know most of the facts, but there is more to it than that. I’m sure you remember how Nathan was growing up. He was the first born and a son, so needless to say he was quite…indulged by your mother and me. We didn’t encourage any sort of illegal or immoral behavior, we also never ever expected that from him. We thought him to be, not perfect, just close to it. He was our son, and we loved him, and we thought the best of him for that. He was told on a regular basis how highly we thought of him, and because we encouraged him to be driven, he was also very successful in everything he put his mind to. As far as girls were concerned, well, we thought his playboy antics were amusing in a “boys will be boys” sort of way, but we made it clear they were not important enough at that point in his life and they should not be his main focus. It was okay to have fun and date, but he had plenty of time for relationships later on.” He rubs a hand down his face and I walk over and reclaim my seat next to him.
“I know this already, Dad. You’re not telling me anything new.”
“True, you were there to witness it. So you saw that he was arrogant, entitled, and driven to the point of obsession. You probably even saw that females were just an amusement to him. They were nothing more than a distraction when he wanted it. A mere convenience when it suited him and a pain in his ass when it didn’t. Your mother and I didn’t realize any of this until it was too late. You know all of this as you said. What I don’t think you realize is that although Nathan was the one to commit the crime, your mother and I practically loaded the proverbial gun.”
I hear the guilt and the horror in his voice as he says it, and once again words of comfort fail me completely. I do know one thing though; I don’t want my parents to feel this way. No one should carry the blame for another’s actions. “Dad, you and Mom were great parents. So you spoiled him a little bit. That doesn’t mean anything. There are a lot of spoiled people out there who don’t go beating up innocent women.”
My dad smiles weakly at me before looking back down at his hands. “That sounds like something a person who has yet to have children would say. Lola, your mother and I were responsible for raising Nathan. There will always be an amount of blame on our shoulders. What I really wanted you to take from all this is why your mother and I are the way we are with you. I thought maybe by telling you this; you would understand a little bit better.”
“I know, Daddy. I know you guys don’t want to make the same mistakes with me.”
He smiles the second I call him “Daddy” and pats my shoulder. “We already know you’re nothing like your brother, but it’s hard to know what’s right and what’s wrong. Do we risk making you spoiled if we coddle you too much or show you too much affection? Will you be cold if we don’t show you enough? Do we risk stifling your independence if we push you to be romantic? Will you not learn the importance of empathy or love or compassion if we don’t? It’s a tough line to walk. We love who you are, and we don’t want to squash that. We don’t want to repeat history either.”
I’d always known my parents were tough on me, and that some of their expectations were based on my brother’s mistakes. I never considered how hard it was on them. What’s worse is I’ve done nothing except complain about them, particularly my mother. In my mind, my life felt like one big production to mask the broken family. I’m so ashamed. That I never once considered their feelings, their grief, their struggles, is like a blow to the stomach. How could I not see how hard they were trying for me? I’ve never felt so much love and so much guilt all at once.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” I whisper. My head is bowed into my chest to hide the tears that threaten to fall at any second. I feel his arms come around me and in that moment I realize sometimes, it’s okay to cry.
CHAPTER 12
“If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop digging.”
- Will Rogers
“Stupid, hick, rat bastard!” I use my boot to shove the shovel into the snow drift with much more force than is necessary. I couldn’t sleep after last night and decided to shovel the drive to clear my head. My mind is still buzzing from the way Drake acted the other night after we left Nina and Connor’s.
As if it wasn’t enough that I had just found out someone tried to kidnap my best friend, I then had to deal with wanting to strangle, and kiss Drake all at the same time. His phone started going off halfway through the movie and although we were cuddled up on the floor, it was obvious his mind was somewhere else. He had driven his own truck over and when we left Nina’s I assumed he was following me home until I got a lousy one line text saying he had somewhere to be and would see me tomorrow.
Spending time with him and Nina together made me realize something last night. I’ve told Drake more than I’ve ever told anyone about myself besides Nina. I let go with him in a way I’ve never done with any other man I’ve ever been with. He makes me laugh, he makes me angrier than any other person in the entire world, and I don’t know what I would do without him. Now that Nina has Connor and is in love, it’s not going to be me and her against the world any more. I want her to be happy more than anything, but I’ve never given much thought to what that would mean for me before. Now I know, if I didn’t have Drake, it would mean a whole lot of loneliness.
My mind switches back to the memory of being held in his arms that night. There was nothing sexual about the way we were together. In fact, if I think about it, there really wasn’t any difference in the way we were acting and the way Nina and Connor…
“Oh Holy Hell, Shit, Mother Fucker!!!”
My shovel almost drops from my hand as the realization hits me. I have to clench my eyes shut at the fear that immediately sends cramps into my stomach.
Good going, Lola. That’s just perfect.
I can’t believe I got myself into this situation. I guess the old adage is true. Falling is easy; so fucking easy I didn’t even notice it. It’s the landing part that sucks. What the hell am I going to do now? I don’t have any answers to that question, and it sends another bout of anger shooting from my mouth.
“I swear to god if he’s got some other fuck buddy stashed away I don’t know about, I’m going to…”