He rolls his eyes and then gets in the truck, not another word spoken. And then I run up the porch and wait for him to leave. Once he’s gone, I lie across the porch swing, and once again, I feel the emptiness of my loneliness laying heavy on my chest. And then I let the weight of it suffocate me.
I wish, more than ever, that I had someone to talk to. I have no real friends; none close enough that they would sit through hours and hours of me talking about some guy they’d never even heard of. I’ve never spoken about any of this stuff with Papa before, and Holden—he’d be as frustrated as I am. I wish I had parents—ones who actually cared about me. I wish I had a mom who was not my mom. I wish I had Holden’s mom, Tammy. She practically raised me, and she always knows what to do. But it’s been a while since we’ve spoken. Once she left and I moved to New York and she no longer had to watch over me for homeschooling, I felt like… like, I didn’t need to burden her anymore. She used to call. At the beginning, she called a lot, and then slowly, gradually, it stopped. Maybe I should’ve made more of an effort. Pouting, I grab my phone and pull up her number. And then I feel guilty for even thinking about bothering her with any of this. I don’t call her for three years, and then suddenly, I call, and it’s because I’m having boy trouble? It’s pathetic, really.
I call her anyway.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, and she has the same kind, gentle tone I’ve always known. When I close my eyes and think of Tammy, I see her in a flowery dress with a straw hat coming out of my house with a plate of sandwiches and a jug of juice. She puts them down on the porch and watches Holden and me doing schoolwork as we lie on our stomachs. She squats down and ruffles Holden’s hair, and then pats mine. Love. It’s all I see when I think about Tammy. And now, I question what she saw when she used to look at us like that.
We could’ve been brother and sister—Holden and me. In a different world, a perfect one. We could’ve been hers—both of us. And I would’ve never felt the pain of growing up without parents.
“You there, Mia?” she asks, and I speak through the knot in my throat.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Uh-oh. You have your sad voice. What’s wrong? Did my son do something to you?”
“No. Holden didn’t do anything. I just, um…” What the hell do I say? The truth, idiot. “I just needed to talk to you. I thought I needed to speak to someone who would just listen, but… I just needed to talk to you. To hear your voice. I miss you, Tammy.”
“Oh, sweetie,” she croons, and I can hear the scratch in her speech. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
I suck in a breath, and then I ask her something I’ve always wanted the answer to. “Do you regret meeting my dad? Falling in love with him? You guys were so young. I mean, if you knew how it would end…” I realize I’m rambling. “I don’t really know what I’m asking. Sorry.”
If I couldn’t hear Tammy’s breathing on the other end, I’d assume she’d hung up on me. But she’s still there, and she’s thinking, trying to find a way to tell me how she feels without falling apart. “Has Holden ever told you why his father and I separated?”
“No,” I say, fiddling with the end of my pajama shirt. It’s red, and it’s plaid, and it’s my favorite thing to sleep in. “Holden doesn’t really talk about that stuff with me.”
I imagine her nodding when she says, “Yeah, that’s the boy in him.” I smile. “The reason we divorced is because I settled, Mia.” She pauses a beat. “I’ve always been in love with your dad, and Holden’s dad knew, but he… he wanted me anyway. Even if I didn’t fall pregnant with Holden, he would’ve stayed knowing that fact.”
Poor Big H, I think, but I also think about my dad. About how badly he broke Tammy, and he has no clue he’d even done it.
“You know,” Tammy says, “we were your age when everything went to shit.”