All The Lies We Told

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I'm sitting here and it's like my childhood all over again. After countless "I'm sorry", Aunt Irene and Uncle Dean give up and hug him so tight that their bodies drown out his cries. Thank fucking goodness, it was like nails to a chalkboard. And I don't even get why they are sorry. They took him in and gave him the best life, it might not be perfect, but it always seemed so normal and doable.

In the past, if Declan and I fought, our parents would force us to apologise to each other and make up, no matter who was wrong. If I'm being frank, in most cases, I was always the one in the wrong. Like the time I made a fit about his shoes being in my way when really, I stomped on them and staged a dramatic fall. Because I was jealous and wanted those shoes. Aunt Irene yelled at him and made him apologise for leaving his shoes in the way just like I wanted. Oh also, the shoes were scuffed too.

Seemingly, things haven't changed a bit since we were children. A smidge of jealousy sent me over the edge and here we are once again, fighting like cat and dog.

"You both need to figure out whatever you got going on with each other. We wanted to make sure that you guys grew up together and loved each other, in fact, it was really important to Emma. She wanted you two to be like real brothers and sisters. Declan, what Aubrey did was wrong." she turns and glares at me. "But this is a small feat in the grand scheme of things. I'm not making excuses for you Aubrey, because I'm still upset with you myself," Aunt Irene reaches out and places her hand on mine, and then does the same to Declan. "but you two need to take a walk in each other's shoes. Not one of you has it worse or better than the other."

There's an ailing apprehension that pollutes the room and space between us, it's clear to us all. But that doesn't stop my aunt and uncle from giving us "space to talk." Just like when we were kids. The silence is deafening and the sound of his parents trudging up the stairs reverberates through the house.

As soon as their bedroom door clicks shut, he gets up without giving it a second thought.

"Declan!" I run after him and reach for his hand but he pushes back. "Can you please talk to me?" I screech.

"Fuck off."

"Yeah, I deserve that," I admit. "Please, just let me make it up to you." I clasp my hands together and beg for a chance at forgiveness.

"There's no making it up to me, Aubrey." He throws air quotes up and rolls his eyes. "Make it up to me by getting out of my house. I'm tired of seeing you."

"Okay," I mumble. There was no use in fighting him on this. It is his house, and he hasn't been home for a few days and he probably wants some time with his parents. I don't feel like going back home, but I need to give him his space. I can attest that it's a lot to take in. Even though I knew part of the story, hearing the full story still hits me in a way I hadn't expected.

It was the first time I heard the real story of Mom's life, and my mind was quick to draw parallels between her life and mine. I didn't get knocked up, send the baby daddy away, give away one of my two kids and lie about it. But in a way, I feel like I understand her more than I ever had.

She gave up her dreams and her life to try and be a mother of two. She failed, nonetheless, but failing probably made things even worse. And when things got worse, she did only what she knew how: she turned to drugs.

I might regret this later, but I feel bad.

I need your help one last time. I send, and it's like deja vu. Let's hope this plan of mine doesn't go as far south as my first one.

I pack my things lying around the guest bedroom and throw my duffle bag over my shoulder. The door creaks shut and I tiptoe down the stairs, trying not to make my leaving a bigger deal than it needs to be.

I smile to myself as I walk out because as fucked as this whole thing is, it's nice to feel like things are getting back to normal. Or at least somewhat normal. I'm scheming again. But this time, for good. I think. Only time will tell.

Receipts and wrappers crinkle as I step into my car, and a tiny hint of new car air freshener creeps up behind the pungent stench of stale cigarette smoke that's permanently engrossed into the cloth seats. Look what you made me do blared over the faint crackle in the driver's door speaker when I started the car, I'm sure the entire neighbourhood heard it. Not like it matters, anyone who drives past me definitely sees me either belting or dancing with one hand on the steering wheel, making catty faces anyway.

I get settled in and let my car warm up, Dad says it's better for the engine, "it gets the juices flowing" as he would say. I wish I had something to get my juices flowing because I think it's time Dad knows the truth too.

"Hey Siri, call Dad,"

The line trills three times before he answers. When he does, he sounds like he's half asleep and mumbles some gibberish before asking why I'm calling so late. I've been avoiding this moment like the plague. Dad's never once hounded me or made me feel like I needed to rush, but there were some obvious signals he threw at me a few times. Like when a couple of months ago when he asked me about Declan's soccer games. Or the last time I saw him where he literally asked me if I told Declan about him yet, then tried to play it off by asking if anyone knew about him. I didn't want to give up something good. Something mine. I didn't want to have to share him with the world.

I didn't want to share him with Declan.

When Dad first said "She kept me away from you kids", I got excited. I had a sibling that I didn't know about, and it was a mystery for me to uncover. For weeks, I sifted through Mom's things and ferreted through the boxes in the basement but there was nothing that stuck out.

It wasn't until Mom moved to the living room that I was able to go through the contents of her room. It was there that I found a box stuffed in the back of her closet. I like to call it her "Declan box". In this box housed pictures of him from all of our shared parties, a pacifier, some little ole baby socks and a hospital band that read out "Declan Nash".

And there it was. Physical proof that she loved him more than me.

I'm startled back to life when Aunt Irene pops up frantically knocking and tapping at my window. Uncle Dean and Declan are standing behind her. I'm not stupid, I know the look. And their faces, the way their eyebrows slump over their lifeless, pitying eyes, have the look. Mom's dead.

Humid air rushes through the cracks of the window as I slide it down. "We have to go, your mom," her breath catches. "Follow me, okay?"

Declan and Uncle Dean smile at me with their lips, Aunt Irene slides in between them, and they walk to their car as a family.

"Aubrey? You there? Hello?"

"I'm here," I say without thinking, staring blankly ahead and still feeling slightly detached. "I'm here. I just..." my lips make bubbles.

"Who was that? What about your mom?"

Mom is probably dead and I'm kind of relieved. "She's in the hospital."

"Oh, well, is she okay?"

If I tell him, he will probably make an appearance and I can't handle that on top of basically killing Mom. I wish I were lying but,

"I honestly don't know," I respond.

Aunt Irene's car is parked at the corner, her panic lights are blinking at me, screaming at me.

"Dad I have to go. I will call you as soon as I know anything, I promise."

I press the end-call button on my steering wheel before he can stop me.