Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 57043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
My aunt purses her lips. “I hope so. Have you spoken to him?”
I shake my head, looking out the kitchen window to my aunt's tidy backyard. There's a white fence between her yard and her neighbor to the back. The fence is low enough that you could stand on either side and chat. My aunt has flower baskets that she puts at the base of her fence in the areas where her garden doesn't reach. It's a nice place to sit and have a cup of tea when the weather's nice.
That's what my mom could be doing this summer if she left for good and let my aunt take care of her for a while. Not forever, if that's not what she wants, but for long enough that she can figure out how she feels about everything and what she wants to do with her life.
“I haven't,” I tell her. “I blocked him the last time this happened. I haven't spoken to him in almost a year.”
She knows this. But maybe she thought I was more like my mother. That I wouldn’t be able to let him go. He’s never hurt me physically. Only yelled at me and berated me growing up. He kept me in line with fear. Now I stay far away from him. I know the man he truly is.
“I want nothing to do with him ever again,” I tell her.
My aunt nods, her eyes compassionate. “Are you doing okay, baby?”
I nod back, my throat even tighter now. “I'm doing all right.”
I really mean it—I'm doing all right. I have my job at the bar and my apartment and whatever this thing is with Griffin. I can’t even think about him right now. I’m so ashamed. How could a person like him even fathom what having parents like mine is like. I’m reminded of Christmas and how I told him we usually don’t do anything. I lied. My mother texted me and begged me to forgive my father on Christmas Eve. The only thing she wanted was for us to be a family again. The only thing I did on Christmas was cry alone in my apartment until my mother came over and said she was sorry and that she loved me, and we stayed up watching Christmas movies and pretending like the day before never happened.
I don’t know what this Christmas will be like. I don't’ know if she’ll be here or back with her husband. I don’t know anything other than that Griffin offered me an escape. I shouldn’t have taken it, but I couldn’t say no to that…just in case.
My emotions must show more than I think because my aunt makes a sound I know all too well. That pitiful one she gives to my mother.
“Oh, honey.” My aunt crosses the kitchen, pulls me to my feet, and gives me a tight hug. I rest my head on her shoulder and breathe slow and deep so I don't keep crying. I really don't want to spend my whole visit in tears. I'm not the one with the black eye, and I know crying about it won't help.
It takes me a few minutes to stop. My aunt grabs me some tissues from the box on the counter, then goes to finish the tea while I put myself back together. She brings both mugs to the kitchen table and we sit around the curve from one another with our tea. I hold the warm mug in my palms before taking a sip, letting the warmth steady me.
“Renee,” my aunt says. She's a lot like Mags. She can always tell when something's on my mind. It's not in my head, really, it's in my chest. The feeling of guilt is so heavy at times like these that it's hard to take a deep breath. I do it anyway and drink some more of my tea. It tastes better than when I made it, though it's the same kind.
“Yeah?” I say, when I feel like I can speak again.
“It's really no trouble at all to have your mom stay with me. I'm happy to have her here, even if that means having her here for the rest of our lives. You don't have to worry about me… or her.”
“I know,” I tell her. “I know you're okay with it.”
I really do. My aunt doesn't want my mom with him, and she's an honest person. She's not lying about wanting my mom to stay with her. I honestly think it would be the perfect situation.
I look at her, and there's nothing but concern in my aunt's face. The pressure on my chest feels even heavier. If I leave without saying anything, it'll be there until the next time I visit. It'll probably be there for the rest of my life. I don't see the way I feel changing.