Page 98 of Pining for You

She looks like she’s about to say something but I can’t stop.

“Or how about the fact that the only girl I’ve ever kissed actually kissed me back but now wants nothing to do with me?”

Now Naomi looks genuinely shocked. “Pop-Tart…”

I didn’t plan on telling her that, but I’m still not done. “And the most messed up thing of it all? I was already terrified of losing my friends next year, but I didn’t have to worry about that because all my trying not to lose them only made them hate me now. They’re never going to talk to me again, and since you’re going to be all tied up with Michelle as always, I’ll be totally alone!

“So yeah, I avoided your question. Because how am I supposed to answer that one, when I haven’t answered so many others? Like what am I going to do next year? Or how am I going to ever find friends like the ones I lost today? Or what is wrong with me that I screw everything up so badly all the time?”

I still have my jacket on and though I’m racked with shivers, I’m also sweating to death. Suddenly, I’m running out of steam and desperate for air. I hardly know what’s happening before I’m sobbing and heaving and gasping all at the same time.

My mother walks past me into the kitchen. For a second I think she’s just going to walk out. But then she turns on the faucet, which sputters in sympathy, and fills a mug with tap water.

When she brings it to me, I am shocked—I half expected my mother to tell me she’s disowning me and kicking me out of the house and her life.

I take a sip, trying not to choke. Then she looks me with those eyes I’ve known my whole life and takes slow, deep breaths. I don’t even realize it, but I start to do the same, mirroring her as she stares at me, and soon I’m breathing a little more evenly.

I gulp down the water in a few sips and then gasp again for air.

“Now, Pop-Tart, sit down, would you please?”

How is she so calm? I don’t want to sit, but I’m shaking so hard that I’m also not sure I can keep standing. My body is confused by having so many feelings that are also so physical. So I sit on the couch next to her, and we both stare at Marley for a moment.

“Oh, my beautiful, brave little toaster pastry,” she says, finally putting a hand on my knee. “You’ve got a lotta feelings, kid.”

I feel my anger flare again but say nothing.

“It’s gotta be exhausting.” Naomi shakes her head and takes a sip of her cold coffee. “I know, because I’m really exhausted from my feelings too. That’s not an excuse, but it is the truth. I need you to know this isn’t about you, or because I care any less about you and your feelings. But parents are people too, people just trying to keep up. No one gives you a handbook for parenting, and trying to figure it out on the fly… is kind of like trying to build a guitar while you’re already onstage.” She pauses, and it looks like she’s considering how to say something. “You know, it wasn’t the easiest thing for me when you told me you were gay.”

“Seriously?” I ask, more than a little shocked, and honestly, a little annoyed—why is this what we’re talking about right now? “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Just stay with me. Remember?”

“Yes.”

I remember the day I told her. It was a total nonevent, aside from the fact that later, she baked us rainbow cupcakes and we watched Carol together.

“It’s not that I had a problem with you being gay—‘I love the gays. Gay people!’ ” she says, lifting her fists in the air, imitating my favorite Sarah Jessica Parker scene in The Family Stone. “But I lay in bed at night worrying how many things you were going to face that I wouldn’t be able to help you with. I wondered how I could possibly relate or advise you in situations I’ve never been in. I knew I’d have to work extra at understanding your life experience. And now I’m trying to do the same for Michelle, in this case, with her illness, with her addiction—the parts of her life experience I don’t personally understand. And of course, how I can be there for you, too. It takes effort, and managing my own emotions, and what you said reminded me that sometimes I’m not the most successful at balancing it all. And I’m sorry for not checking in with you, and for assuming you were fine.”

“I’m trying to learn too,” I say. “I just… No matter how much I learn, or logically understand, I still really don’t get it, you know? I mean, why does it have to be like this? Why did she do this to us? Or, why did it happen to her… or…”

I pause, and Naomi waits. I’ve managed to sort through so much in the last twenty-four hours, with Audra, with Eve. But there’s another question on my mind—one I haven’t been able to ask anyone else.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask. “Was I a bad sister?”

“Oh, Pop-Tart, no.”

Now she gives my knee a little squeeze, and it’s gentle but still strong enough to make a point—that she’s serious. I feel another sob rising in my chest.

“No,” she continues. “You were—you are—the best sister, and I know Michelle feels that way.”

“I just wonder… Maybe I wasn’t there for her or something? I know I get distracted a lot; maybe I should have noticed sooner. I guess I always thought once she got help, that would be it because she loved us.”

“It would be so much easier if it were as simple as she doesn’t like us anymore.”

“But so many people get sick,” I say. “Or addicted. And you always hear stories about how they got better or sober after treatment and turned their lives around. Why can’t she be like that? Does she even want to get better?”

“I wish I had the answer,” Naomi says, and there’s something in her voice that makes it obvious how this question really does keep her up at night, maybe more than any extra shifts. “I really do.”