Dinner drags on interminably, and Sandy and Byron book it out the door as soon as they’re able.
“Well done, Diane,” my father remarks, bringing dishes into the kitchen.
“Me?” she protests. “You’re the one painting people into corners.”
“How? By hoping our daughter actually learns something at college? Is having some expectation of her really that ridiculous?”
“I’m right here,” I point out, standing two feet away with a stack of plates.
“You’re making her feel bad!” my mom snaps.
“She feels fine,” my dad retorts. “And maybe if—”
“Could we stop talking about how I feel?” I interrupt. “And maybe talk about how you two feel? For once?”
They freeze and turn slowly, as though just now remembering I’m here. “Nora, honey,” my mom says. “Everything is fine. We’re just talking.”
“Because we care,” my dad adds.
“You’re lying,” I say flatly. “To me. To each other. To Sandy and to Byron. To everyone. You’re stuck in this charade of pretending everything is okay because you think that’s the best thing for me, but it’s not. I’d really much rather have you be honest about everything, once and for all. Keeping this all bottled up is only making everyone miserable.”
“We’re not—”
“Just say it,” I interrupt before they can start to argue. “Tell the truth. Put everything out in the open. And if you can overcome it, great. And if not, that’s fine, too. It’ll hurt, but you’ll live.”
I’m still living, after all, and I’m tired of these tortured holidays. Tired of swapping sides of the duplex and making small talk with strangers and never having any turkey. To date my efforts to be different have involved a fair bit of lying—to myself, to other people. It’s time for the truth.
“I hate you, Robert,” my mother says finally. “I just really hate you.”
My dad looks stunned. “Diane! Nora is—”
“An adult,” she finishes firmly, if a bit sadly. “She’s an adult and just like she knows Santa didn’t bring any of those gifts this morning, she knows this whole ‘getting along’ charade is just that—a charade. And a dreadful one, at that.”
His mouth works, but nothing emerges until, “I suppose I hate you too,” he offers grudgingly. “And I hate this duplex. You never mow your side of the front yard and it always looks lopsided.”
“Oh, you and that grass obsession! At least I don’t insist on walking up the stairs like an injured hippo—the whole house shakes.”
“You beep the car four times to lock the door—four! It only takes one. How many people have to be disturbed…”
I snag an extra piece of pie and back out of the room, passing the dining table where the remaining turkey sits guilelessly on its holly-rimmed platter. It had taken far too long for us to have this dinner, and though it wasn’t exactly the easiest meal to choke down, I can’t help but think how many things would be different if we’d only had it sooner.
chapter twenty-one
Though it was only four months ago that I moved in with Kellan, it feels much longer when I make three round-trips through Burnham’s quiet streets as I cart my things over to Marcela’s. In addition to leaving me the keys to her—our—home, she’d also loaned me her car, and now I park at the curb and jog back up the steps to my—Kellan’s—apartment to contemplate how best to get the long slats of the bed frame into the tiny trunk.
It’s nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve and everything else is already gone. I’d gotten home at three to finish packing and start moving, determined to wake up tomorrow in a newer, better place, both literally and metaphorically. But now, faced with the final pieces of the puzzle, I’m exhausted. I’d stopped in town for Chinese food on one of my runs, and now I slump on the couch with a carton of cold noodles and a glass of orange juice to see the ball drop in Times Square. Last year my parents and I had stood in the front yard to watch neighbors shoot off fireworks. They’d pretended it was because they had a keen interest in pyrotechnics, but we all knew it was because neither wanted to concede the holiday by going to the other’s home to watch the countdown on TV.
The counting begins and ends and New York explodes in cheer, everyone kissing and hugging and smiling, happy and unburdened. I change the channel until I find an old black and white movie, wishing things were that simple, then mentally kicking myself for being so maudlin. Yes, I’m a twenty-one-year-old girl who’s spending New Year’s alone. Yes, I was recently evicted. Yes, I was recently dumped. But if I consider my list of goals for this year, “do not get evicted” and “do not get dumped” were never on it. I’m not flunking any classes and I haven’t gotten arrested, so technically I’m still on track.