“We’ll let a judge decide that.”
I’m scowling. “If you take Dad to court, I’ll tell the judge everything. I’ll tell them about Uncle Max. You’ll never get custody.”
She sets her mug down. Her eyes twitch. “Where is this coming from? Are you angry with me about something?”
Saliva fills my mouth. It must be my nerves. They make my chest itch too. “Why did you tell me you and Dad split up because he cheated?”
She pulls her hands away from the keyboard and shifts. “I told you he had an affair because that’s the truth.”
“Before or after you cheated with Jamie’s dad?”
Her nostrils flare. “We all make mistakes in our lives. That happened when I was very young. I’ve already made my peace with it.”
“I don’t care what your reasons were or whether you regret it or not. I’m asking if you and Dad split up because of him or because of you.” Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” My hands shake. “Because I thought he had the affair because you were fighting about me, not because you were fighting about you.”
“Well, I never told you that.”
“But you did.” I blink. “Or you implied it anyway. You told me I was always causing problems. You said I was making it hard for you and Dad to get along.”
“Because you and Jamie were constantly hanging around each other. It was hurtful.”
“How was I supposed to understand that?” I growl. “You never explained it. I thought you had told Dad about Uncle Max. I thought he was angry that he was still living in our house.”
Mom shrugs. “I don’t know why you thought that. I never even told your dad.”
My stomach disintegrates. My blood drains. All that’s left is my painful heartbeat. “You didn’t tell him?”
“I wasn’t going to make an issue out of nothing when my brother needed a place to stay. I’ve already told you—you were little, it was late, you might have dreamed it.” She crosses her arms. “Besides, I asked Max about it at the time, and he swore he had no idea what you were talking about. And it’s not like accusing him of things he hasn’t done isn’t a pattern with you.” Her blue eyes go cold. “I know Shoji took the money. Your dad told me.”
Something horrible swarms my chest and throat. “I’m not lying about what happened to me.”
Mom clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I’m not saying you’re lying. I just think you might be remembering things that didn’t happen. And since we’re on the subject, I think you owe Max an apology.”
“For what?” The veins in my neck feel like they’re going to explode.
“I kicked him out of this house because you told me he was stealing,” she says.
WHAT I WANT TO SAY:
“You kicked him out of the house because you thought he was stealing—you didn’t even believe me when I told you!”
WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY:
“I will never apologize to Uncle Max. Never.”
“Well.” She sighs. “I think that’s very immature, Kiko. I’ve already called him and made things better.”
The sides of my head throb. My knees feel weak. “You need therapy.”
Mom laughs the most over-the-top, hysterical laugh I’ve ever heard.
“It’s not funny. There is something wrong with you. Who treats their kids this way? There’s a reason none of us want to be around you. There’s a reason Shoji wants to live with Dad, and why Taro spent the rest of the summer with his friend, and why I want to go to art school thousands of miles away from you.” My face burns with frustration. “You are so obsessed with yourself that there isn’t any room for anyone else’s feelings. You don’t care about anything unless it somehow relates back to you.”
I start to walk away, intent on leaving her alone in her chair. But something stops me.
Spinning back to face her, my breathing erratic and my voice hoarse, I growl, “And I’m not imagining what happened to me. Your sick brother sexually abused me. I don’t care what you think it’s called, because that’s what it is. Sexual abuse. I was sexually abused. Do you get that? And if you were any kind of mother, that would have mattered to you. You wouldn’t have tried to justify it or rationalize it away by saying it wasn’t rape and therefore isn’t as bad—it was bad. That’s it.”
I leave because I don’t want to give her the chance to respond.
? ? ?
I draw a dragon breaking free from its grave and finally seeing what its wings and fire are for.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Jamie sends another text: I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I just want to know if your brother is okay. I love you and I’m sorry.
I text back: He’s fine, thanks. He moved in with my dad.
He doesn’t send another reply. Part of me knew not to expect one—I’m the one ignoring him, after all, and he did just want to know about Shoji.
But part of me feels devastated. As if I’ve taken the silence too far. As if I’m ruining us forever.
I give myself a pep talk in the mirror to remind myself I need to be strong. It won’t do any good to cry about Jamie when I’m trying to make it so that the only person who can make me cry is me.
And besides, I still need to work on curing myself of Mom.
I find her downstairs in the living room while I’m on my way to get a glass of water. My eyes focus on all the space around her but never directly on her.
To my surprise, she doesn’t ignore me.
“Can I talk to you?” Mom looks at me nervously. Her hair is spun in a golden knot on her head, and she’s still wearing pajamas. I feel like she might have been waiting for me, which is ridiculous, because when we fight she always pretends I don’t exist at least until the afternoon.
“Sure,” I reply. Now I’m nervous.
I sit down next to her on the couch. She’s still holding the remote in her hand, even though she’s muted whatever reality TV show she was watching.
“I’ve been thinking a lot since yesterday,” she starts. The smirk starts to form on her face—the one she usually blames on awkwardness—but she tries not to let it take over. “And I think I’m going to talk to someone.”
I wait, but she doesn’t say anything else. “You mean like a therapist?” My heart is pounding. She’s actually going to talk to someone. She actually wants to get better. I can’t believe it.
She listened to me.
Mom nods. “Yeah, I think I need to.”
Something in my stomach spins and spins and I feel light-headed. She took me seriously. She’s admitting she needs help. “Mom, that’s great. Good for you.” My face feels heavy, but I try to hide it because I’m afraid if I show any happiness she’ll change her mind.
She nods again, and the smirk starts to grow. I’m too happy to let it bother me.
“I’ve been reading all this stuff on hypnotherapy and repressed memories, and I really want to find out if something happened to me when I was younger.”