“I’m not mad, just hurt that neither of you thought you could come to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What did Dorian say when you brought it up to the counter?”What right did this man have to sell a fifteen-year-old child a book like this?
“He wasn’t there. It was Theo. The guy who works in the evenings. He did ask me if I knew what it was about and did my mom know I was buying it?”
“Theo asked you that? The stoner guy?”
“He’s really sweet, Mom.”
“What did you say to him?” I asked.
“I told him you would be happy I was getting something that might help me.” Annie’s voice quivered. “But I guess I was wrong.”
“It’s not that I … don’t want you to … have help. If you need it.”
“Mom, how could I not need it?”
My nemesis,guilt, crept up the back of my spine. But as I often did, I pushed it aside and let anger live there instead. “I don’t want you going to the support group. And you’re to stop reading this book at once.”
She stared at me for a moment, like she didn’t recognize me. “It doesn’t matter. The group leader said I couldn’t come again because I’m too young. But she told me about a group for teens. I want to go, Mom. Please.”
The look in her big brown eyes was too much. I softened. “Yes, fine.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I figured you’d react like you just did,” Annie said.
“We don’t have secrets between us.” I smoothed the comforter with one hand.
“You think that.”
My head snapped up. “What does that mean?”
“It means there are things I can’t talk to you about,” Annie said. “Things that I know will upset you.”
I wanted to ask more questions. I really did. But something held me back. Lately, with Annie, it felt like this balancing act between wanting to understand her and being there for her versus me burying my head in that proverbial sand so the pain couldn’t reach me. There was this invasive feeling in my chest that made me want to hold on tight to whatever story I’d told myself about my life instead of hearing the pain in my daughter’s voice. Nothing made me feel like a bad mother more than this habit I’d formed over the years for self-preservation. But it was as if it were lodged somewhere deep inside me, this place that had hardened over time and become impenetrable.
“Mom, I think you should go to the group. The people were so nice, and they’re hurting in the same way we are.”
“Which does what exactly?” I asked softly.
“Makes you feel less alone, I guess. And understood. Not that I’d wish it on anyone, but there was something about sharing in the group and hearing their stories that made me feel seen.”
“Isee you.”
“You see what you want to see,” Annie said, not unkindly but with a tone of world-weary reservation that a child of fifteen should not have.
Tears were starting at the backs of my eyes, pressing to get out and leaving me unable to speak.
“Do you want to know why Dorian was there?” Annie asked. “Who he lost?”
Her question startled me. What did he have to do with anything, other than to tell my child about a book she had no business reading.
“His best friend from the Navy,” Annie said. “Left behind a wife and two kids.”
