A Thousand Letters(43)

"Was he always like that? So … angry?"

"No. Not before. But he's been through so much. War. His dad." Me.

Jack shook his head. "You excuse everyone for treating you the way they do, did you know that?"

A defensive wind blew inside of me. "Because there are reasons, valid reasons, and I'm not so self-important as to think that I'm above their feelings."

"But what about your feelings?"

"It's not about me. That's my point."

He clenched his jaw, his voice hard. "But they treat you like you're not important at all."

"That's not entirely true. But I don't need their validation."

Another shake of his head. "I just hate that they treat you the way they do."

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, fuming. "Are you suggesting that I'm a doormat?"

He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "No, I didn't mean it that way."

"It sounds that way. It sounds like you're saying that because I don't stand up to them that I'm weak. But here's the thing — there's no point. Arguing will not change their behavior, and it helps no one, especially not me. I don't suffer very often because I don't let them hurt me. My being present is a choice. My enduring their judgment is a choice. My choice, and therein lies my power. I stay for the kids. I stay because, believe it or not, Mary and Charlie have helped me, and I repay that gladly. So my sister is condescending and demanding, just like my father. They've always been this way, and I've always been the way I am. I have my reasons, but I want you to understand that this is my choice. I endure enough judgment from them — I would really rather not receive it from you too."

His face was long, eyes sad and apologetic. "I'm sorry, Elliot. You're right. It's none of my business. I think … I think I just wanted to know that you had fight in you, and that if you wanted to use it, you could."

"Thank you." My heart hammered against my ribs at the confrontation. We started walking again, and I felt strange, better, stronger for having spoken up.

I wondered over why I'd said it, a brash rush of emotion that I'd normally have felt and let pass through me. Was it because he wasn't one of the alleged oppressors? He was unaffiliated, safe. I wasn't blind to his points — in fact, they were completely valid, things I'd considered myself so many times over the course of my life.

Did my family weaken me? Possibly. Did they take advantage of me? Definitely. But I imagined arguing with Mary, and the thought held no promise. She would never change — none of them would. It was one thing to defend my own choices to someone sort of unaffiliated, like Jack. It was another thing entirely to convince Mary she'd done something to hurt me — she'd only blame me, tell me I was wrong for feeling the way I did. It was pointless, a waste of energy for an affirmation I didn't need.

The thought crossed my mind to leave, to remove myself from the situation entirely, because I knew it was toxic, whether I let it get to me or not. But imagining walking away from the kids set my heart on fire. Who would they turn to? Who would tuck them in and sing songs in the bathtub with them? I couldn't leave them with Mary alone to show them love, and Charlie would try, but he couldn't devote the time to them that I could. That was, if I even had somewhere to go, which I didn't.

And just like that, I was reminded of the corner I'd painted myself into.

Jack and I chatted a little before reaching the school, and we parted ways with my promise to text him to let him know how the camp-in went. And once the kids were safely in school, I was alone with my thoughts once again as I walked the blocks to the bookstore.

I smiled at the familiarity of the store when I walked through. An old Shins album played over the speakers, and I headed to the back to put my things away, stopping in the office for my register drawer. Cam smiled up at me from her desk.

"Hey, Elliot. How's everything going?"

"Good, thank you."

She handed me the plastic drawer full of money to count. "And your friend's dad?"

"He's well. We're throwing him a camping party tonight," I said with a smile, imagining the look on his face when he saw what we'd done. "Roasted marshmallows and stars and everything."

Cam smiled, propping her head on her hand. "That is a stellar idea."

I chuckled at the pun. "Thank you. It should be fun."

"Well, once things settle down, I'm going to hound you until you come to a singles night. The next one is an Austen party. We're having a costume contest and everything." She beamed, and I chuckled.

"I'm sure there will be hordes of men at this Jane Austen costume party."

"That's why it's also Viscount's Night — guys drink free before ten if they come in costume."

"That is genius."

"What can I say," she said theatrically, shaking her head like it was her burden. "This is my gift to the world. Well, this and getting people to tell me their secrets. Just yesterday I learned way more about Beau's foot fetish than I ever needed to know."

"Oh, my God," I said with a laugh.

"So, you're coming to the next one." She eyeballed me over the top of her glasses.

I sighed and turned my attention to the cash drawer. "We'll see."