Page 104 of Elite Player
“Scared for me in this town of nine thousand people?”
“I’m always scared for you.”
Irritation flares as I zip up my toiletries bag. “Seems like it. Seems like you’ve always been so scared for me to be hurt. So scared you bullied me my entire life.”
“First of all, I didn’t bully you. And I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”
I laid bare so much of myself out in the cold this afternoon, there is nothing left of me anymore. Nothing left for me to feel bad. No amount of scolding can make me feel worse than I already do.
“I don’t appreciate my own mother treating me worse than she’d treat a pet.”
She huffs. “Never. I would never do that.”
With a sad laugh, I turn to face her. “Remember Chickpea?”
“Of course I do.”
She was my mother’s beloved Maltipoo who died when I was seventeen. Mom got her from some shady breeder and would carry her around in her purse. “Then you’ll remember how you used to call her pretty girl and ooh and aah over her.”
“She was a dog, Buck—Josephine.”
“Exactly. She was our dog, and you gave her more compliments than you ever gave me. You wouldn’t let me have seconds of dessert because it would make me chubby, but you’d give ice cream to the dog. You put a picture of her on the fridge but never hung up any of the photos I took. Even the one thatcame in first place at the regional art competition in school. You?—”
“I get it.” She holds up her hand, eyes cast down to the corner of the room where Chickpea’s bed used to be. “I get it.”
While Mom stays quiet, I finish packing up and loop my purse over my shoulder, obviously leaving, but Mom doesn’t seem to understand until I’m at the door. “Where are you going now?”
“Home. To Philadelphia, I mean.” Because I’m not sure if it’s my home anymore. I’m not sure what will be waiting for me there anymore after I blew up my life here. I don’t think I want to continue working for Sean, but if I quit, I’m not sure where else I could go.
Mom stands, closing the distance between us, but doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t smile or try to glaze over what happened and pretend like everything is fine, which I’m glad about. I’m happy the act is over.
Allof it.
“Did you really wish…” Mom covers her mouth with her hand, afraid to say it, but when I don’t fill in the blank, she’s forced to finish her statement. “Did you really want to hurt yourself?”
I hold her gaze. She needs to hear this honesty as much as I need to say it. “Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to say. To all of you, I was a joke, but every time you called me a name for the sake of being funny, it cut into me. Eventually, it felt like I was in so much pain every day, that the pain of leaving would be nothing compared to what I had to endure on a daily basis.”
Her nose flares as she inhales sharply, audibly, eyes filling with tears.
And I feel no remorse.
I feel nothing about her tears.
“I never knew,” she says eventually, voice wavering. “Where do we go from here?”
An apology would be a start, but I shouldn’t have to tell herthat. Although, I’m not sure I’m even interested in one at this point. It wouldn’t help. I’m not sure anything short of turning back time could heal what’s been broken. So I tell her the truth. “I’ve made mistakes and missed out on a lot of things in my life because I couldn’t stand up to my family, so I’m doing it now and saying I’m not interested in being anyone’s punching bag anymore.”
I pivot, placing my hand on the doorknob, though I pause before turning it to tell her the last bit of my truth. “When I was little, I used to think you just didn’t like me compared to Lizzie and Danny and that’s why you treated me that way, why you let everyone treat me that way. But as I got older, I think I realized that some part of you must hate yourself, and that’s why you take it out on me. I think, maybe, I remind you of all the things you hate about yourself. That you are always in competition with your siblings for Mamaw’s attention, that she picks on you for your weight and what you wear, that you never had the opportunity for braces, so you never let me get them either. It was almost like you wanted to punish me for all the things you felt slighted for because you couldn’t do anything about it. But I’m not going to let you punish me anymore.”
ThenI leave.
I get back in the car to go back to the airport, although I’m not sure how I arrive there, my mind a million miles away. It’s as if I’m walking in the middle of a snowstorm. I can’t hear or see anything other than white noise. I don’t remember speaking to the ticketing agent or waiting in the security line, sitting on the plane, or even taking the rideshare to my apartment. Don’t recognize much until I curl up in my bed and spot the small pot Nico placed on my nightstand. He swore he could replant seeds from the last batch of sunflowers he brought me a few weeks ago and grow them inside. There hasn’t been a hint of germination yet.
But merely having the terra-cotta pot here makes my throatache. I’ve cried so much, it feels swollen and like it’s made of sandpaper, but still, I can’t help the well of tears that overflows.
Or the sleep that overtakes me.
The next day, I ignore Nico’s texts and calls. Each buzz of my phone sends a jolt through me, but I can’t face him. Not yet.
