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“Okay, well, it doesn’t help. My world is upside down, Hunter. Who I thought was my dad wasn’t. Who I disliked as my step-brother really is my half-brother. And the man I fear the most is my real dad. I’m drowning, Hunter. I can’t think. I can’t eat. I’m frozen.”
That’s it. That’s all it takes. Opening up to the one person I know I can trust, and I become a crying mess.
Hunter holds me tight. I beat his arm in rage. Not at him, at the world.
“Hunter, what if I become my mom? What if I’m as cold and conniving and manipulative as her? And look at David. Who will I become? I don’t know myself anymore!”
I tear myself from Hunter’s embrace and race off down the path, sobbing. Hunter runs after me, catches me, and we tumble to the grass, which by now has lost its vibrancy and is dry and brittle. Another great metaphor for myself and my life.
* * *
I hearfrom my mom a few days later.
“Darling, your step-father and I are going to the country club. Some do or another concerning David’s company. Anyway, would you be a doll and look in on Cash? He’s alone there at the house, and his father wants to make sure he’s not getting up to anything.”
“Yes, mother,” I say with as cold and detached a tone as I can muster.
I agree, not to please the two-faced wench, but because it’s time. Cash and I have to have it out.
I hire an Uber to take me to the estate. To anyone else rolling up, the august mansion and manicured surrounds would be pleasing to the eye. To me, it makes my stomach churn. I pay the driver and head on in. Even outside in the driveway, I can hear Blink 182 at full subwoofer pitch.
I open the door and cover my ears. I hunt for the stereo source and yank the dial to zero.
“Hey, what the fuck? Who’s there?”
I see Cash’s head peek over the sectional sofa.
“It’s me.”
“Oh, shit.” Cash sinks back down.
I stomp into the lounge. “No, you’re the little shit for not telling me first.”
“What?” Cash swerves his legs to the carpeted floor and raises to a lackadaisical slouch.
“You know damn well what.”
“Hunter. That fucker.”
“Oh, no you don’t. Don’t blame Hunter. He’s the only one around here who has the balls to tell me the truth about my own family,blood bro.”
Cash’s face pales. He leans forward, grabs a beer from a six-pack sitting on the glass and wrought iron coffee table, cracks it open and takes a big swig. Without looking, he offers me one. I take it. Why the hell not?
“Do you have any idea how this feels?”
“Me? Hell yeah. It’s not just you who’s had your life sunk like the goddamned Titanic. My dad is just as much a player as your mom, and you and I are the, what do they call it? Casualties of war. Collateral damage.”
I look down at Cash, and he’s fighting back tears. In this moment, I know the hurt and betrayal are deep. For both of us. Cash and me against the world, it feels like. And the enemy is in our own home.
I sit down next to Cash and put an arm around him. I feel his shoulder shake. I see tear drops hit the ground. But no sound. No sound at all. He refuses to give in and let our awful parents win.
After a while, a little voice whispers. “I’m sorry, Wren. Taking it out on you. I regret it. If I had to bully and shame somebody, it should have been our parents. They deserve the hurt. Not you. Not me.”
“Hey, now. Nothing to forgive. You and I have been lied to, to our faces, for almost two decades. We’re both damaged goods, the way I see it. No wonder our parents hooked up. Talk about vile peas in the same pod. I could wretch thinking about them, swanning off tonight to some country club like they haven’t a worry in the world. Fuck’em.”
Cash swipes his nose with his sleeve, looks at me with determined but reddened eyes and mimics. “You’re right, fuck’em to hell.”
I take a swig of the beer. Thankfully, it’s still ice cold. “The hurt, Cash. The hurt those two inflicted on us, leaving us with so many scars. No wonder we have social issues, learning issues. No wonder you escaped into sports and me into books.”
