Break Your Heart Page 18

  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.

  Chapter 21

  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 since
rity 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.

  Chapter 22

  I didn’t want to be here. At all.

  The realization hit me so hard, it was a wonder I didn’t have a lump on my head. I leaned my back against the plaster wall and watched a bunch of people grind on each other, laughing, drinking beer and having a great time. It was Saturday, almost the last day of spring break, and everyone was partying it up.

  To my far left was a gay couple wrapped around each other, giving sweet kisses and gentle murmurings. My heart squeezed in jealousy whenever I looked at them. God, I’d wanted to have that with Nick.

  I stared at the mostly full beer cup in my hand. Beside me, Nadia was dishing on campus gossip—who was hooking up, who had cheated on whom and so on. I could barely pay any attention to her ramblings. She scanned the crowd with a hungry gleam in her eyes, obviously hoping to gather more news to talk about.

  Nadia had been texting me the last day or two to ask if I’d come to this party, which was just off campus, giving me a heaping dose of guilt because I’d been ditching her lately. The guilt had worked. I’d been hesitant to go at first, because I knew my dad would be home alone this weekend. Mom had checked herself into the facility Thursday morning, giving us both big hugs and kisses and promising to keep us updated on her progress when she could.

  My poor dad had kept it together until she’d gone inside. Then he’d collapsed in my arms and cried. I’d never seen him like that, so vulnerable, so filled with grief and relief at the same time.

  We were both praying Mom would stick to it.

  As crazy as it sounded, this thing with Mom had drawn us all closer together. The rest of Wednesday evening we’d spent a bunch of family time just talking about anything and everything. I had briefly mentioned that I’d broken it off with a guy I was seeing, not getting into specific details about Nick. They had expressed their sadness about it. We’d played board games, then watched movie marathons late into the evening. Anything to keep Mom distracted from her cravings.

  Thankfully, the withdrawal symptoms hadn’t had time to really sink in before she’d checked herself in to the facility. I knew from research that they had medication she could take to wean off the narcotics addiction. I prayed it helped.

  On Wednesday evening, he and Mom had also called and told their brothers and sisters about her problem—at her insistence, since she knew she’d been acting weird around them lately and wanted to apologize and make amends. Everyone had been so supportive. My uncle, in an effort to help distract my dad, had even invited him over tonight for steak and cards. So this afternoon Dad had basically ordered me to get out
of the house and enjoy the last weekend of spring break.

  I’d finally caved to Nadia’s texts, though I really hadn’t wanted to. But if we were all going to move forward with our lives, I needed to take those steps too.

  That meant getting myself back out there. Not for dating— there was no way I was ready for that—but to reclaim my healthy social life. Step one of Operation Stop Being Such a Reclusive Hermit. A wild, crazy party had always drawn me out of my funk before. But it wasn’t working this time.

  “—unbelievable,” Nadia was saying. She tossed a blond lock over her tanned shoulder. “And he didn’t even call me to make sure I got home okay. Totally rude.”

  “Hm,” I murmured, and forced myself to pay more attention to her. My brain was screaming for me to get out of here, but I couldn’t. I’d roped Kelly into meeting me, and I couldn’t ditch before she arrived.

  I could understand now why Casey hated these kinds of things, why she’d dragged her feet on coming to parties with me. There was no resonance in them. No way to really talk to someone and get to know the person. It was booze-fueled hooking up. That used to be just fine with me, but it wasn’t anymore.

  A guy stumbled out of the kitchen and bumped into me, sloshing my beer on my shoes. I groaned and shook them off, the droplets flying everywhere.

  “Oh, sorry about that, babe,” he said, his bleary eyes locking on mine. He gave me a wide, drunk smile. “Lemme get you another drink.” He was pretty cute, a Latino with broad shoulders and a trim body, but he wasn’t lighting my fire.

  No one lit me like Nick did. I smothered a sigh at the thought and shoved him out of my head.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said politely. I didn’t really want the beer anyway, but I made myself drink some. Maybe more beer would help me stop thinking of him. I told Nadia I was going to wipe off my shoes, then went into the kitchen. There was a couple making out against the fridge. I grabbed a paper towel, wet it in the sink, then swiped it across my flats. When I went back to Nadia, she’d already had herself wrapped around the drunk guy, their tongues in each other’s throats.