Every Other Weekend(74)
“Can you stop telling the same story over and over again? None of that has anything to do with your size, because he would have done it anyway. Plus, he’s not your husband anymore, and his personal trainer has a name—Shelly.”
It felt as if my eyes opened twice as wide as hers. The pineapple upside-down cake in my stomach tried to turn itself into a right-side-up cake. I didn’t care about Shelly. I hated Shelly. She was awful, and she’d used our former friendship to get to my dad. I didn’t understand how my brain and my mouth could have become so disconnected, but I didn’t have time to think about it, because Mom took a step back from me.
“How could you say her name to me?”
And just like that, I was done. She was supposed to come home from her bad date, see me sneaking my birthday cake, and shake her head as she smiled. She was supposed to slip off her heels, grab a fork, and dig in with me. We could have laughed together, talked together, and when the cake was gone she could have hugged me, and told me she loved me, and that she was sorry for all the times she’d let me think she didn’t.
That was what Adam’s mom would have done. For his birthday, she’d probably fill their kitchen with cakes and hug him once for every year that he’d been alive. She wouldn’t just tell him how much she loved him, she’d show him over and over again, and he’d never spend a single sleepless night counting all the things that were wrong with him.
He’d never feel like he wasn’t enough.
Like he was the reason everyone was miserable.
Like his mom was unhappy because of him.
“Because it doesn’t matter if I say Shelly’s name. And it doesn’t matter if I eat a birthday cake for my birthday made by someone who actually cares about me. I don’t care what size I am. Why do you care more about what I eat than how I feel? Why can’t you care about me, me?” I said, pressing my fingers into my sternum. “Not how you can use me to hurt Dad or make you look good in front of Tom or—” I scoffed “—how the two of you can use me to spy on Dad and get you more money. For what? Will money make you happy? You weren’t happy when you were married and had Dad’s money. You’ve never been happy with me, and judging from the makeup you’ve cried off, Tom isn’t making you happy either. So, what do you want, Mom, because it looks like the only thing that makes you happy is when other people feel worse!”
And still, after saying all of that, there was a stupid speck of hope beating in my chest that wanted her to shake her head, to gasp and realize with a shock that although she’d been hurting me all these years, she hadn’t meant to. That hope imagined a scene in which she’d fall down in front of me, hugging me and begging me to forgive her.
It could have been the ultimate climax, with swelling music and an unsteady, handheld camera capturing it all.
But in the movie of my life, the characters never changed or grew. My life would never be the movie I wanted.
She slipped off her right earring, pulled out her phone and dialed, and lifted the cell to her ear.
She never once broke eye contact with me as she spoke. “Yes, I’m sorry for the late hour, Mrs. Cho, but this couldn’t wait. I don’t need you to come in tomorrow.”
“Mom,” I said, my voice more breath than sound as I clutched the edge of the island, my heart plummeting.
“My financial situation has become more difficult of late and I won’t be able to keep you on any longer.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll look at Dad’s papers, whatever you want. Please. Please don’t.” For a second I thought she heard me, not just my voice but the plea that came straight from my heart.
“Yes, of course. Thank you for understanding.”
She ended the call and replaced her earring. “You think that woman cares about you? Ask me what she said when I fired her. Ask me what her concern was.”
I shook my head, feeling like I might throw up the last thing Mrs. Cho would ever make me.
“A reference letter. Not you.” She strode across the kitchen until she was right in front of me. “She didn’t even say your name.”
My lungs emptied in a sob and my arms came up to wrap around myself.
“Look at me.”
And when I couldn’t, she lifted my chin herself.
“One day, you’ll thank me for teaching you the most important lesson you’ll ever learn—caring about people who can’t get you anything in return is a waste.”
Then she pressed her lips against my forehead and told me to clean up the kitchen before I went to bed.
ADAM
The second hand of my bedroom wall clock was passing the nine, ten, eleven, and the moment it ticked past the twelve and hit midnight, I pressed Call on my phone. The lateness of the hour made the phone slip in my slightly sweaty hand as I waited for her to pick up.
And waited.
Waited.
I was beginning to wonder if she was asleep when her voice, low but clear, replaced the continuous ringback.
“Adam. It’s midnight. Are you dying or super rude?”
“No,” I said, and then I laughed. “You can’t think of a single reason why I’d be calling you at exactly midnight on this particular day?”
“Let me think for a moment,” she said, but I could hear that she was smiling.