Page 98 of The Blessing

chapter 37

landslide

Evelyn is just as I remembered her. I’m not sure why I thought she’d be any different. I suppose that after my dad’s revelation—I imagined coming across a different woman completely. Someone who was misunderstood in my eyes… until now. However, she’s the same—except for her face: which looks a tad tighter and more lifted than the last time I saw her, causing her to look not only expressionless, but emotionless, as well. I suppose the divorce settlement has afforded her more trips to the plastic surgeon.

I want to be fucking snide with her because of everything she’s done, but seeing the woman before me now, I can’t bring myself to do it. She has nothing left—whether she wants to admit it to herself or not. No amount of alcohol, trips to her cosmetic surgeon, or late nights with her girlfriends is going to make her feel whole again. She loved my dad; even with her cold heart, she loved him. My dad has left her and her only son has died. Sure, she has a shallow group of friends, but they all have lives and families of their own. Despite Evelyn appearing to be calm and put together on the outside, her entire fucking world has imploded. How can I treat her like shit after all that? I can sympathize with her. I’m not some asshole without empathy. We both lost Dean. We’ve both experienced heartbreak.

“Evelyn,” I politely greet her before taking a seat in a leather chair across from her.

This is the first time I’ve called her by her name and not by the title “mom.” Of course, I’ve referred to her by “Evelyn” in my head when I was angry with her, but I’ve never said it aloud. She doesn’t seem disturbed by this in the slightest. She takes a long drink of her Pinot Grigio, despite the fact that’s it’s just after twelve o’clock in the afternoon, before addressing me.

“So, you want to hear all about your father’s little girlfriend.” It’s not a question. She stares at me coldly as she swirls the contents of her glass around before taking another sip.

By the hostile look in her brown eyes and her lethargic appearance, it’s obvious this isn’t her first glass today. I can’t believe she’s fucking doing this when she knew I was coming over! I keep my mouth shut, though; I tell myself to just bite my tongue and be nice to her. She is doing me a huge fucking solid, after all. At first, I didn’t think she was going to meet with me. Honestly, I think the only reason she agreed to this meeting because she finds the idea of bashing my dad thrilling. Which I can understand, considering her position.

“Well,” I pause, trying to find the right words to say. “I just wanted to hear the story from your perspective. I don’t want a sugar-coated version or anything like that. I just want the truth. Even if it’s hard to tell me.” I don’t know why I say the last part because I doubt any of this will be hard for her.

Of course, I know her side of the story will be somewhat biased, but I also know that she won’t worry about hurting my feelings when she tells me the truth from her point-of-view. She hasn’t cared about sparing my feelings before this, so fuck me sideways if she has a change of heart now.

“Well, your father had an affair while I was busy taking care of our son,” she spits out before taking another drink.

Dad told me she was out of town, not that it fucking matters now, of course. However, this is her side of the story and she can only relay to me how she viewed the situation.

“He told me the affair only lasted a weekend… was that true?”

Evelyn is silent for a moment. She finishes off her glass of wine and pours another before staring off into space. Her face mirrors the conflict that must be brewing inside of her. Suddenly, I wonder if I should trust her story at all. Fuck, what can I trust anymore? I’ve been lied to for so long that I can barely fucking believe a word anyone says.

“He said it was a weekend, but who can tell with that man. If a man’s morals are loose enough to cheat, what makes you think he isn’t capable of lying, as well?”

He has lied to me my entire life. Lying by omission is just as fucking bad as telling me a lie to my face every single fucking day. He had ample time to tell me the truth, despite how horrific the truth allegedly is.

“I don’t know, Evelyn” I respond, my voice already filled with resignation. “Did it feel like he was telling you the truth?”

“He was. Although, he didn’t leave her because of his feelings for me. She was married and her husband came back. What kind of woman cheats on her husband while he’s deployed? Anyway, that’s the sort of woman your father seems to find appealing.”

Despite the bitchiness in her tone, I can still hear the hurt in her voice. I’ve never seen my mom—Evelyn—act this way. She’s always been so composed, artificial even. I’ve never seen her show any true emotion. Even at Dean’s funeral she barely shed a tear. I knew she was hurting. I could see it on her face, but she didn’t dare sob. I hadn’t cried as much compared to the inner-turmoil raging inside of me because all I felt was fucking anger. Dad cried, though. He silently wept and it hurt me to watch him. Evelyn had acted strange that entire day—which was to be expected considering it was her son’s funeral—but some of her odd behavior just stuck with me.

That day I was so distressed and so fucking angry. On top of that, I was trying to get to know my nephew. I hadn’t been focused on how I looked or what I was wearing. Who the fuck would care anyway? It was my brother’s funeral for fuck’s sake. How composed did anyone expect me to be? As soon as Evelyn saw my appearance she was horrified. She acted like I was going to embarrass her because of my “grunge” outfit. “Are you really going to wear that, Trevor?” she had asked, her voice filled with contempt as she took in my outfit, which fully displayed my ink. She had me change into a borrowed shirt from my dad and a pair of shoes I hadn’t worn in years because they were the “best ones I had.” I’d been so fucking baffled. Dean was dead and she worried about our family’s appearance.

Even now, I sit across from her, watching her sad face as if it were a fucking exhibit, I wonder where her feelings are stemming from. Is she upset about losing my dad? Is she upset because the man she loved cheated on her? Or is she just upset because how his affair reflected on her? I don’t know if I’m just being negative and judgmental, but she hasn’t given me any reason to feel otherwise.

“Apparently, she was an old girlfriend of his. His parents had loved her until she left and married someone else. Of course, I stuck by your father, but they never showed me the same respect,” Evelyn tells me, completely miffed about how she wasn’t acknowledged in the same way as Felicity was.

So, she was an old girlfriend. Had he always been in love with Felicity, even when he chose Evelyn? Why hadn’t my mom waited for my dad to return from school? Why would she move on her with life without him? Every answer I get seems to raise more questions.

“Mom,” I begin before quickly shutting my mouth. Should I call her “mom” anymore? God, I don’t fucking know anything at this point. Sure, she was shitty to me, but at least she was fucking there. “Evelyn,” I finally start again, “why did you take care of me? Why would you allow me to call you ‘mom’ knowing I wasn’t yours?” My eyes water as the question leaves my lips. Is it possible that she ever fucking loved me? Or had I been unlovable from the very beginning?

“What was I supposed to do?” she asks, her voice hoarse. “Do you have any idea what it was like? I had a constant reminder of my husband’s infidelity staring me in the face. When we took you in, I made him promise me he’d never say that whore’s name ever again. I wanted no part of her in this house. You needed someplace to live and your father talked me into allowing you to become a part of our family. I allowed it, but only under my conditions.”

Did you love me? I want to ask. Did you ever fucking love me? I can’t find the courage to utter the words, but with a trembling lip and clenched jaw, I’m certain Evelyn can read my thoughts by just looking at my face.

“I tried, Trevor.”

“Did she not want me?” I quietly ask, not trusting my own voice.

Evelyn’s face softens. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Did she try to contact you or Dad after she left?” I press.