Page 48 of Holiday Star
We fall asleep after we have worn out our bodies, tangled in each other. We wake with kisses so sweet that I don’t ever want to leave the bed. The world could be burning down outside our door, and I wouldn’t know or care.
That’s when my mother calls.
27
Iknow I’m in trouble right away.
It’s in the tone of her voice. The voice that all mothers have, the sharp one. The one where they use your middle name, like, “Gwendolen Jane Wright. You get over here immediately.”
That voice.
That’s the one she uses when I pick up the phone. I’m lying in bed, with my head on Caleb’s chest as he reads the last Twilight novel and I read a medical journal. Pip is curled into a furry ball at Caleb’s feet.
As soon as I hear that voice, I’m up, shooting Caleb a “sorry” look and rushing out the door.
Halfway down the stairs, Caleb’s phone rings behind me. I finally convinced him to unmute it, arguing that I might need to call him if Jenny and I got into trouble. Like if a baby goat fell on me and pinned me to the ground, for example.
I hear Caleb answer the phone with a warm, “John!” I recognize that name. It’s Caleb’s old trainer. Caleb’s been wanting to ask him about what exercises he can do here in the house, without having to go to the gym.
“What’s up, Mom?” I ask cautiously as I make my way to the living room.
“I don’t know, Gwendolen,” she says inthatvoice. “Why don’tyoutell me what’s up?”
It’s a trap. My body knows it, flushing immediately. Heat runs from my head to my toes, followed quickly by a frigid chill. My heart hammers as my nervous system goes into fight-or-flight mode.
“Umm,” I hedge nervously.
“Anything you want to tell me?” she asks. “Anything about you or Teddy?”
My mind whirs in a million directions, searching for a way out. There are so many different things she could be referring to. Caleb and me? Teddy and college? Something else entirely?
“Teddy?” I repeat. “Have you talked to Teddy?” Maybe he’s the one that’s got her all riled up.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I had a long and very interesting conversation with your brother.”
Oh, boy.What did Teddy tell her? I decide to be proactive. Hopefully, my guess is correct and I’m not spilling my brother’s secrets. “I talked to him, too. I don’t think he’s very happy at college.”
“Exactly!” she cries out. “How could you have known that and not told me, Gwen? I expect you to share information like that with me. Don’t you think I need to know if my son is struggling in school? He said he told you a week ago, but this is the first time I’m hearing about it. I trust you to help me with Teddy,” she scolds. It’s such a familiar phrase that nausea rises within me, a gut response to all those times she said something similar.
Help me with Teddy while I go to work.
Help me with Teddy. Make his dinner while I’m gone.
Help me with Teddy. I don’t have time to go over his homework.
Help me with Teddy. Drive him to basketball practice.
It wasn’t her fault. I know it wasn’t. We had no other options. She was working, sacrificing everything to keep us afloat. All the resentment I felt back then had to be suppressed. Shoved down. Swallow my depression, my grief, my anger.
Teddy needs me, and I can’t let him down.
I can’t letherdown.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but he asked me not to tell. I didn’t want to betray his trust.”
“Oh, so it was okay to betraymytrust?” she asks angrily.
Closing my eyes, I rub the space between them. “You said it yourself, Mom, when you left for Japan. Teddy’s grown now. We all are. You can’t have it both ways. We can’t be old enough to leave but so young that you have to micromanage us.”
