Every Other Weekend(98)
“I’m still not loving it but I’m reading it. Well, not the songs, but everything else. For you. So we can talk about it next—”
I kissed her before she could finish speaking.
TWELFTH WEEKEND
February 26–28
Jolene
I didn’t wait for Adam on our next weekend. I watched from the roof as their car pulled up and he and Jeremy got out, followed by a woman I instantly knew was Adam’s mom. She had his reddish-brown hair and light complexion, and there was something in the way she moved to hug each of her sons that I recognized, an innate grace and strength that I’d only ever associated with Adam before.
She held on to them way too long, and though I was too high up to see the tears on her face when she pulled back, I saw her brush them away. Adam lifted his bag and pointed to the building. He was asking her to come up with them. Jeremy added his own request, reaching for her hand and nodding his head, but she shook hers almost violently and backed up until she was pressed against the side of the car.
Adam’s and Jeremy’s shoulders slumped in identical movements. I expected Adam to go hug her again and apologize for asking, reassure her that it was fine if she didn’t want to go up.
But he didn’t. His fists clenched, and when Jeremy took a step toward our building, Adam hesitated, watching their mom before dropping his head and following his brother.
I don’t know if his head fell farther when he didn’t find me waiting inside for him. I know only that, when he got upstairs, he didn’t come knocking on my door or calling to me from his balcony.
* * *
I didn’t know what to do with myself on Saturday. Normally, as soon as I woke up, I went over to Adam’s and spent the day with him. For months that had been our routine, but I couldn’t go get him that morning. And he didn’t come get me. Last weekend had told me what to expect moving forward, and without Valentine’s Day as an excuse for him to get away, this was how it would be. I knew I couldn’t spend the whole day in my bedroom working on the film I’d made Adam for Christmas like I had the night before, and I was so focused on getting away from everything that watching that movie made me feel that I neglected to check the living room before pulling my bedroom door wide-open.
My dad wasn’t there, of course not; it was Shelly.
She was dressed in a skimpy silk nightie and robe that she had to be freezing in. She walked to the coffeepot with her phone pressed to her ear, oblivious to my open door.
“—but I waited for you last night,” she said, her voice equal parts hope and hurt. “You said you’d wake me up when you got home.” She shivered and tugged the flimsy silk robe tighter around herself as she filled the carafe with water. “No, I know, I know, but—” She stopped talking as I imagined he cut her off. She had time to measure the coffee grounds before he let her talk again. “I thought that since it was our anniversary you might—”
I should have quietly closed my door and tiptoed back to my bed, pretend I’d never heard my dad feeding excuses to Shelly for why he apparently hadn’t come home for their anniversary. It was bad enough that I’d had to watch her hunch into herself as he likely berated her for trying to make him feel bad for doing his damn job!
Growing up, I’d overheard him and Mom having that same fight more times than I could count.
You were the one who wanted the big house!
Because you’re never here! I needed something to make me feel less alone.
Right, because I’m not just responsible for putting this ridiculous roof over your head. I’m responsible for how you feel living under it! Well then, cheers to you, Helen. I hope it finally makes you happy.
Keep your voice down or you’ll wake Jolene.
That’s rich. She’s just another thing you said you needed until you actually got it. Buyer’s remorse doesn’t work so well with a kid, does it?
One or both of them would leave after that. When I was really little, there’d be another argument over who had to stay in the house with me. Mom usually lost, and I’d have to pretend to be asleep while she stood in my bedroom doorway muttering things that no kid should ever hear their mother say.
Watching Shelly, I couldn’t remember if the fights between my parents had ever started as timidly as the one I saw in that kitchen. Not that Shelly and my dad were technically fighting. She wasn’t raising her voice and seemed to be conceding every point to him. It was kind of pathetic, or that was what I tried to tell myself so I wouldn’t feel every quiver of her chin.
Shelly’s hands were shaking when she lowered her phone. She stood there, staring at the coffee maker for a long moment, before one still-shaking hand poured a cup.
“I’m sure that was fun for you,” she said without turning. “Poetic justice, right? He probably missed anniversaries with your mom because he was with me, and here I am freezing in this ridiculous—” she plucked at the hem that barely covered her butt “—thing that he never even saw.”
Then she laughed, and all the hairs on my arms rose. “Everyone said I was an idiot. Literally, I didn’t have a single friend who told me it was okay, no matter how much I swore we were in love.”
Cherry’s face sprang up in my mind for the first time since my birthday, and along with it came all the fights we’d had over her being with Meneik. She and Shelly weren’t the same, but their situations might have started out much more similarly than I’d ever considered. As hurt and angry as I still was, I felt hollow when I imagined a future for Cherry that even slightly resembled Shelly’s present.