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Memoir final draft
By: caseyholland Date: April 6, 2014, 11:04 pm
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I was dressed in black when my mom told me the news.
My black dress was intentional, of course – we were at a
funeral dinner. My mom’s boyfriend, Joe, had just lost his dad.
I had come home from school for the weekend to be with them and,
even though I hadn’t lost a blood relative, I still felt the
loss. Joe and his family had been a part of our lives for nearly
two years at that point. They welcomed my mom, my sister Emily
and I into their close-knit unit of family dinners and holiday
celebrations with open arms.
The loss of the head of that unit, the kind old man who had
deemed me “Smiley” and gave me books that reminded him of me,
still had me reeling late into the night.
The wine helped slow the constant stream of thoughts down. If
not that, it helped me not mind the spinning as much as before.
I snuck one more sip before casually wandering over to my
mom, almost spooked as our eyes met. The similarities in mine
and my mom's appearances were striking - I couldn't count how
many times strangers on the street had stopped us and marveled
at the fact that we "must be mother and daughter." The only
feature of my dad's that I'd inherited was his dark brown eyes,
where my mom and sister shared a soft shade of green.
Of course, there was also my hair, which my mom playfully
referred to as my "college rebellion phase." Now a striking
black with violet bangs, my hair contrasted my mom's long brown
locks.
Her arm was around Joe, her head resting against his
shoulder, and the sight of this contact made me smile despite
the circumstances. I could not remember once catching my mom in
such a casually intimate moment with my dad – in fact, contact
between the two of them was a rarity, more at my dad’s request
than hers. But as I took in the calm that had settled across
Joe’s features and the way my mom seemed to keep him grounded
even after his world cracked right beneath him, I wondered why
anyone would reject moments like these.
“Get a room, lovebirds,” I teased, wanting to sound normal
even though my voice came out somewhat hollow. “There are kids
here.”
Joe met my half-hearted smirk with one of his own before
planting a sloppy kiss on my mom’s cheek. I rolled my eyes,
though my actions were far from hostile. If anything, I was
trying to create an air of normalcy around the three of us.
“She goes away to school and comes back a snarky little-”
Joe’s voice, muttered just loudly enough for me to hear, was cut
off abruptly by a light smack from my mom and a lifted eyebrow
from me. This was our routine, and while I wished it were under
any other circumstance, I was glad to be home and experience it
again.
Joe’s youngest daughter, Paige, was grinning as she came to
stand beside me. We stood at almost the same height, me being
only two years older than she was. She took one look at her dad
and my mom and simply shook her head, chuckling at one of her
inner jokes.
“Dad, why don’t you just put a ring on it already?” Paige
asked bluntly. My mom’s face turned scarlet faster than she was
able to shield it from our view, Joe grinning almost bashfully.
“Jesus, Paige,” he said, his exasperation tinted with
amusement.
“Yeah, she’s not even divorced yet,” I pointed out. My
parents had been separated for nearly two years, but trivial
battles over money and my dad’s pride kept them bound in
matrimony. My mom cleared her throat and looked up, looking as
if she were fighting a smile.
“Actually…” Her voice trailed off and I blinked, my head
tilted quizzically to the side as I waited for her to finish her
thought.
When she didn’t, I gave her a slight nod of encouragement.
“Actually…?”
She would have told me when the divorce was finalized.
She would have called me right away. I had been one of her
closest confidants throughout the entire process, something that
was both a blessing and a curse. My mom telling me everything
right after it happened kept me from wandering through this maze
of a situation in the dark.
But their divorce was also the first time I realized that
ignorance really could mean bliss.
My mom bit down on her lip, hesitating before she finally
responded to me.
“We went to the courts about a week ago,” she said. “It… It’s
done. We’re done, officially.”
I’m pretty sure it took me a moment to actually utter a
response. Honestly, it’s hard for me to even remember my initial
response, much less my physical reaction. There was no anger,
except maybe towards the fact that no one had told me that this
seemingly unending fight had finally, well, ended. Attending
Michigan State University and living away from home for the
first time had forced me out of my tight-knit family circle. I'd
gone from being the first to know to the last.
I didn’t feel sad, I just felt… hollow. Hollow and tired, my
legs suddenly not feeling strong enough to hold me up. To ease
my mom’s increasingly concerned look, I put on a smile similar
to the one I’d given Joe only moments before.
“You guys really do suck at keeping me in the loop now that
I’m gone,” I teased. My mom opened her mouth to say something
else, her mouth closing as I shook my head in protest.
“This is good,” I continued. “Really, it’s great, it… It’s
about time, you know?”
My mom nodded, my smile beginning to feel much more like
plaster at this point. I nervously tucked my hair back, suddenly
feeling as if the three people surrounding me completely towered
over me in height. I didn’t know what I needed, other than that
I needed to get away from them. I needed to be by myself.
“I’ll be back; I’m just going to sit down for a minute.” I
turned around before any of them could stop me, looking as if I
were fleeing a crime scene as I swiftly walked over to a vacant
table. I collapsed onto the nearest chair, my nails picking at
the skin of my trembling fingers again.
Black felt like an even more appropriate color to be wearing.
I wasn’t only mourning Joe’s dad at this point – I was also
mourning the end of my parents’ marriage, the death of a piece
of my own life.
As this thought passed through my mind, though, another one
hit me with a much greater force.
I wasn’t mourning.
A shaky breath fell from my lips as I let my still hands rest
in my lap. I wasn’t mourning, I wasn’t sad. I had no reason to
feel as if I’d lost anything vital: my parents’ marriage had
been, when all was said and done, absolutely miserable for all
of us.
How many nights had I been woken up, and then kept awake
until early morning, by their shouting matches? Every night was
a repeat episode of whose mouths could spew the worst insults
towards each other, of who could hurt each other worse, and my
sister and I were the unwilling audience to every showing.
The thing is, these battles didn’t end even after my dad
stepped out of the house for the last time. They were fought on
different fronts, and this time, it was Emily and me who
received the blows they meant for each other.
I couldn’t be around my dad without hearing some comment
about my mom and how she had destroyed our family. He claimed to
me that he never wanted the divorce, that these changes were
entirely her fault while he himself was innocent, the victim of
the situation. His words were empty to me, though, because I
knew the truth.
I knew that he told mom to her face that he’d never fight for
her.
I knew that he was hardly paying for my sister throughout the
duration of their separation.
And I learned so much about him and things he’d done when I
was too small to remember them, things that I wish I didn’t know
now, because I can’t look at him the same way I did before all
of this started. Some days, I can’t even bring myself to look at
him at all.
Remember what I mentioned before, about ignorance being
bliss?
Because a year and a half of angry outbursts from my mother
had shed a whole new light on my father. Because I now knew
that, when I was eight-years-old, he didn’t leave for a few
months to help my uncle with his basement; he left with the
intent of never coming back.
I still don’t know what convinced him to come back in the
first place. My mom told me she did some things she wasn’t proud
of to change his mind. I think part of me will always wonder
what she did, but a much stronger part of me will always be
afraid to ask.
There were other things about their marriage that, once the
divorce process officially started, suddenly became more
illuminated. I noticed then how little my dad would spend time
with us, how his days were spent at work or in his basement, how
my mom would have to beg him just to sit down and watch the
television with us.
As I looked back, I felt a sinking dread that maybe he didn’t
actually want to be around us at all. Even after the separation
got its start, my sister and I only saw him once a week if that…
and there were the occasional weekends where he’d reschedule or
even cancel on us for a date.
Of course, I also cancelled on him more than once, but I had
my own reasons. I didn't want to listen to him and my uncle rant
and criticize everything about my mom. They didn't seem to care
that they were talking about someone who was half of myself,
half of his own daughter, and I didn't care to listen to them.
I was also an angry teenager at the time, though I didn't
consider this a teenage rebellion as much as I considered it me
finally trying to stop laying down and take whatever he had to
give me without fighting back. And although I was angry, I was
still a teenager, still a child. It shouldn't have been my
responsibility to act like the adult.
I closed my eyes, letting out another breath before opening
them again and glancing around the dining hall. When my gaze
landed on Joe and my mom, their hands now entwined as they sat
at a table and chatted idly with Joe’s children, I couldn’t help
but smile.
The divorce didn’t only reveal to me things I wished I didn’t
know. It also taught me things I needed to know, both about
myself and what I want out of my future. I looked at my mom and,
while I still loved and respected her after it was over, I knew
that I could never let myself end up like how she had been with
my dad.
The thought of letting myself rely on anyone for anything,
whether it be financial security or even something like my own
happiness, left me feeling sick to my stomach. After witnessing
my dad destroy those parts and more of my mom, I knew that I
would never put myself in the position to be destroyed.
I knew that, if I ever did fall in love, I would want it to
be with someone who would give me as many little moments as Joe
gave my mom.
I smiled a bit down at my hands, no longer shaking or
indulging in my nervous habit. I wasn't mourning - I was
celebrating. This was the death of one part of my life, but
rather the birth of something new altogether. I looked at all of
the people who would soon become a part of my family, whenever
Joe found the courage to propose to my mom and, even more
importantly, whenever my mom found the courage to respond with a
"yes."
I did not know when that day would be, but I knew that I
would not fight it when it came. I had already accepted Joe and
the rest of the Addison family into our lives a long time before
the divorce had been finalized. We already acted like one
massive unit.
My mom let go of Joe's hand and looked over at me before
leaving her table and walking over to mine. She was worried
about me, but, then again, she always found a way or reason to
worry about me. That was evident simply within the abundance of
times she had called me since I arrived at Michigan State
University and the pepper spray she armed me with before I left
home.
I smiled, a much more genuinly reassuring smile, as she took
the seat next to me. She sighed heavily as she sat, her
expression a mixture of both exhaustion and relief. The divorce
process had taken a toll on her, probably more than it had
myself or my sister. She looked like someone coming out of a
ten-mile race, a tired droop to her eyelids.
Through the exhaustion, she also looked like she had won.
"Are you okay?" she asked as I studied her, jolting me out of
my thoughts. I paused before answering her.
"Yeah, I mean, I don't think I really have any reason not to
be," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "I knew it was going to
happen - it should have a long time ago."
"It definitely should have." She shook her head in disbelief.
"I'm sorry for not telling you right away. Things have just been
hectic here."
I thought about Joe's dad ending up in the hospital and how
touch-and-go things had been and immediately felt guilt clench
my stomach for ever being upset that they had not told me. There
were more important things going on. Divorce gossip could have
waited.
"It's okay," I said. "I'm okay. I really am."
She smiled and wrapped an arm around me, prompting me to rest
my head on her shoulder. The worst was over. For the first time
in two years, since the divorce got its start from my dad
walking out the door, I felt like we were really ready to move
on to better things.
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