“Does it bother you? I can hear your smile, you know.”
“Not really. It doesn’t, like, mean anything. It’s just . . . it’s Ryker.”
I can’t deny that having his lips on my skin feels good. Not in a lust-filled sort of way, but in a comforting way. Spending time with Ryker feels like coming home somehow.
“Mmhmm,” Tosha mumbles.
“All right, I gotta go, Tosh. I’ve got to gather stuff for the boys’ birthday party this weekend. Tell me you’re still coming.” I feign panic. The party is at Eric’s parents’ house, and while my parents will be there, I need someone completely in my corner for the day.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Her voice turns a shade serious, “You okay today?”
“I really am. Love you, Tosh.”
“Love you too, Natalie.”
By the end of the week I’m looking forward to having the boys back in my apartment, even if it means I have to get through their birthday party with our families first. We’ve invited a few of their friends from preschool, along with my parents, Tosha, and Oliver’s nanny and occupational therapist.
My therapy session this week centered mostly on managing my stress for the party. Not the stress of the party, but seeing my parents for the first time since they brought the boys home and I was living in a new apartment. I know my mother thinks Eric and I should “just work it out” and will likely spend most of the party telling me exactly why. Dr. Greene helped me work through ways to take the situation into my own hands, and use it as an opportunity to deal with some unresolved things with my mother.
Joy.
After the birthday cake and presents, the boys and their friends are running around Eric’s parents’ expansive backyard. He’s chatting with them by the playhouse as I’m cleaning up inside. Ordinarily, that would annoy me—feeling trapped inside while he enjoys life outside. However, this chore provides me with a much-needed emotional break today. And, I know my mom’s going to want to corner me in private—which she’s just done by sneaking through the screen door.
“This was a lovely party, Honey,” she chirps as she gathers more cups and plates from the table.
I force a smile through my nerves. “Thank you.”
“Have you and Eric thought any more about marriage counseling?”
I roll my eyes. “Marriage counseling only works when both parties want to stay married, Mother.”
“Oh, Natalie, for goodness sake—”
“I started cutting again.”
Her face goes pale. My dad walks in just in time to hear it, too. Because, why not? His face turns red, though, and he looks like he’s about to cry.
My mom clears her throat. “What do you mean again?”
Oh, here we go.
“You know damn well that I was cutting in college, Mom. That’s the reason why I was in therapy. You said it was because I needed to get over my relationship with a soldier boyfriend. While that was part of it, it wasn’t the whole reason.” I take a breath as my dad walks toward me. “Just because you don’t want to admit that I was cutting doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
My dad puts a hand on my shoulder. “How long has it been going on?” He gets it. He knows how serious it was. We just never talked about it.
“It’s not going on anymore. I haven’t cut in almost eight weeks. But it was going on for a few weeks before Eric and I separated. I’ve been in therapy with Dr. Greene again since I moved out.”
My mom steadies herself on the counter as if I’ve just pushed her. I feel a huge weight lift from my shoulders as my dad hugs me. There’s still more I need to say, however, and she’s not going to like it.
“Mom, I need to talk to you about Ryker.” Ignoring the look on her face, I continue, “He was my boyfriend, and I loved him. Very much. He was sent to war—” I try to clear my throat, but it doesn’t matter, the tears are welling anyway. “He was sent to war, and you acted like that was a relief for you, when, for me, it felt like the end of my world.”
She straightens her face. “Oh Natalie, don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?”
“Leslie,” my dad’s stern tone catches me off guard.
“No, I don’t, Mom. I don’t think it’s dramatic at all. My boyfriend was shipped to a foreign country to fight, and I was scared. I was scared, and you weren’t there for me. And that hurt.” It feels so good to tell her that I’m unsure why I waited so long.
“I’m sorry, Natalie, but I knew getting mixed up with him would be hard on you, and I wanted to protect you.” She smoothes the front of her skirt and looks up at me unapologetically.
“You wanted to protect me from being in love? Mom, I would go through every single second of that again if it meant I still got to feel that kind of love—even for a moment.” My chin quivers as I spill a truth that’s been swirling in me for ten years.