AERIS
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I have to be the stupidest person on the entire planet. I just spent all my money on a ticket to Oregon—a ticket that cost me at least a month’s worth of groceries and utilities.
Yesterday, I would’ve rather slathered myself in honey and let my body be consumed by carnivorous bugs than ever consider being in a ten-foot radius of the person I’m going to visit.
My dad.
But I needed an excuse to get away. I needed to find out what my father knows.
I didn’t even tell Lila I was leaving the state. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the breakup. She would’ve spent the entire day consoling me, pampering me, unintentionally reminding me just how miserable I am. I don’t want to be pitied, and I know my father would chew his own arm off before showing me any kind of solace.
Now, as I step onto the porch, my stomach squirms with nerves, and this feeling of trepidation chokes me like a thick fog. I can’t turn back. I mean, I could, but that would require me sleeping in an airport and waiting twelve hours for the next flight out.
The door opens without me even having to knock, and my mother flings her arms around me, enveloping me in that signature vanilla scent of hers—the one that hasn’t changed since my childhood. She always smelt like safety and comfort, even when she didn’t offer it.
I don’t hug her all the way back, but I don’t recoil either. She’s lost a lot of weight since I last saw her, and I can feel her ribs poke me through the thin sweater hanging off her emaciated frame. Her face is sallow and wrinkled, her skin flaxen, and her beautiful head of brown hair has turned a fiery silver. The realization of how long I’ve been away from my parents hits me like a semitruck.
“Oh, Aeris,” she croons, her rheumy eyes whisking over me, a smile line dotting the corner of her mouth.
I paste on a saccharine grimace. “Hi, Mom.”
I don’t…hate…my mother. I did. I really did, and it took me a while to understand that she was just as much a victim as I was when it came to my father’s reign of power. I know my mother should have stood up for me and Roden. I know, but I also know that she needed help—that she wasn’t strong enough to leave my dad. There’s a part of me that regrets not being by her side, not helping her find the courage.
I’m one to talk. I had lower self-esteem than a girl in seventh grade before meeting Hayes. He helped me when I needed it, and I couldn’t even do the same for the woman who raised me. Or, I guess, she kinda raised me.
“Let me take your bag.” Elaine reaches for my small carry-on, even though it looks like it could break her back if she tried lifting it above her head.
I follow her into the house, and immediately, I yearn for the familiarity of my childhood home. My parents sold the house when Roden died, and with it went all my childhood memories. Believe it or not, there were some good ones in there. The memory of me falling down the stairs and breaking my tooth; the memory of me and my mom baking sugar cookies every Sunday; the memory of our family adopting our first dog, Curly Lu, from the shelter. All of it…gone.
The memory of finding Roden’s bo—
My mother’s voice cleaves through my thoughts. “We made up the guest room for you.”
The room is about the size of my living room, which isn’t bad at all considering my mother hasn’t been employed since my brother’s death. It’s spacious and a little neglected, judging by the layers of dust on every flat surface. The bed is upheld by spruce reinforcements, and there’s a checkered quilt draped over the foot of the mattress. A small nightstand sits to the side, adjacent to a lounge chair in the corner of the room. The ceiling is exposed, with spindle-wide beams, as a vintage fan with rust-stained blades sweeps through milky pastures of cobwebs. The floral-stamped curtains billow out from the decrepit window grill, matching the area rug over the hardwood floors.
“Uh, thanks, Mom.” I take my suitcase from her hands and set it on the bed.
My mother bumps her hip out, watching me carefully as I start to unpack some of my toiletries.
“I made casserole for dinner. It’s still hot. Do you want some?”
Food sounds great right now, especially since all I ate for lunch was a meager bag of airplane peanuts, but if I fall back into a sense of normalcy with them, I’m not going to be able to keep this trip objective. I’m not here to rebuild relationships or take happy trips down memory lane. I’m here because I have to know the logistics behind Hayes’ whole operation.
“I’m okay. Thanks, though,” I say, despite my empty stomach protesting.
Elaine, still as oblivious as ever, graces me with a smile that looks so much like my own. “Okay. We’ll save you a piece for tomorrow.”
And just like that, she’s gone from the doorway, as if she was never here to begin with—an apparition that only ever existed in my imagination.
I set aside my pajamas for the night, and then an inexplicable cold falls over the room, submerging me in an Ice Age’s worth of snow. The metronomic tick of my heart is the only constant reassuring me that I haven’t entered some kind of catatonic state.
“Aeris.”
My father’s powerful voice sounds from the doorway, grabbing my attention instantly, and I really hope he didn’t notice the way my shoulders jumped.
A gulp clicks its way down my throat. “Sperm donor.”
“Never thought you’d come to visit us,” he chuckles, though that forked tongue of his couldn’t be more incapable of humor.
I slough off the fear that’s no doubt etched into my features. “You know why I’m here,” I snap icily. “I’m not back for you. I’m only here for answers.”
“Of course you are. You’re my daughter. As much as you hate to admit it, we’re more alike than you think.”
My glare has enough venom in it to paralyze a full-grown man, and it’s a look reserved just for my father. “We are nothing alike.”
When my fists clench, I want to cringe from the sting of broken skin on my hands. Oh, God. I wish I could punch him right in the face. I probably would if I was strong enough or had any idea how to throw one.
“How did you know?”
Michael leans against the doorway, blocking the exit. If I had to make a quick getaway, I’d have to crawl out the window and into the gardenias. His size has always intimidated me, and that’s why I’ve been so afraid of what would happen if he were ever to get physically abusive with me.
“About Hayes?” With the way his face is shadowed, all I can see are the whites of his eyes and the glint of his teeth.
“About Hayes.”
“Ethan Blythe, Hayes’ agent, is a member of my country club. I overheard him talking about Hayes’ efforts to rebrand his image. He mentioned something about a sponsor’s daughter and a fake relationship. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but then those pictures of you and him surfaced, and I put the pieces together,” he explains.
“And how do you know who Hayes’ agent is? How do you even know who Hayes is?”
“My buddy I was with at the time, Joshua, is a huge NHL fan, and he follows the sport closely. That bastard even drove all the way down to California for some sponsored event.” There’s a smugness buried in my father’s tone.
Oh my God. Joshua. From the sponsor party. The puzzle pieces were right in front of me, waiting for me to put them together.
“I can’t fucking believe this.”
“I told you so.”
Rage crawls up my spine, the tension in my shoulders deadlocking with each step I take toward him. “God, you’re a fucking piece of work, you know that? Instead of comforting your daughter, you need to rub it in my face. You always need to be right. I shouldn’t have come all this way. The relief of knowing wasn’t worth being ridiculed by you.”
His lips curl back from his teeth in a snarl. “You won’t speak to me in my own house like that. I’m doing you and your mother a favor by letting you stay here.”
A flat laugh drags out of my mouth. “What? Feeling a little emasculated, Michael?”
That sets him off. My father steps into me, forcing me back against the wall, and his arms flings out to cage me on either side. His potent cologne is making me lightheaded, and when his beef jerky breath gusts over my face, I swallow down the panic making my heart rebel against my ribs.
The fire in his voice is just above a flame. “You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass for twenty-three years. It should’ve been you. You should’ve killed yourself that night. At least Roden wouldn’t have talked back to me.”
It should’ve been you.
Shock is the first thing that hits me. Then grief. And then anger.
The same anger that’s always belonged to my dad is now mine, and no part of me wants to smother that fire-breathing dragon. I push him back with enough force to steal his balance, then I’m the one staring him down.
“You don’t think I wish it would’ve been me? You don’t think I would’ve done anything to go back in time and change what happened that night? You didn’t even cry when he died, or during his funeral. I had to carry all that pain. By myself.”
I don’t recognize the sound of my voice. I don’t recognize myself.
“I’m done taking this shit from you. I’m done letting you have any part in my life. I tried to keep communication open, for the sake of Mom, but I can’t do it anymore. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, and an even more laughable excuse for a father. I’m done hating myself because you hate me. I’m done blaming myself for your mistakes. You were the one who drove Roden to kill himself,” I growl, and I would be freaking out by now if I wasn’t so ramped up on adrenaline. I’ve never talked to my dad like this. I’ve never had the courage to.
I expect him to lash back, but he doesn’t. I force him into the doorway, sharpening my glare on his retreating figure. He visibly moves back when I grip the side of the door.
“You’ll always have blood on your hands. And I hope that when you’re on your last breath, alone, wishing for that sweet release of death, you’ll realize that you’ve driven everyone away. You’re fucking lucky I’m nothing like you, otherwise your blood would be on my hands.”
I shut the partition as soon as he allows me the space, and the combination of my pulse and heartbeat pop roughly in my ear canals.
Once I hear his footsteps diminish down the hallway and see his shadow move from under the door, I drag myself to the bed, letting the dam behind my eyes break. And then I cry the hardest I’ve cried since Roden’s death.
MY MOTHER’S been shoving her baked goods in my face the entire morning. I think they’re mainly guilty pastries, but they taste delicious, nonetheless.
My father went out to run errands, and I’m planning on leaving before he comes back. I needed to speak with my mom without him monitoring our conversation.
Elaine’s gray eyes laser in on me, as if she can see through to the depth of my pain. “This man you were seeing…he broke your heart, didn’t he?”
“He broke more than my heart. He broke my trust. He lied to me about our entire relationship. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. But in the end, I should’ve listened to my gut. I could’ve avoided all of this,” I confess.
She reaches across the table to hold my hand. Her hand is cold, despite the house being fairly warm, and her fingers are bony. They grasp me like she’s afraid to let go—like she knows I’ll leave once I’m given the chance.
“I’m so sorry, Aeris,” she consoles, her free hand tightening the sweater around her shoulders. “Did you love him?”
Moisture wells in my eyes, and I stare hollowly at the lemon square I’d been nibbling on. “I did. I loved him more than I thought was humanly possible, Mom.”
“Do you want to mend things? Do you want to give him a second chance?”
“If I give him a second chance, I’m just giving him another opportunity to break my heart.” I need a padlock on my heart with the way it’s close to beating out of my chest.
“I’ll support whatever you choose to do. But you can’t be afraid to love. Real love—true love—is worth fighting for, no matter the wounds you get in the process,” she says, using her sleeve to paw at my sodden cheeks.
My mother’s desserts are rotting into sludge in my belly. “I can’t fight. I don’t…I don’t have it in me,” I whisper brokenly.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She comes over to my side and kneels down next to me. “I know you’re tired. Your heart’s been through so much.”
The breath I had spools out of me, only to be replaced by a string of painful hiccups.
“You probably won’t want to hear this, but if you truly love this man, you need to fight for what you had. Think about your brother. Your brother didn’t fight for love, and he lost his fight. I don’t want you to go down the same path. You’re a fighter, Aeris. I know you are. You have been your whole life.”
She’s wrong. I haven’t been fighting. I haven’t been living. I’ve been letting myself drown, wave after excruciating wave. Everything I do, every relationship I have—it’s all dictated by the trauma from my past. It’s like I don’t know how to function without pain.
“I’m not a fighter.”
“You are. You’re the strongest person I know. I haven’t done a lot with my time on this Earth, but the one thing I’ll always take pride in is having you. I’m so proud of how you turned out,” she cries, the turbulent movement of her chest actively working against her words.
A sleet of tears sluices down my cheeks, and my nostrils sting. “I love you, Mom.”
Water floods my mother’s face, hope flickering behind her sad eyes. She embraces me, and even though it’s been a lifetime since we hugged, I still remember her touch vividly.
“I love you, Aeris. When you leave, I want you to fight for the life you had with him. If he’s there, laying his heart out for you, offering you the love I know you deserve, then consider taking it.”
I mop the rest of my tears up, only having the physical energy to nod.
“I heard you and your father talking last night. I…I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to come to terms with how horrible he’s treated you,” she says, and for the first time in forever, anger snags on her words.
I’ve never seen my mother angry before. I didn’t think she had a mean bone in her body.
“I should’ve left him a long time ago. And after seeing you again, I realize now that I can’t put it off any longer. I want to be able to see you all the time. I want to be able to have a relationship with my daughter. Michael, he never—”
“It’s okay, Mom. I don’t blame you for what Dad made you do. I’m just glad you’re going to get out. And if you ever need a place to stay, you’re welcome to come live with me,” I tell her.
She cups my face in her hands and knocks her forehead against mine. “I’m going to move in with an old friend from high school. But I’m going to come see you as soon as I get settled, okay?”
In that moment, something in my mother switches. Her hands don’t feel so cold anymore, and there’s a tint of color in her cheeks.
My lips sling into a smile. “Okay.”
Amidst everything that’s happened—from my fallout with Hayes to confronting my father—I didn’t think I’d be capable of feeling happiness again until weeks or months of mental recovery. But here, with my mother, making up for lost time, I feel it.
I feel the tiniest spark of happiness that reminds me I’ll be okay.
