Break Your Heart (20 page)

Tell me,
I willed him.
Tell me this feels wrong, that you want me, that we can make this work somehow.
I knew it was ridiculous to hope for it, given the odds stacked against us, but I still wanted it. Because I was so in love with this man and I wanted to feel I was worth fighting for, even if the fight was harder than anything we’d expected to face.

But he didn’t say a damn word, just let go of my arm and exhaled. His breath was warm and tinged with the sweet edge of liquor, and his eyes were dark and hooded. Anguished with what was being left unsaid.

And I could tell in that moment that I’d already started losing him. Or maybe I’d never had Nick to begin with—I didn’t know anymore.

That gutted me more than anything. The fact that maybe all along I’d been lying to myself about how important I was to him. I wasn’t worth the wait, wasn’t worth hunkering down and persisting for.

“You should be with your mom right now,” he finally said in a gravelly tone. “She needs you.” His eyes slid away from mine.

He was right; I knew that. But the truth of the matter hurt me anyway. I wanted Nick to need me too, and for him to be there for me while I tried to repair the damaged relationship with my mom. While I tried to make sure she got the help she needed.

The way people in love were supposed to support each other during those rough patches.

I had totally created a fantasy that could never exist, and reality was smacking me in the face.

I gave a stiff nod and turned. Grabbed my coat, ignoring Gloria, who’d lifted herself off the floor to follow me to the door, and left. Walked down the stairs and got in my car and drove to my apartment.

My heart was a solid piece of ice, brittle and cold and aching in my chest. My cries were lodged right behind it, but I refused to let them out. I kept blinking away the sting of tears and focused on driving home.

Only when I was safe in my room, listening to the soothing clacking of Casey’s fingers as she typed away at her computer in her room, did I let the tears go and give in to the overwhelming sorrow.

I
scrubbed the deep pot until the mac-and-cheese bits were no longer clinging to the surface. From the living room, soft R&B played, and I tried to let the musical strains wrap around my ragged heart. A week had passed since I’d seen Nick. A week of total silence.

What was he doing? Was he thinking about me at all?

I spent so much time now trying to force him out of my thoughts, willing myself to not give him any extra space in my heart or my head. But it was
so
hard to do, because all of our intense conversations kept creeping back in. My gut told me that he had dropped walls for me too.

And stupid logic hammered steadily away at my emotionally battered noggin, saying it was easy enough for
me
to be upset and feel betrayed when
my
livelihood wasn’t on the line. Nick had been faced with a tough decision. Given that this was his life, and I’d only been a part of it for, what, a couple of months? Of course he would choose work.

That was the sensible, smart thing to do. And sensible, smart Megan couldn’t fault him for that.

But sensible, smart Megan hadn’t had her soul snapped in half last week. That had been the raw, vulnerable side. The side no one else had seen or touched before him.

It was Wednesday of my spring break. I’d basically spent the last several days eating more food than I should, working long hours at Stackers and sleeping. Totally unlike me to not be out having fun. I wasn’t one to live in a funk this long, but I couldn’t seem to shake it off.

Casey and Daniel had left last weekend on an impromptu out-of-state road trip, so she wouldn’t return to the apartment until Friday afternoon, in time to see her grandparents and do her shift at The Mask. So the place was quiet.

Before she’d gone, I’d asked her as evenly as possible if she’d said anything to anyone about me and Nick, and she’d flat out denied it. The truth was there in her eyes—she was innocent. I knew she wouldn’t lie to me. But I tried to downplay my feelings about the situation and the breakup during our conversation so she wouldn’t change her plans and stay here instead. Because that was the kind of friend she was.

No sense in both of us being this maudlin. I wanted her to go out and have fun. The irony struck me then—how we’d essentially switched places, with her being more social and me withdrawing.

I dried the pot and put it away, then wiped down the sink. Grabbed a Diet Coke and headed to the couch, then draped a blanket over my lap. My phone buzzed.

When I picked it up off the coffee table, the air locked in my tight lungs.

Mom.

“Hello?” I said tentatively.

“Megan, it’s me.” Her voice was slurring, and my stomach sank to my feet. She sounded like she was intoxicated. Or drugged up, more likely. “We need to talk.”

God, those effing words were haunting me lately. I bit back my angry response to them so I wouldn’t overreact before hearing what she had to say. “What do you want to talk about?”

I heard her rasping breaths on the phone, then some weird staticky shifting. “Megan, I . . . I need help.” There was such weakness in her voice, such pleading that I couldn’t help but react. My heart squeezed.

“Mom, did you take something?” I asked quietly.

“He hasn’t . . . he hasn’t talked to me for days.” She gave a weak sniffle, and her voice broke. “I’m afraid he’s gonna leave me. And it’s all my fault.”

“Dad?” Oh wow. I’d been sitting here, festering in my hurt over Nick, and I hadn’t bothered to check on my parents in the last few days. Shame and guilt scratched at my skin. I was the worst daughter. “What’s going on?”

“I’m losing it,” she admitted in a ragged, slurred voice. “And I’m tired and I’m scared and I can’t deal with this anymore.” Her tired sigh sounded like it ached her bones. “Getting so sleepy, Megan.”

I jumped up and gathered my keys. This wasn’t a convo we should be having on the phone. I wanted to see her face, talk to her. “I’m on my way, okay? Just stay on the phone with me. Keep talking. Don’t go to sleep.”

The drive there seemed to take forever. While I drove, I rambled on the phone about anything and everything. What it was like working at Stackers. Which homework assignments I hated. How Casey and Daniel were moving in together. I had no idea whether she was paying attention; she didn’t speak much, just made small noises and sniffles here and there, which let me know she was still awake. My head throbbed at my temples, and I was so scared I could barely see straight. But I got to the house—saw only Mom’s car in the driveway—and pulled in.

I ran to the front door and went right inside. Saw her curled on the couch in a long T-shirt, her dark, thin legs tucked under her. I hung up the phone and went over to gingerly remove the phone from her grip under her cheek.

Mom tilted her tear-streaked face up to me. “Megan, you’re here.” She looked exhausted, with massive bags under her eyes. Her skin was ashen, and her hair was a frightening mess. Her eyes couldn’t seem to focus, and she gazed around the room.

“Do I need to take you to the hospital?” I asked her as I pressed a hand to her forehead. Looked at her pupils to see how responsive she was. She didn’t seem like she’d overdosed. More like when she’d been on the meds for pain. Seriously drowsy.

I wrestled with what to do.

Her head lolled a bit. “No, I only took a couple, I promise. Just because . . .” A fat tear streaked down the side of her face onto the couch, and I bit back my own tears of sorrow. I had to hold it together for her. “I think he’s gonna leave me. We had a fight. I love him so much.” She paused for a long moment, just drawing in shallow, slow breaths. “I don’t wanna feel this pain anymore. I’m tired.”

After shifting her so her head was resting on my thigh, I stroked her brow. “The meds won’t take away that kind of hurt, Mom. Trust me.” I had to swallow a few times to loosen the knot in my throat. “And Dad won’t leave you. He loves you too. He’s just upset, watching you damage yourself like this. You can’t keep doing it.”

“I’m not trying to.” Her voice took on a stubborn edge. “But when the back pain started returning, I got scared. And the pills took it away.” Her eyes fluttered shut, and she seemed to calm from my touches. Her breathing grew a bit steadier.

I scrutinized her for any changes, phone right at my side, ready to call an ambulance if she seemed to show any signs of overdose. Every ten minutes or so, I nudged her to see if she was responsive. Her little sighs and movements showed me she was.

My thighs ached from sitting in the same position, but I held still for the next couple of hours and tried to not shift a lot. Somehow I sensed my mom needed sleep right now more than anything. The tension in my body unwound fraction by fraction as time ticked by.

Finally I saw her eyelids open. She blinked up at me, then sat up and scrubbed a hand over her face. Her whole body was hunched over.

“You okay?” I whispered.

When her shoulders started to shake, I wrapped my arms around her, and we both cried together. All the agonizing stings in my heart split wide open. Mom threw her arms around me and held me.

“I’m so sorry,” she kept saying. I could hear the shame heavy in her voice, still thickened from drugs and sleep. “I was wrong, so wrong to push you away. I know you’re trying to help.”

I rested my chin on her shoulder. My eyes ached; my head throbbed. I rubbed her back, noting the rib bones were a touch more pronounced than usual. My poor mom. “I’m here for you. But I can’t help you until you wanna help yourself.”

I felt her nod. She sniffled and pulled away. Her eyes were still glassy, but she seemed more awake than before.

“I promise,” she said as she gripped my hand. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

As I looked in her eyes, I could see the sincerity in them. In this moment, she really was done with it—she wanted to get better. My mom was coming back to me, bit by bit. And I would do my part to ensure it stayed that way. “I’m moving back home for a couple of days while you sort out what you want to do,” I added with a steely stare at her. “And
no
fighting me on this, because that’s all there is to it. I’ve already decided.”

Her face grew sad, and she stroked my cheek. “My stubborn Megan. So much like me.” I heard the ache in her words, the embarrassment. I knew she was beating herself up over this. My mom had never been a weak woman, and I could tell she was mortified to have her vulnerabilities on full display. But the fact that we were talking about this openly gave me real hope for the first time in a while.

“We’re family. That’s what we do—we don’t give up on each other,” I whispered hotly and hugged her again. Tears flew to my sore eyes again, slid down my cheeks. But they were cleansing tears, ones that eased that dull throb in my chest.

When we pulled away that time, there was a lot of sniffling and self-conscious chuckles. She and I wiped our tears, squared our shoulders. We were Porter women, and we weren’t going to dwell in this darkness anymore. Mom wouldn’t let her demons eat away at her, and I wouldn’t let my own hurt chew at me either.

This self-pitying wallowing I’d been indulging in was going to stop.

Now.

Every minute that passed, Mom got more alert and sober until she seemed more like her usual self, though a bit more fragile. A bit more skittish. But the high set of her chin was prominent, a hint to the strength still lingering in her, even if she didn’t fully feel it right now.

Mom and I researched online what her best options were. She decided it was best if she did a stint of inpatient treatment, to help break her addiction, then pursue aggressive outpatient therapy to address the underlying problems. Obviously it was more than just her physical pain, but I could sense her hesitancy to get into the details with me. That was okay, though—as long as she worked it out with a therapist, that was what mattered. We made a few phone calls to get stuff set up for her.

When that was all taken care of, Mom and I walked into the bathroom, her bedroom, the kitchen, and she dug out new bottles she’d hidden away again after I’d found her old stash. We didn’t speak, just flushed the pills down the toilet. Her hands trembled a bit, and I rubbed her back with soothing circles.

Back in the living room, I bent down to the side table and gave Mom her phone. “I think you should call Dad and tell him the steps you’ve taken. He needs to know.”

She took the phone but didn’t move to call him. “What if it isn’t enough?” The tremulous edge in her words broke my heart. She was so afraid of him rejecting her. “I said some terrible things to him when we last spoke. I don’t know if he’ll forgive me.”

“You have to be honest. Lay it all on the line and keep your promises so he can trust you again. If you do and that isn’t enough, then he isn’t worthy of you,” I said bluntly.

“When did you get so smart?” She gave me a watery smile, her head tilting as she studied me in a new light.

I shrugged. “I dunno. Probably when I realized my mom was the best role model a girl could ever have.”

She cupped her hand over her mouth to smother her sudden hiccupping sob. “I’m no role model. I’m weak and I messed up big time. I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” she managed to say. “Yours
or
his.”

“We all make mistakes.” I reached over and cupped the hand holding the phone. I hoped my sincerity showed in my eyes. “But what we do about those mistakes is what defines us.”

She nodded, and I stood and headed to the kitchen to give her space to talk to Dad without me hovering. I heard her drag in a deep, shaky breath. Then she said, “It’s me. I wanted to say I’m sorry and I’ve decided to get counseling.” A pause. Then she sniffled. “Yes. I know. I agree, and it was wrong.” Another pause that stretched on for a while. “Thank you. I was so afraid.. . . I love you too, honey.” Her voice dropped then, and she murmured more quiet words of affection.

The relief that rushed into me was vivid and strong. I sat down at the table, dropped my head in my hands and let out all the lingering emotion rattling around in my chest with a deep, audible exhale. Then I washed off my face and sent Casey a text to call me when she got a chance.

Things weren’t perfect here, but they were on the right track. Mom might have some setbacks, but Dad and I would be there to support her, remind her that she was stronger than her addiction. I could tell she didn’t want to take the pills anymore though—it was a baby step, but a step nonetheless. And right now, that was what mattered. I’d totally take it.

I needed something positive to cling to in order to pull me out of my funk. Helping my mom was just the thing.

Right then, I had a sudden strong desire to call Nick and tell him about the breakthrough. I knew he’d be happy for us, that he’d wish for the best. He’d be proud of her, and of me, for what we’d accomplished today. But I had to let him go, and that meant not running to him with everything going on in my life.

The loss stung me again. I rubbed my upper chest and tried to nudge aside my own agony, but it wasn’t so easy to shake off. The ache of missing him stole the air from my lungs. The way he’d wrap me in his arms and give me a safe space to talk and cry.

It would be a long time until I stopped craving him.