Love Rewards The Brave (16 page)

98.

Christmas Eve starts quietly

and it is exactly what I need.

Lying in my bed I keep the

blanket wrapped around my body

I have been at 6-Spot

everyday for the last five days

and I’m spent.

Ms. Francine has been constantly worried,

trying to talk to

me.

I wish she’d let me be.

Suddenly everything she does makes me mad.

The caring and sharing

suddenly feels overbearing.

I don’t need her sympathy.

God it has been such a week.

I haven’t given a second look to the note

Benji wanted to leave for me

because when I think about it

my soul bleeds.

I don’t need that.

Not when I need to be strong.

Strong so Mom will work

to get me back

even though Benji is making me pick

up his slack.

I can be everything my

mother needs

and I am going to prove that

when we celebrate Christmas

together.

99.

I do my best to remain hopeful

over the fact that Christmas Eve happiness

is dependent

on a woman I shouldn’t count on

yet still long

for.

I’m in Ms. Francine’s car.

I feel like half my life is spent

sitting in this vehicle

as she takes me from one place to the next

meetingstherapyschool.

Now

on the eve of Christmas

I’m sitting here like a fool

waiting for Mom to show.

“Louisa, it’s been fifteen minutes since you were supposed to meet, would you like to use my phone to call her?” Ms. F asks.

“No, just give her a few more minutes. She’ll be here.”

Come on

don’t forget now, after this week.

I’m on a losing streak.

Come on

I don’t want it to happen this way.

I somehow want Ms. F to be proven wrong.

Not like she’s told me she wants my mom to fail

to not follow through,

but somehow it’s like I think
she thinks

she wouldn’t.

Come on

I never need much

ask for much

tell too much

but right now I want to prove to Ms. F-

the one who is always a show

never lets go

or forgets or misses a beat

that my mom

remembers

me.

“It’s been thirty minutes, Louisa. What are you thinking you’d like to do?”

“I don’t care,” I say in the exact way I spoke to her a year ago.

The difference was, then

I really didn’t

care.

And now

I do.

But what does that say about

Mom

Dad

Benji

Ms. Francine

Margot

Me

if I admit that?

We sit in silence another thirty minutes.

I can’t bear to look at her

or say a word.

I want her to say what I’m thinking

so I can be mad at her for saying

the things I think.

Things like:

“Where the fuck is she?”

“What the hell is more important than me?”

“Why am I all alone again,

like every shitty day of my life?”

“Let’s go. She’s not coming,” I whisper.

Ms. Francine reaches over to take my hand

her olive branch to let me know

she understands.

I pull away

fast.

As much I hate my mom and all that

she’s done to me

as she sat by and

watched as my dad destroyed me,

she’s still my mom.

And I keep holding out hope

that one-day

she’ll find a way to pay me back

for the past.

I was hoping she’d start tonight.

Instead

I’m driving to Ms. F’s

cousin’s house, on our way

to pick up Margot.

A happy family dinner where everyone

can celebrate the fact

they all have more

than I’ve got.

100.

The cousin is KiKi and

she’s loud and in charge

and talking my ear off

the moment I enter her house.

I head to the bathroom

as fast as I can.

Avoiding the toddler tantrum

happening in the hallway

and the adults laughing as they

pour champagne.

I turn on the fan and I turn on the water.

And I just want to scream.

The noise is killing me.

I take off my coat.

I take off my gloves.

I sit on the floor.

Wanting to pinch myself

squeeze myself

illicit some sort

of pain

so that I can feel something besides

the throbbing feeling in my chest that

Will. Not. Go. Away.

There’s a knock on the door.

Another knock.

“Louisa, is that you?”

Shit.

Margot’s asking to come in and my option is

let her

or stand up and go out

and I can’t do that.

Not when I am in mini-crisis mode.

No, bigger-than-that

I’m in an about-to-explode

near-heart-attack-condition.

I lift my hand to the doorknob and turn it

just enough,

so it can crack open,

to

let

her

in.

101.

She sits

next to me on the bathroom tile.

Silent, just like Ms. Francine.

It’s like they’re in on a silent operation tactic

and I don’t want to be the first one to fold.

So I hold back.

“Louisa, do you want to talk about why you’re crying in a stranger’s bathroom on Christmas Eve?”

Do I really have to do this?

“Not really, Margot.”

I keep my head in my hands

not wanting to let her understand

me.

“Okay, look I get it, Louisa. I don’t
need
you to talk to me. But this is the second time in as many weeks I’ve found you huddled, alone, crying. That’s not a good sign. That’s like, a call for help. I don’t know everything that you’re going through, my sister knows way more than I do –– and not just because she’s your foster parent –– because she’s been through way more shit than me. But I feel like I get you, Louisa, and I care about you.”

That panic-attack

feeling is fleeing, fast.

I am So. Tired. Of. Trying.

“Let’s talk about something else, how’s Jess? Do you guys have any plans for break?”

I give her nothing.

I can’t

because I like Margot,

I don’t want to lose her.

If she knew me

really, really knew me

she wouldn’t stay.

I wouldn’t blame her.

“Did you ask for any Christmas gifts?"

I feel myself shutting

down.

“Um. Okay,” she tried again. “How’s the 6-Spot going? It’s been so busy I’ve barely been able to check in with you.”

I’m being difficult and I know it,

but I don’t want to own it

because then I’d have to

change.

I’d have to be willing to be

seen.

And I’m not ready to

be that sort of

girl.

The sort of brave.

“You know Toby? I guess he has a new boyfriend, they are going to see The Nutcracker tonight.”

That gets my attention.

“Really?”

I bite my lip,

not wanting to admit

that I’m a bit

jealous.

“I know, right? He’s got to be the most adorable guy ever, those eyes alone, right? But he isn’t up for grabs.”

I laughs and

she does too.

Shit.

She wins.

“Thanks,” I say.

“For what?”

“For, you know, saying those things to me. It’s just, it freaks me out. You know, the being cared about part.”

I look away

eyes stinging

heart clinging

to the good parts and the good feelings

that are flinging

around inside.

“I get it, Louisa. The being cared about part is scarier than most things. But you can be brave.”

And I don’t think I ever wanted

to believe anything as much

as those four words.

You.

Can.

Be.

Brave.

Margot

speaks the truth

I want so badly

to believe.

102.

I walk downstairs on Christmas morning

knowing that Ms. Francine was awake

from the banging in the kitchen and

the smell of coffee cooking in the pot

the music playing

yuletide carols

and whatever else sort of frankincense and myrrh

happens here on Christmas.

“You’re up!” Ms. F says.

I come into the living room and smile

even though I promised myself

I wouldn’t.

But how could I

not?

There’s a tree full of presents

and I knew it was just the two of us.

I’ve never seen that kind of loot.

At least a dozen presents

some for me some for her

it was all I could do not to stare.

“Merry Christmas, Louisa!”

She gives me a hug

and I return it

sheepishly.

I’m like a kid in one of those movies

they play on Christmas day over and over.

Where the kid gets a million and

one boxes

and they are all better than the last.

“Do you want some breakfast first?”

I do.

After my bathroom “episode”

I tried my best to be in “play nice” mode

for Margot and Ms. Francine.

It mostly just meant me sitting with

the little kids

helping them put together their

brand-new presents because it was too much

to be present.

The kids started driving me nuts

and that happens so rarely

to be annoyed like that with a person so small,

but they just kept screaming

that it was taking too long

or yelling that they wanted more candy

or fighting over who got the best new toy.

There was no joy.

In the small things.

Like the fact they were at this giant house and

crazy cousin Kiki was letting them all come here

open gifts

it should be bliss.

It’s so hard not to compare.

Tit for tat

How about that?

It never adds up

Equal

because if you add

nothing plus nothing it equals nothing

every.single.time.

I didn’t need to go down that line

not now, not then.

Instead I found Ms. Francine in the

kitchen

at Kiki’s, and stood next to her

letting her

get me a plate of food.

I sat, intending to chew

the honey baked ham

quietly,

but all the energy was out of me

so I just sat there

until it was time to go.

“I made bacon and French toast casserole.”

I look over at the tree again.

It’s so hard to look away and say, “No, let’s eat,”

when so many Christmas morning’s past

have waited to finally

see me be a kid.

But my stomach growls and the

kitchen smells heavenly.

So I follow closely behind her

a Christmas morning amateur.