Those first flickers of doubt doubled ten-fold on Monday, growing more and more persistent, like a pebble in my shoe.
I almost called a sub, but planning for one is harder than sucking it up and dragging myself from bed. And with the ongoing sub shortage, my classes would have most likely been handed off to the librarian. All that to say, while I still wasn’t 100 percent, I shoved down the fatigue, took some medicine, and went to work.
Tuesday, my train-wreck of a brother texted asking for money. Again. And because I’m apparently a sucker with ableeding heart, I sent him fifty dollars. Then I spent the day hating myself, hating him, hating men in general. Even the good ones. Especiallyonevery good one. And exactly like I asked, he’s given me space with radio silence.
The pebble in my shoe became a boulder that, no matter how hard I try, I’ve never been able to roll up that hill.
That evening, I took Jay to his last ball practice before their big game. Tyler’s presence there, as steady and dependable as always, only made the ache in my chest sharper. Anytime he would look at me, I’d quickly avert my eyes, and when practice ended he took determined steps my way, but I shuffled Jay out before he was to us.
I’m not proud of it, I just don’t trust my emotions when I get like this. Is my behavior hurtful? Yes. But this is how my mind works. When doubt creeps in, I self-sabotage. When I self-sabotage I get small, I get angry, not only at myself but also at the people I’m pushing away. Sometimes I’ve felt anger at the whole damn world.
On top of it all, the school board meeting is looming over me, scheduled for next week. One meeting that will determine the fate of my beloved ArtStrong.
Stress coils so tightly, my nerves ratcheted up to the point I can scarcely eat, and I damn sure can’t sleep. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, filled with the fear that I’m about to lose my program and Tyler all in the same week. This smorgasbord of emotions is a terrible combination and more than once I’ve considered making an appointment with my old therapist. After Chad left I went to therapy regularly, but eventually I stopped going. In hindsight, that was probably a terrible decision.
My kids have noticed my behavior, too. I’ve been short-tempered, snapping at them for the smallest things, and slamming doors like a madwoman. Abby, normally calm and self-possessed, feeds off my anger like kindling to a flame. It’s like we’ve back slid into our behavior six months ago, and I only have myself to blame.
On Wednesday morning, while getting ready for work, Tyler’s name lit up my phone screen. I hit decline, sending him to voicemail, and then I stood in the silence, my heart fraying at the seams. Begging me to stop this nonsense, pleading with me to pick up a needle and stitch up the threads.
It’s not that I don’t want him. The opposite, in fact. I want him so bad it terrifies me.
Penny, Lisa, and Cassie have all texted and called, but I’ve left each one unread and unanswered, like the coward I am. Eventually they’ll come check on me, but for now they let me marinate in my discontent.
After school, when I stopped by Morningside to visit Mawmaw, the nurse at the front desk casually mentioned that my dear absent mother had been by earlier in the week. This news prompted my feet to march right back outside and scream into my hands, devolving into tears leaving me with red-rimmed eyes. You know those women who can cry all prettily for five minutes and clean their face right up? I am not one of them. When I cry, Iuglycry. It’s not a pretty sight.
My own mother was in town, and she didn’t bother to give me a call. No “Hi, Josie, sorry I haven’t seen you in five years. Thought I’d stop in to catch up.” My relationship with my mother is about as deep as a shallow pool of water, therefore her visits are never pleasant or productive, but at least I’d know she remembers I exist. Emotions wrangled, I fixed my face, fluffed my hair, and marched back up the walkway and into Morningside, like I wasn’t having a hissy fit in my car.
Desperately, I needed a hug from Mawmaw like she used to give when I was growing up. She’d wrap me in her arms and I’d breathe in her scent of cocoa butter lotion while she whispered, “Smile, Josephine. The sun will rise tomorrow and you have your Mawmaw’s love.” But our visit was not a good one, her thoughts were scattered like fallen leaves. I headed home with my heart in my throat.
At this point Chad might as well do something stupid likeshow back up with a big sign declaring he never loved me, he thinks I’m unattractive, and I suck in bed. Or maybe, in bold font it should sayYou Were Never Enough. That would be the real nail in the proverbial coffin.
Now, I’m staring at a note taped to my screen door. Except it’s not my screen door. This one looks very similar, but where my old one had paint chipping, this one is unblemished with shiny working hinges. On the glass there’s a note taped to the surface, and I ball it up in my fist, release a small scream and kick the perfect door with my toe, causing quick and immediate pain.
I go through the motion of cooking, moving on autopilot, and the kids and I eat in silence. My sweet Jay tries to make conversation, but when neither Abby nor I give much back, he finishes his dinner and disappears to his room to do homework. Watching his slumped shoulders disappear from the kitchen guts me, setting off a fresh wave of self-loathing crashing against my heart.
Standing, I gather dishes, dumping them in the sink with a clatter.
“What’s up with you,” Abby says to my back. Her tone is agitated, and I’m sure if I turned around I’d see her mean mugging me. This is not right, I realize this. This is how she and I used to be—oil and water. Everything about this feels wrong, wrong, wrong.
Closing my eyes, I let out a ragged sigh. “I’m…feeling a lot right now, Abs.”
I turn to face her, and her arms are crossed, eyes focused on something over my shoulder. It seems she wants to look anywhere but at me. “Where’s Tyler been?” she asks.
I flinch at her question. “Abs, this is an adult situation. I realize you’re my little old soul, you’re growing up, but I’m not discussing him with you.”
“You did something, didn’t you?” Her voice has risen, and she spits the words, lobbing them like grenades across thekitchen. “He’s the best thing that’s happened to us, and you ran him off.”
Her words are a blade to my heart. I feel it in my chest, my gut, everywhere. She’s not wrong. But how do I explain to my thirteen-year-old that there’s this aching, fucked-up part of me that refuses to trust happiness? The part that doesn’t know what to do with all the safety I feel with Tyler. Of course I know that he’s the best thing to happen to us. But I’m so goddamn broken I can’t trust him. A lifetime of abandonment issues is the heaviest albatross around my neck.
“It’s not that simple, Abs,” I reply, trying with herculean strength to keep my tone steady.
“Why not?” she pleads, her voice breaks, eyes brimming with tears.
Squeezing my eyes shut, a tear slips out and I dash it with the dish towel I’m gripping.
“It’s just not.”
Abby lets out a frustrated little scream, stomps down the hall, and slams her bedroom door with such force it rattles the windows.
