I wish we could both get on the same page. It’s so ironic that we never wanted to get married for fear of the heartache it can cause, and now here we are, in a marriage that isn’t even real, going through everything we were trying to avoid.
All broken hearts aside, Jude stepped up for me when no one else did, and that has gained him a place in my heart, and in my life, forever.
Me: I miss you guys, too.
“Sam is staying at a friend’s house tonight so we can talk,” my father says when we convene in the formal dining room.
It’s so strange to see my father in this setting after he slept in a rusty old RV in the driveway for years and lived on beer and Cheetos.
I guess people really can change their path if they want to badly enough.
“Skylar, I made steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes for you,” Lynn informs me as she takes her seat next to my father. “The chicken is free range and antibiotic free, though. Maybe you can eat that?”
“Thank you, but I don’t eat meat at all.”
“It’s not healthy to be so picky about your food,” my father says, pointing his fork at me, which has a chunk of chicken at the end of it. “You need protein.”
“I eat enough protein. And it’s not being picky, I have an eating disorder and an unhealthy mental relationship with food.”
His lips press together in a hard line. “This is something your crackpot mother did to you. I never should’ve left you there with that nut job.”
So, we’re going to start off by jumping right into the mess. Game on, then.
“Actually, my ARFID most likely stemmed from eating spoiled food as a child and having food poisoning several times. And choking. If I recall, you were still living there when all this was happening. She’s not the only one to blame.”
He cuts into his chicken aggressively, and the squeak of the knife against the plate makes me feel queasy. “I admit, I wasn’t paying much attention back then. I thought your mother was taking care of you.”
“I was taking care of myself.”
Lynn smiles sympathetically at me, and I’m sure that behind her smile, she’s glad she sent her son someplace else for the night so he didn’t have to witness this drama. I wonder if she knew my father abandoned me as a child when she married him.
I suppose most skeletons escape the closet after marriage.
“You’re right,” my father says, holding my gaze with his. “And you deserved better. I’m sorry for all of it. For your mother, for not doing better, for leaving you there. I wish I could go back and change it.”
“I do, too,” I say sadly.
“I just hope you can try to forgive me and we can start over. I contacted your mother numerous times trying to get in touch with you. For years I sent money, but I never knew if it was given to you or used to care for you. She rarely answered my calls or messages. She finally gave me your phone number a few weeks ago, after I called her nonstop for months.”
My mashed potatoes suddenly feel too thick in my mouth. I count to five and breathe through my nose and wait for my throat to relax so I can swallow. I know better than to have serious conversations when I’m eating or drinking—I just thought I could get through this one without an episode.
When the potatoes go down I take a sip of water and turn my attention back to my father, who’s watching me with a distraught look.
“I had no idea you ever tried to contact me, or sent money.”
A frown contorts his face. “I’m sure she took the money and used it to buy more crap.”
I nod in agreement, thinking of the giraffe in the living room and the twenty-eight boxes of fabric softener piled in the hallway. “Either that, or she never opened the envelopes and just threw them onto a pile.”
“I’m sorry, Skylar. I should’ve taken you with me, or checked in on you. Being married to her really took a toll on me, and at the end, I just wasn’t myself, and I had to get away. I hate that I left the way I did.”
I put my fork down and level my eyes at him. It’s obvious he’s sorry. I can see it in his eyes and hear it in the regret dripping from his voice. I want to try to forgive him, but I also want him to realize the severity of what his abandonment did to me, which goes way beyond a few missing checks.
“I can understand that,” I say. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t get away from her. Things got much worse after you left. The house was infested with bugs and mice. There was trash and rotting food everywhere. The kitchen and bathroom became unusable. I had to lock myself in my bedroom to keep her out. I had to climb through my bedroom window to get in and out of the house because the front door was barricaded. I had a tiny fridge in my room to keep fresh water and food in. I had to take showers at a truck stop and at school. And I had to put cat litter in a bucket in my closet to piss and shit.”