I laughed. “Soul-crushing.”
Silence fell over us. I wondered if I was really even mad at my mom, or if I was more ashamed at what she’d walked in on. Those thoughts would circle in my head, and then I’d get mad at myself for being ashamed of Anderson or my cabin or my choices, just to immediately question them again and wonder if the reason I felt guilty was because I should feel that way. I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight.
“Anderson was there,” I said after a while. “He let her in. And she was a bitch to him, of course.”
“Was she a bitch to you?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I want to say she was, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if she was just being honest and telling me everything I don’t want to hear.”
“Like?”
I sighed, running both hands back through my tangled hair. I pulled the hair tie off my wrist and tied it up in a messy ponytail. “Like that I’m self-centered. And that I may think I know what I’m doing coming out here but that I’m just distracting myself instead of facing my feelings like I originally meant to.”
Momma Von processed that as a breeze swept over us. I grabbed one of the small blankets she kept in a basket on her front porch and laid it across my lap, tucking my hands underneath.
“Well, I don’t think you’re self-centered,” she finally said. “But if you feel like she’s right about you being distracted, then maybe it’s time to ask yourself what it is you need right now and how to get it.”
“That doesn’t even sound easy to do, let alone actually doing it,” I argued. “And actually, I feel pretty selfish, too. I mean here I am fighting for my happiness, like that makes me a saint or smart or brave or whatever, but really I left a man who loved me for years. And I never wanted to hurt him, that’s the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn’t live like that any more. I couldn’t —” I choked on the last of that sentence, shaking my head.
“Did you try to save your marriage?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “I did, for so many years. I tried to be the woman he needed me to be, to give him what he needed. And by the time he woke up and realized his own anger and insecurities, by the time he was willing to work on himself, it was too late for me. I was already gone.” I shrugged, disappointment in myself settling in deep. “I never gave him the chance to fight for me. I didn’t have anything left to give.”
“That doesn’t make you selfish,” she said. “If anything, it shows that you did so much to try to make it work. Listen, I know it’s hard—even if you were the one who left—because you loved him. You still do. And you didn’t want to hurt him or anyone else, including your mom. You just wanted to not feel sick anymore. You wanted to live again. And there’s nothing wrong with that, Wren.”
Momma Von scooted to the edge of her seat so she could put a hand on my knee.
“Sometimes we get so far down a path because we want nothing more than for it to be the right one, but the truth of the matter is we can’t force it to be. You were smart enough to realize the path you’d been walking down wasn’t the one you wanted for your life, and instead of continuing to walk on it anyway, you found the strength to turn back, to veer off, to cut through the weeds to find a new, albeit, unpaved one.” She smiled, squeezing me gently. “That’s not easy. And it’s not going to be perfect on the next path you find, either. But you’re still walking, babe, and that is what perseverance looks like.”
My eyes were so dry, yet they stung like tears were ready to build again. I rubbed my lips together, eyes closed tight.
“I just feel so broken, Momma Von,” I choked out. “I can’t sketch, I can’t help my designers with next year’s line, I can’t even be a good friend or daughter right now. Before Anderson, just waking up and existing was hard. And now, my mom is right,” I finally admitted. “He’s distracting me. He makes me feel good, he makes me happy, and because of that when I’m around him, I don’t think about what I came out here to digest. I’m not thinking about Keith or my life up until this point or what the future holds or what I want. And I don’t know what to do because it hurts to think about those things.” I hung my head, digging the heel of my hands into my eyes. “Everything just hurts.”
My chest sparked with another ache as if to mirror my words, to prove they were true. Momma Von scooted even closer, pulling me over the small table until she sort of held me in her arms, rocking me slightly.
“You want forgiveness,” she finally said. “From Keith, from your family, but what you don’t realize, peaches, is you are the only person who can give yourself the forgiveness you seek.” She smoothed a hand over my head. “It will never come from them, and you have to let that go and be at peace with it so you can eventually be at peace with yourself, too.”
I cried, though no tears came out. Her words hit me harder than any book I’d read, any advice I’d been given from Adrian. She was right. I wanted to be forgiven, and I felt like I never would be. I was so tired of apologizing, and yet it was all I knew how to do.
“Let me ask you something,” she said, pulling back and holding my arms in her hands as she caught my eyes. “You’re going through a divorce, Wren. Don’t you think it’s about time you let yourself actually go through it?”
“I am.”
She shook her head. “No, no, you’re not. You’re trying to move on. You’re trying to keep being the Wren you’ve always been, maybe even a better version of her. You’re trying to sketch, to work, to find love and give love and wake up every day with the mindset that you can still take over the world. You’re afraid to let yourself feel,” she said, calling me out. “You’re afraid of failure, and you feel it in every aspect of your life right now. You think you’ve failed as a wife, as an artist, as a friend. But the truth is you aren’t broken, you haven’t failed. You’re still going through a divorce,” she said the word with emphasis, leaning down until I looked her in the eyes again. “So fall apart. Cry, throw things, remember the good times and the bad and then let them go. And before you close your eyes, each and every night, forgive yourself.”
I nodded, wiping my nose with the back of my wrist. I wanted to curl in on myself, find relief from the constant pain in my heart and chest and stomach. I wanted to forgive myself, I just didn’t know how.
After I left Momma Von’s, I went straight home and up into my bathroom. I showered without turning on my speaker, but as soon as I padded back into the living room, I powered it on and poured a tall glass of wine.