Page 35 of Playing For Keeps

Donna was crying now as well, silent tears which seemed almost worse than Farren’s in their solemnity. Her curly hair, so like Farren’s but strawberry tinted—those Irish genes coming through strong—seemed much whiter than Farren ever noticed before. Shot through with age and stress, her body was small and slight under Farren’s onslaught.

“Where was the phone call when my sister was in the emergency room because some drunk asshole ran her off the road? It feels like I’m unimportant, like I’m too much work. You all seem okay with just letting me float along and not knowing what’s going on in my life.”

Her heart broke, all the cracks that accumulated over the years overwhelmed under the weight of continued harm and neglect, pain and silence weakening her resolve.

“I get it. You had seven kids to look after, a husband, a home. It just bothers me sometimes, that I don’t know you and you don’t know me and I have all this love for you but it hurts me. It hurts me to know how low down on the list I am—I’ve always been.” Farren deflated, her piece said, adrenaline fading after whatever the fuck this was. A way to purge the hurt she carried for so long? An arrow released from a bow that just stored and stored energy, poised for the kill?

Donna was shaking, ashen. Farren’s father stood in the doorway watching them both with wide eyes and deep brackets beside his mouth.

“Hon, that's… that’s not true.” Jerry stepped into the kitchen, taking Donna’s shaking shoulders into his hands and trying to stroke soothing circles into the knotted muscles there.

“It is, though,” Donna whispered from behind them. “I let my family down, time and time again. I was overwhelmed, I didn’t know how to ask the right people for help, so it fell to you all.”

It should have felt validating, should have been what Farren wanted, but somehow her chest was just hollow. The words came too late to be a balm on her spirit. Especially when there was no genuine apology there. “I did the best I could. I’m sorry you couldn’t see it,” her mother sniffed, defensiveness back after the brief crack in the wall between them.

Farren felt herself wanting to respond, wanting to lash out at how her mother couldn’t even take ownership for her part in things without making an excuse or turning it around on Farren.

Her dad stepped between them, sensing it might kick off again at any second.

“We love you, we love you so much,” Jerry said and Donna nodded, her fingers pressed to her mouth to hold back a sob.

“I love you too.” But that doesn’t make any of it okay. That doesn’t make me okay.

Her father gave her a small smile, the spackle trying to repair the rift between her and her mother. Farren felt herself being pulled into a hug, her dad wrapping her up and patting her back. His words were clunky in her brain, not really permeating the fog of demons she’d unleashed to wreak havoc on her childhood home. She pulled back, stepping away from them, trying to hold her tattered remains in place until later.

“I think I’m going to head back down the road. My boyfriend’s been under a lot of pressure from work, and I need to get ready for my next placement.”

Her statement felt too detached, her eyes unseeing, just focused on getting back home, back to safety.

“You have a boyfriend?” her mom asked, piping up with a hopefulness that cut through her teary tone.

“Yeah, Sebastian. It’s still sort of new, but he’s really kind. And serious. He’s basically the opposite of me in so many ways. Only child. Brooding grump.” How could she quantify the feelings, the moments she had with him? How could she boil it down to two sentences and have it make any kind of sense?

The kitchen felt small, too small for her body and her feelings, and so outdated. Her mother’s ancient KitchenAid mixer sat under its floral cover. A dish towel with the same pattern hung off the handle of the oven. A corner of the linoleum had started to chip off near the back door. Nothing in here seemed to have changed.

“Well, hopefully, we get to meet him. Maybe at the holidays?” Her tone was quiet, wistful, and Farren wanted to respond to the bid, wanted it to all be fine and normal. But she wasn’t sure how soon she’d be back when being here just felt like one giant bruise.

“I’ll let you both know. Either way, I think it best I leave. Sorry for blowing up at you, and for not being around as much. I guess it kind of felt like it didn’t matter if I was here or not, when there were plenty of others to fill the space.” Farren gave a halfhearted shrug before she turned to head up the stairs, only vaguely aware of her parents saying, “It mattered.”

As quickly as she’d packed a week ago, she shoved her stuff back into the bag now. No train ticket, no bus ticket. Farren would have to rent a car to drive the eight and a half hours back home. Her dad gave her a ride over to the Enterprise in Rochester before it closed at five, heavy silence infecting the air around them. She held it together, finished the registration and brushed her dad off when he urged her to wait a day, just for a train ticket.

She couldn’t take it, couldn’t bear to when she felt like she was held together with tape and glue, and a stiff wind would take her out. Her thanks were stilted, her hug a little too tight. When she was on the road, New Hampshire firmly behind her and into Massachusetts—one state closer to sanity—Farren called Sebastian. He promised to be there when she got home. His assurance was enough to see her through the rest of the drive. When night fell and she passed in and out of cities, lights coming and going, Farren understood why they said you can’t go home again.

Because she wasn’t the same. The girl that left was long gone, with scars and scrapes to show for her years, and so much growth. Letting her feelings out, airing what she’d dragged along with her was arduous but somehow, she knew it was like letting go of something cutting off your circulation: the blood rushed back in painfully, but you didn’t lose the limb. Now, without as much childhood baggage cutting into who she was, perhaps she’d have the strength for more.

Sebastian was asleep in her bed when she arrived a little after one AM, exhausted and so, so happy to see him snuggled up and holding onto her pillow.

“Hey,” she whispered, hating having to wake him, but that pillow was a requirement for a good night’s sleep.

Sebastian stirred, slowly coming to consciousness and then sitting upright with a gasp, looking around the room as if he’d forgotten where he was. Farren rubbed her hand against his arm, trying to soothe him.

“It’s me,” Farren whispered.

“What time is it?” He flopped back against the pillows.

“It’s late. I’ll be in bed in a moment, just need to change clothes. I wanted to let you know I was here and tell you to stop hogging my pillow!” A tired chuckle was all she could manage, but he obeyed, fluffing the pillow back up and returning it to its rightful spot. She undressed and redressed in the dark, relying on muscle memory to see her through. When she slunk under the covers, he pulled her tight against his body and branded a kiss into the side of her neck.

“Missed you,” he mumbled, arm wrapping around her waist, tugging her back closer to his front, and for the first time in a week, Farren relaxed. Exhaustion dragged her into blissful oblivion, and somewhere between sleep and waking, she knew for sure she loved him.

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