Exed out

Familiarity is a Bitch

I told myself that I'd never come back, and surprisingly enough my family made that easy. Not my dad. He was my savior through everything that happened during my childhood and teen years. He was the tape that held us together. I knew how much family meant to him, we all did, but I think i was the only one who cared about his vision. I tried when I was a teen. I really, honestly did. It was probably the most honest thing I ever did. But of course it didn't work, and our tape eventually gave up on trying to hold pieces of cement together.

I told myself I'd never come back. I was eighteen, and had been accepted into a college across the country. I was reluctant to leave my dad even though it had been a solid year after the divorce. He was honestly getting better without my mom being around, but I still felt like I shouldn't leave him alone just yet. He urged me to go to college, learn until my brain was full, and make the wildest memories my mind could safely conjure up. So I did. I made changes and started with leaving everything behind. I mean everything.

•

It was weird getting out of the taxi and seeing the house I grew up in. For so long I had longed to smell the familiar wood of the floors that my little feet ran across as a child. I wanted to feel the soft linen of my old bed. I craved the sound of that stupid screen door slamming against the frame. Indiana had stayed the same and I rolled my eyes at its familiarity, although I was secretly glad to know every bump of the roads in town.

I paid my taxi, refused the drivers help of unpacking my suitcases from the trunk, and just stood on the sidewalk staring at the house. The looming white structure was taunting me, and I felt the ache to go inside the place I use to- and in the depths of my mind still- call home. I was conflicted as I reveled in the feeling of familiarity and frowned at its meaning.

After a few silent moments- our street once full of children was now occupied by sweet and bitter old timers who went to bed at 7:30 pm every night- the heavy wooden door opened my father stepped out onto the porch.

"Welcome back, B," I heard him call out to me. I rolled my eyes at the pet name he had given me when I was a child. I'm twenty-two now, couldn't he just call me Beth?

I grabbed my one suitcase and pick the duffle bag that lay at my feet up and proceeded down the short stone path up to the intimidating front porch.

I looked into my father's soft green eyes, a stubborn frown on my face, until the crinkles by his eyes intensified with a real smile, and he pulled me into a tight embrace.

"It has been way, way, way too long, Sweetheart."

And I wanted to agree, but I also wanted to say that it hasn't been long enough. Four years wasn't enough time for me to love them like I wanted to.

He pulled away, an odd smile on his face. "The rest of them are here," he said softly.

I shrugged, trying to show that I knew what was important. Even though my definition of family has changed didn't mean his did. Besides, it wasn't about me, my mother, or my younger brother. It was about Max.

"Before we get back to reality," my dad said, placing a heavy hand on my thin shoulder, "let's catch up."

It felt wrong to agree to it, but I let him guide me to the rocking chairs next to the front door. We sat down, and he leaned forward, giving his full attention to me like always.

"How are you?" He asked when I remained quiet.

I nodded slowly. "I'm fine," I said, swallowing.

"I meant," he said trailing off for a second. "I meant with like school and California. You said you have met a boy?"

I shook my head. "I mean, yeah, I did. Things just didn't work out, and we broke up last night."

"Shit," he breathed, rubbing his calloused hand over the stubble on his face. "Last night?"

"It was before I knew about Max," I said slowly. It was weird saying that sentence.

"I'm sure he wouldn't have made a dick move like that at such a time."

"Ryder was a dick. I doubt anything would have gone differently."

"Well, not with a name like Ryder. He sounds like a dick."

I laughed at his assessment of Ryder, and then glanced behind me at the door. "We should go inside."

"Are you ready?"

"This isn't about us. I'm sure we can all agree on that and move past it for the next week. Don't you think?"

"I'm definitely praying," he said, rubbing his hand over the cross that was tattooed on his arm. It was a familiar gesture, and I briefly rubbed my own tattoo for more comfort. This would be a nightmare.

•

Waking inside was just how I wanted it to be minus the obvious tension that choked me. Everything was the same as I remember except that there was more art in the house. As soon as my mother moved out, my dad turned to art. He drew and painted and sculpted and carved, and it filled the house to replace the hole she left behind. I thought it was beautiful in most beautifully stupid way.

And there she was, the devil herself.

I shouldn't say that about her because she was my mom, and it would be foolish to admit that at times I did think about her. However, I couldn't help but remember how shattered we all were–particularly my dad–after she abruptly left. The worst part about it was that we all knew things were bad, but we all thought it was fixable. Then she left without warning and didn't call for five agonizing weeks. Dad was a wreck and that was at the forefront of my mind whenever I thought about her biting departure from our so-called family.

"Beth," she said softly. The skin around her eyes was irritated from crying, and that was a big reminder of why we were all here. Lauren Bishop didn't cry.

"Hi, Mom," I replied, my tone matching hers. I dropped my bags when I saw her arms twitch up slightly. She was hesitant in requesting a hug from her own daughter, but we were all in a time of need so I allowed her to pull me into a tight embrace. "Are you okay?"

She didn't say anything; she only hugged me tighter which made the lump in my throat double in size.

"Cameron," she said, pulling away with a deep breath. "Show your daughter to her room."

"I know the way," I said with an awkward laugh.

"I'll help you anyway," he said sounding oddly quiet. He always sounded like that when she was around: distant, in his own world, soft. She, on the other hand, always a taut, stubborn tone.

I didn't question him; usually when she was around dad did everything he could to keep his mind busy. I knew better than to refuse his attempt to distance himself from the woman he loved who didn't love him back.