Catching Raven (20 page)

“Everyone grab a plate and feel free to help themselves,” my mom
announces. “Andre and I are going to run out front and get some pitchers so we
have drinks.”

“Sounds good,” I say, grabbing a plate and stealing a cupcake. I peel the
foil off the sides and lick the cream cheese frosting.

Mom’s a goddess.

That’s all there is to it.

I eat, then make my rounds, hitting up every person who took the time to
come out and celebrate tonight. Everyone’s curious what my long-term goals are
and whether or not I plan on coming back to Austin. Not having the slightest
idea of what lies ahead, I keep it very noncommittal. It’s strange not to have
everything mapped out. Liberating, but strange.

Later in the evening, as guests start trickling out the door, I use the
brief window of opportunity to sneak off to a bathroom stall and check my phone
for any missed calls or texts. I wrestle the device out of my clutch and stare
down at the screen. A spasm assaults my chest.

MDJD:
Congratulations on your acceptance, Rave. I’m so fucking proud
of you and how far you’ve come. Celebrate hard because you deserve it. Miss you
like a drug, love you like a cure.

Seeing his words displayed across my screen softens every part of me. I
hate the affect he has on my heart. I hate that he’s not here to make it
better. I hate that every time I’m alone, my body aches for his touch. Love is
supposed to make you strong, not weak. So why do I feel shortchanged? I gave it
my all and he walked away. Maybe I’m the one who should’ve left. How do we know
when to keep fighting and when to forfeit?

I’m tempted to type out a response, but I don’t want to give him the
wrong impression. What’s done is done. There’s no turning back. He made his
choice and now we both have to live with it. Still, knowing he’s out there
thinking about me, wherever he is, gives me a small sliver of satisfaction.

Chalking it up to a momentary lapse in judgment, I hit reply.

Me:
I miss you too. I’m sorry for all the times we fought over stupid
stuff. It seems so trivial now. I should’ve been more understanding when you
needed me.

MDJD:
Rave, I told you before there was nothing you could’ve done. Let
it go.

Me:
I can’t. I just felt like it was time for me to own up to my part.
I know how judgmental I can be sometimes.

MDJD:
I’m no walk in the park either. We both fucked up, and we’re
both learning from our mistakes. Now quit stealing my traits ;).

That one makes me smile.

Me:
Please know that I hope you find what you’re looking for...

I put my phone on silent and drop it back in my clutch, vowing not to
look at it for the rest of the night.

I don’t even last fifteen minutes. Doesn’t matter anyway because there’s
no response.

e     r     i     c

I’m staring at a blank canvas when a
sense of impending doom travels up my spine, causing every hair on the back of
my neck stand straight up. I set down the paint can and walk over to the window
and peer through the blinds. Just as I suspected, Mom’s pulling into the
driveway. I glance down at my phone. She’s twenty-five minutes late. Could’ve
sworn she was gonna flake. Secretly wish she would have. She’s interrupting my
painter’s block and derailing my busy schedule. I had a full day planned of
lying out in the sun, doing nothing. A much-needed sign that I need to get back
to real life. Unemployment was fun while it lasted, but I’m beyond bored and
broke.

What else is new?

Mom steps out of the car with a bag of chips in her hand. She dusts
leftover crumbs off her jean shorts, then bends down to grab a beach bag and
slings it over her shoulder. Does she think we’re going swimming or something?

Holy shit.
What if that’s an overnight bag?

I’m royally screwed.

A gust of wind blows her blonde out of her face and ruffles her blouse. I
can feel her stare at me, even though her eyes are hidden beneath a pair of
thick black shades. She nods, then she pushes the car door shut and walks my
way. I take a calming breath and brace myself, moving to the front door to let
her in.

“Hey there,” she greets, stepping inside. She lifts her sunglasses onto
her head and takes a sweeping glance around the room.

I close the door behind her and ease back.

“Hey yourself. What’s with the bag?”

Her gaze drops to the tote. “Oh, I brought some beach stuff in case this
turns into an all-day thing.”

Thank God. She’s not staying the night. My body relaxes slightly.

“You seem...different,” she notes, her eyes appraising me.

Interesting comment coming from someone who barely knows me.

“Want something to drink?” I offer.

“Yeah, an iced tea or a water would be great.”

I disappear into the kitchen and grab a clean glass from the dishwasher.
Opening the fridge, I pour a glass of tea, then set the pitcher back inside and
steal a handful of ice from the freezer. Mom sets her tote, keys, and chips on
the counter. She wanders over to the back door and stares out the window,
soaking up the ocean view.

“It’s so beautiful here.”       

“Have you been to Crystal Beach before?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve lived in Austin all my life and I’ve never
been down here. Crazy, huh?”

I shrug even though she can’t see it. “Not really. I think many people
share a similar experience. When you live so close to a place like this, you
don’t appreciate it like you should. You either spend so much time here that
you’re desensitized, or you put it off thinking there’s always going to be
another tomorrow. But time gets away from you and excuses start piling up. Same
recipe for everything else in life. Then, before you know it, you’ve been
confined to what you’re familiar with, and the wild dreams and exhilarating
travel plans you once had fade away and become nothing more than
woulda
coulda shouldas.
It’s cruel and unusual punishment. Death by complacency.”

No clue where that rant came from.

She glances over her shoulder, an array of different emotions dance
across her face. “There are far worse things than mediocrity, Eric. Trust me.
I’ve straddled that line for years. But you did just describe my entire life in
one depressing paragraph.”

I shut my mouth and make an effort to curb the negativity. Closing the
space between us, I hand her the iced tea.

“Thanks,” she says, looking down. She swirls the ice around in her glass,
then takes a huge sip. “Just out of curiosity, does your uncle know I’m here?”

“Nope. He didn’t even want me here, so I thought I’d leave that part
out.”

She nods, understanding.

“We used to be close, you know. Max and I—we were inseparable.”

“What happened?”

Her eyes find mine. “You.”

Here we go again. I’m always the scapegoat. The sole reason why her life
never turned out quite the way it was supposed to. Big mistake asking that
question. I look away and clench my jaw, trying my hardest to conceal how much
that one hurt.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she insists.

“You never do,” I mutter bitterly.

She moves in front of me so we’re standing face to face. “He didn’t
approve of me giving you up. That’s what caused the rift. Not you. He tried to
talk me out of it several times. Said I was making the wrong decision and I was
more capable of raising a child than I was giving myself credit for. Deep down,
I think he was scared of what would happen if he took you in. We both were.”

I make eye contact and swallow, working up the courage to ask the one
question I’ve been dying to ask for the last fourteen years. “Do you regret
it?”

She ponders that for a few beats. “Yes and no. I relinquished custody
because at that moment in time, I truly believed that’s what was best for you.
I couldn’t provide any stability. I was yanking you around from place to place,
making us both miserable. Financially, we were strapped. Raising a kid felt
like an impossible task. I had youth and ignorance working against me, not to
mention all the emotional baggage from my trauma. But make no mistake; giving
you up was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to endure. If you were to
ask me whether I’d do it all over again knowing what I know now, I’m not sure I
would. Either way, I’m pleased with how you’ve turned out. It makes me proud.”

An unexpected jolt of anger races through me. Who does this woman think
she is? She doesn’t get to be proud. She is not, nor will she ever be, a
frontrunner in my success. And for her to insinuate otherwise is a bald-faced
lie and a fucking insult to my intelligence. She wasn’t even around for half my
childhood. And the half she was present for she was a passive participant, at
best. Newsflash: bare minimum effort is what separates a donor from a true
parent. As someone who’s the former, she needs to stop overstepping her bounds
and behaving like a parent who put in all the work.

“What’s going on with you lately? Why are you acting like this?”

Her forehead creases. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you so chill and secure all of a sudden? For years you’ve
resented me and gone out of your way to break me down, convincing me that I was
somehow responsible for ruining your life. And now you show up here with a warm
and fuzzy attitude, telling me you’ve had a change of heart, and that maybe I
wasn’t so bad after all. Surely you can understand my confusion?”

She sets her iced tea on the counter and motions her head towards the
living room. I stay put, trying to figure out what her angle is.

“Come on, Eric.”

Reluctantly, I follow. She takes a seat on the couch and pats the cushion
next to her, inviting me to do the same. I waltz past her and opt for the
ottoman instead. Too soon for family bonding. I plop down and stretch my legs
out, crossing my feet at the ankles. We stare at each other, unblinking.

“Remember the last time you came to visit me?”

I nod, recalling the day I went there to tell her about Raven, and she
was busy screwing some married guy.

“After you said those things and stormed out, I reached a breaking point.
I realized that I was sick of being unhappy and carrying all that pain around.
I started seeing a therapist, and she’s been helping me deal with things I
should’ve dealt with over twenty years ago.” She averts her gaze and shifts
around awkwardly.

I stiffen, preparing for what’s coming next. Neither one of us wants to
broach the forbidden subject, but it’s long overdue. She deserves to be heard.
And so do I.

I wait patiently while she formulates her thoughts.

Her eyes find mine again. The uncertainty that was there moments ago has been
replaced with determination. “As you know, when I was a sophomore in high
school, I was raped. It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.
Everything I thought I knew about trust and safety had been violated. My
happiness, my sense of security, my self-worth...all of it was gone.” She
pauses and swallows. “When you’re forced to endure something like that, it
takes you to a very dark, desolate place. I didn’t tell anyone right away
because I was afraid of what people might say. I was traumatized and I didn’t
want to be judged on top of it. I knew all the kids at school would talk if
given the chance, and I couldn’t face the prospect of people finding out. So I
kept it quiet.

“For a long time I blamed myself, unable to forget that if I hadn’t snuck
out and gone to that party, it never would’ve happened. I imagined a thousand
different scenarios where the outcome could’ve been different, but it just made
everything that much harder to deal with. Harboring all that shame and turmoil
arguably did just as much damage to me as the actual assault, but it felt like
there was no one to turn to, no one to confide in. So I channeled all my pain
into hating him. It was the only way I could survive and feel in control.

“A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. Words can’t even begin to
describe the level of sheer terror I experienced when that test came back
positive. I thought my life was over.” Tears gradually begin to fall down her
face. “I was too young to have a kid. I had no job, no money, no one to depend
on, and no way out of this situation that someone else put me in without my
consent. Eventually, I had no choice but to come clean and tell my parents.
They immediately linked me up with a counselor, but it was too late. The damage
had been done. Abortion seemed like the only viable option.”

Those last seven words ring out loud and clear. I narrow my gaze and
study her reaction. I don’t want to know this about her. It’s too painful. I
don’t want to know that someone violated her in the worst possible way and left
her with no other options. She wasn’t even old enough to smoke, vote, drink, or
get a tattoo, but she was having a kid. A kid she never asked for and didn’t
want. Believe it or not, I can sympathize. But on the same token, nobody asked
me what I wanted. I didn’t choose to be born this way. And I never wanted to be
someone else’s burden. She needs to realize that I was a victim, too. Before I
can jump in and tell her that, she picks up where she left off.

“I’d been saving up all my babysitting money and borrowing cash from
friends to afford the procedure. Once I called the clinic and found out how
much it would cost, they told me I needed parental consent because I was
underage. I begged my parents to sign off, but they refused. That felt like the
ultimate betrayal. The two people who I had idolized and depended on the most
in this world had sealed my fate and left me to face this all alone. I hated
them for it. We got into an explosive argument. I told them it was my body, my
choice, and if they wouldn’t respect that, I was moving out. I ended up packing
my bags and leaving the very same night.”

“Have you talked to them since?” I ask.

“Only when I have to.”

“I owe them my life, you know,” I say, my tone sharp and accusatory.
“They spoke up for me when I didn’t have a voice, which is more than you’ve
ever
done for me.”

She winces, but I don’t stop there.

“Do you have any idea what it feels like to be your son? To know that my
own mother never wanted me and would’ve done anything to get rid of me?” My
throat clogs up with emotion. “For twenty-six years I’ve carried that feeling
around inside. You think I’m your burden? Think again. You’re my burden.” The
second those spiteful words leave my mouth guilt consumes me.

She stares at me with a look of resignation, like she’s forced to accept
that this is what we’ve become. Back in the day, I would’ve reveled in this
reaction. The more hurtful, the better. But now that she’s sitting in front of
me, desperately trying to connect, the only thing that registers is shame. It’s
much harder to despise my mom when her pain is so visceral and real. The whole
experience is humanizing. Bottom line: we’re all products of our parents’
unresolved issues. It’s unavoidable. But I don’t want to live like this anymore.
I also don’t want the cycle to continue on with my own kids. It has to stop
somewhere, so why not with me?

My shoulders sink with defeat.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, Mom. Sincerely, I am. But that’s not
my fault. Quit trying to make me take ownership. That’s
his
fault. No
one else’s. You didn’t deserve what happened to you and neither did I, but it
happened to us anyway. Now we have to figure out a way to move forward. We were
victims and now we’re survivors and next we’ll be goddamn champions because
we’re going to pull through this nightmare in one severely cracked piece. And
if you’re not willing to get on board with that and seek out a better life,
then I’m cutting ties. The choice is yours.”

Her gaze drops to the floor. Suddenly, everything feels very raw and
exposed. I don’t shy away from it, though. Progress.

“Did you ever think twice about going through with it?” I ask after a few
beats.