Leah

I don't want to leave Delilah's apartment, but around noon, I have to.

Caden's girlfriend is coming over this afternoon and I know my brother will kill me should I be late.

Delilah is pouting and I'm sure she knows exactly what she's doing when she gives me those eyes, pursing her lips, pretending to be upset.

„Don't leave,“ she says, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I almost give in when she kisses me once again, lips a little swollen, face free of any make up.

„I have to. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?“

She sighs, then nods. And smiles at me.

„Tell me all about Caden's girl. I'm so curious.“

„Me too.“

We kiss one last time and when I fly down the stairs of the building, I can't deny that I've never been happier.

Caden's and my attempt at baking doesn't go as well as we hoped it would. The cake we produce looks a little sad. It smells okay though so we decide that it'll have to be enough.

Caden is so nervous, it almost makes me laugh.

„Relax,“ I say, one hand on his back.

He gives me one weary look, then turns back to his phone, which he's clutching tightly.

„She's here,“ he says a moment later and jumps up as if stung by a bee.

„Here we go,“ I mutter and he gives me another look.

„Be nice. Please.“

„Of course I'll be nice. Jesus.“

Moon turns out to be nothing like I imagined her. Which is not that surprising, since Caden didn't tell me much about her at all.

She's tall and her make up is impeccable. Her clothes aren't necessarily stylish, but have the look that someone takes very good care of them.

Her skin is darker than Caden's and her hair long and black.

I introduce myself and try to seem warm and welcoming. That's not one of my strengths and I know it.

Moon, despite her obvious nerves, is very polite and her smile seems genuine.

When I see the way Caden looks at her, I know that I'm going to be in this for the long run.

He's completely gone for her.

She baked muffins and unlike us, she's actually talented when it comes to baking. Her muffins are the best ones I've ever had.

Almost as good as my mom's brownies.

The longer we talk, the more relaxed Moon gets and I think I might see what has Caden so smitten.

She might be shy and reserved, but at the same time, she's opiniated and eloquent, especially considering that she seems to come from a family even poorer than our own.

I ask her about school and baking and she compliments me on the apartment and everything else she can think of and Caden looks like he's beyond relieved that we get along.

Before she leaves, I catch the two of them kissing, but pretend I wouldn't have seen anything.

It's strange, seeing my brother kiss someone. I wouldn't say it's a nice feeling, but I'll have to get used to it.

When she's gone, Caden is smiling, and I feel bad because I want to ask him questions that are completely unnecessary. Rude, even.

More so to Moon than to him.

Part of me wonders if he even knows. My brother can be oblivious at times.

But I can think of no way to ask respectfully, so I decide not to ask at all.

It's been a long time since I woke up Monday morning in such a good mood.

At college, Finn asks me what's the matter. When he notices my caught expression, he laughs.

„Delilah?“

„Yes. Is that... okay to talk about?“

„Of course. Are you guys together now?“

I can't suppress my smile. „I think. We might be.“

The genuine smile he gives me warms my heart. Maybe I have two friends now.

Plus an amazing girlfriend.

I hardly dare say, but my life seems as perfect as it gets right now.

It's not until twenty-four hours later that my mood starts shifting.

Delilah hasn't texted me back for a whole day now.

That's a lot. That is how long you let someone wait when you're trying to make clear you don't want any contact with them anymore.

I don't think Delilah would ghost me though.

Not after that weekend. Not after what we've said and done.

And yet, she hasn't texted me back for a whole day.

„You're overreacting,“ Caden tells me.

My mom is sitting in our kitchen. Somehow, my rule is starting to get subverted and I'm starting not to care much about it anymore.

What I do care about though that Caden told our mom about Delilah.

I didn't want to tell her yet. She's not someone I go to for love advise and especially not when I'm concerned.

„Maybe she is just really busy, honey,“ she says and I roll my eyes.

„I'm meeting May to study,“ I announce and leave the two of them in the apartment.

Caden doesn't even look up from his phone.

„That's weird.“

May and I are sitting on the floor of her apartment, notes scattered around us, an open package of cookies and empty cups of coffee our fuel.

„It is weird. I mean... why isn't she texting?“

„I don't know.“

May is frowning.

I'm trying not to let my desperation show. I won't be desperate anymore. I won't allow her to do that to me.

„It doesn't matter. Let's focus.“

May pats my knee, which seems to have become a habit, and we turn our attention back to our notes.

Around twenty minutes later, the screen of my phone lights up.

I have a new message from Delilah.

Flying back to Boston today. Not sure yet how long I'll be. Miss you.

Delilah

The bomb drops straight out of nowhere.

One moment, I'm hurrying through the building with a big smile on my face, the next I'm dropping all the files I was supposed to be copying and start searching for the soonest flight to Boston.

It takes me a while to think of what to say Leah.

Maybe I should just call her. Tell her everything.

But the story is too long, feels too big for the phone and I don't want to talk about it with her right now.

At the same time, I know that I'll risk our fragile relationship if I don't.

I can't think about her.

I think I might simply break if I did.

Leah

This time, I let her go.

As far as I'm at all able to, at least. I can't cut all the threads at once. But I stop trying.

I cry for hours in my bed, then I cry in Caden's arms and then in May's and then I feel like I've cried enough.

Somehow, it feels like, finally, I did everything I could.

I was honest. I was open.

I tried.

And now, I'm tired of trying.

Instead, I let May and Chris take me out and we get drunk. Seriously wasted, to be honest, especially May and I. Chris is nice enough to stay fairly sober so he can take us home.

I sleep in May's bed and the next day, I puke my guts out over her toilet.

Aside from drinking too much on the weekend, I don't let anything slide.

I go to classes everyday and study with Finn. We go for coffee a couple times.

He met a guy on Grindr and after at first cautiously testing the waters, he's talking my ear off about him. He's apparently tall and handsome, looks like Alfred Enoch (you know, Wes, the puppy dog eyes from How to Get Away With Murder) and is a true sex god.

„But I just don't know if he really likes me or if he's just in it for the sex.“

I tell Finn to take a step back if he's catching feelings. He doesn't want to hear it, but agrees with me in the end.

„It's Grindr. There's only so much you can expect,“ he says and sounds so sad that I give him a hug.

He crooks a smile.

„Fuck men,“ he says and we toast to that with sweet coffee over our notes for maths class.

Caden is out all the time now and we keep getting into fights about it. I tell him he's not careful enough. He tells me I'm coddling him.

Deep down, I know that he's right and I'm wrong, but I can't admit it to any of us.

„I'm proud of you, Leah,“ May says to me on another drunken night.

Since Delilah is gone, I like to end my nights with whiskey. Or tequila or vodka or rum. I'm really not picky.

„Why that?“

„You're doing well. I was prepared for another month of depression,“ May says, downing her drink.

„Oh, don't worry. I'm depressed.“

We exchange a look.

„Sorry. I won't joke about it anymore.“

But I do feel depressed, whenever I'm alone.

I'm just tired of it. Tired of Delilah and her stupid games.

I haven't texted her. I haven't called. Not even once.

It's not on me anymore to make this work.

Delilah

„Will he ever speak again?“

The doctor gives me a sad look. „Probably. We can't make any promises yet.“

I nod slowly and look at my father. He seems so weak in the white hospital bed.

„He's receiving the very best treatment, Miss Carter. You can be assured of that.“

I give the doctor a slightly strained smile. „I appreciate that.“

I wish I could say I would have known.

Since I'm sixteen or so, I feel like I know all of my family's secrets.

I know about my mother's affairs and my father's drinking. I know about the remote he once threw at her and how he went to therapy after that.

But maybe I didn't know everything.

I didn't see it coming. I didn't expect it.

I didn't think my dad would ever try to kill himself.

I always thought he loved me too much for that.

My parents marriage has been an unhappy one from the day my mother got pregnant.

She didn't want that child. Not yet. She was only twenty-one and had plans. Big plans.

But of course, having an abortion was out of the question. So she had me and then handed me over to an army of nannies who were to care for me while she grieved the life she wanted to have and now would never get.

I've never quite understood why she married a man she didn't love. I know that their families put pressure on them. They were such a good match.

My dad is older than her and was already successful when they met, having taken over the business from his father.

My mom was expected to be pretty and polite.

She never wanted to be that, but she didn't know how to get out.

I always understood her unhappiness with the situation as it was back then.

But that's about where my understanding ends.

While my dad busted his ass at work and at home, trying to make my mom happy, she became cold and distant. She put all the blame for the life she didn't want on my dad's shoulders.

I blame her for his alcoholism, even though I know it might not be entirely fair.

Instead of divorcing him, she began having affairs when I was nine or ten. Back then, I didn't know about that of course.

I only knew that my father spent the nights in his private office at home, drinking bottles of wine and whiskey. Sometimes accompanied with some pills.

I was put to bed by the nice nannies and rewarded with pretty gifts for being such a good girl.

For a long time, I didn't care.

Only when I was fourteen, I found out about the affairs. My father was yelling at my mother, drunkenly.

She didn't even try to deny it.

When he was done, she just said: „Go take a shower, Harold. You reek of whiskey.“

A week later, he threw the remote at her and a bottle on the floor.

I screamed at him and he became a crumpled pile on the floor, suffocating in self-hatred.

My mother put a hand on my shoulder and led me away, up to my bedroom. She tucked me in and said: „Don't worry, Dee. He'll never do it again.“

And she was right.

Sometimes I wonder if they could have fixed their marriage, at least a little, if Justin didn't happen.

But he did happen and I did have an abortion.

As I said, my dad supported me. He understood.

But my mom didn't.

The woman who I was absolutely sure would understand better than anyone else lost it when she learned what I had done.

She yelled at me. Screamed at me I'd go to hell for that.

I ran up to my room, locked the door and screamed into my pillow.

My dad came up some minutes later. „She doesn't mean it,“ he said, as always, unable to fix the mess around him.

„Yes she did,“ I said.

I believed that.

Then I went to college and made new friends and new experiences and my view on my mother started to shift a little bit.

I wondered, if maybe, her reaction had to do something with her being unable to do what I did. Back then, when she wanted nothing more than to get out of this unlucky relationship.

It doesn't make much sense and I'm not a psychologist, but I do think that her reaction had more to do with herself than with me.

I was ready to forgive her.

But she couldn't forgive me.

And when I was out of reach, she started putting that blame on my father as well. He was the one who knew about it, afterall. He helped me through it.

When Justin resurfaced, I was home for summer break. I told my dad about it, even though I wasn't sure if I really should. He was in a bad place. I didn't want to add to the stress. But in the end, I had to, because Justin was stalking me again.

When my mom found out, she looked me dead in the eyes and said: „You deserve it, Delilah.“

That afternoon, I applied for the exchange program.

Seeing my mother at the hospital has me crawling in my skin.

„Are you happy now?“ are the first words I say to her.

She chooses not to answer.

„How long are you staying?“ she asks instead.

„As long as I have to. But don't worry. I'll take a hotel.“

„That's ridiculous. You can stay with me, of course.“

„The hell I will.“ And with that, I turn my back to her.

It's kind of ironic how I always encouraged Leah to talk to her mom. To make it right.

I know very well what it feels like to know that there is no making it right again.

When I got back from New York to finish college, I didn't speak to my parents much.

My dad and I talked on the phone sometimes and he took me out for dinner every other week.

I love my dad.

He's a very flawed man, but so are all of us, and he is the one person in the world who never made me doubt that he loved me.

I knew his drinking had worsened. You could see it just by looking at him.

„Dad, you have to divorce her,“ I told him more than once. „You'll both be happier.“

He always looked down and just said: „I love her, Leah.“

He's a flawed man.

Now, at age twenty-two, going on twenty-three, I understand that my parents are probably the reason why my own love life is so fucked up.

I just don't really believe in love.

Logically, I know that my parents are just one example. Not every relationship is like that.

But it's all I know and I can't help but think it always turns out that way, in the end.

Two months before I returned to New York, my mom finally showed mercy

She divorced my dad.

I'm not quite sure why then. Maybe she met someone. Maybe my dad lashed out again and none of them ever told me. Maybe she had to pick up one too many empty bottle.

I don't know. I just remember getting the call and being euphoric. It were the best news she ever told me.

I really thought that everything would be better from now on. I felt like it was okay to leave.

So I started applying for jobs and internships and allowed myself to think of Leah. Of seeing her again.

Of loving her.

Three nights before my flight to New York was scheduled, my father called me. Drunk.

I drove two hours through the night to find him with his head on the steering wheel of his Mercedes, vomit all over his expensive trousers and leather seat.

„Did you drive drunk?“ My heart was pounding in my chest and I almost had to throw up myself from the smell of it all.

He didn't answer me. He was on the verge of passing out.

I cleaned him up as well as I could, suppressing my urge to gag, and wanted to drag him into my own car. I didn't manage to. He was too heavy and not responsive.

In the end, I succeeded to push him into the passenger seat of his own, reeking car.

I drove home for two hours on a seat that was sticky with vomit in a car that wasn't mine, my own car parked in the middle of nowhere.

That was when I knew nothing would be better from now on.

„It's good you're here,“ my mom says and I can hardly look at her.

She has a nice house. It's in the suburbs, where all the buildings are big and expensive and homely.

It's not quite as high class as she's used to, but I can tell that she loves it here.

I almost kill her for being happy.

„It wouldn't make sense to waste money when I have a beautiful guest room set up for you,“ she continues.

She's wearing a cardigan and a pair of those soft trousers she loves so much. She looks like a business woman, even though she hasn't worked a day in her life.

„Brilliant,“ I say through grit teeth and drag my suitcase into the room.

It is a nice room, but I want nothing more than to tear the tapestry and paint everything in bloody red.

Living with my mom is hell.

It's hell because there are no corpses in her house. It's all oh so very bright. She has a fridge full of vegetables and yoghurts and a pantry full of chocolate and the dark bread she likes so much.

I visit my dad every day. He still can't talk.

Apparently, when you try to hang yourself and almost succeed, your vocal chords are severely damaged afterwards.

And not just those. His brain is damaged too, from all the time it had to go without oxygen.

He might never walk without a cane again. If he's really unlucky, he won't speak again either.

Whenever I visit him, I notice the signs of withdrawal. I know he's suffering and they don't even have him do it cold turkey. He probably wouldn't survive that.

I don't talk to him a lot.

I don't know what to say. I used to blame my mom for almost everything that went wrong in our house and I think I still do, but now I'm not sure if maybe, he's just as bad as she is.

I don't feel bad for him.

I'm mad at him.

And that probably only confirms what I've already known: That I am one hell of a selfish person, but I can't bring myself to care.

I'm here every day and I'm suffering with him.

If he wants my compassion, he'll have to do a lot of explaining first.

I think about Leah a lot, but I don't call her. I wouldn't know what to say.

I've lost my job at the theatre. I try not to cry about it.

„Would you like to go out today? I know a lovely restaurant in the near vicinity. I'm sure you'd enjoy their crepes.“

My mom tries to smile at me, but this woman has never known how to smile.

„Are you seeing someone?“

„Excuse me?“

„You heard me.“ I'm sitting on her painfully stylish couch, watching her in her painfully stylish clothes.

„I am, yes. But we're taking it slow.“

„Who is it?“

She seems almost weary, which is an unusual look on my mother. „He used to by my physical therapist. We ran into each other by accident and started talking. He is divorced too.“

„So you didn't fuck him behind dad's back?“

My mother's features grow hard. „I understand that you're angry, Delilah, but I won't let you insult me.“

„That's funny. You don't have a problem with insulting me though, do you?“

I'm trembling all over. My mother looks at me.

I hate, I really hate, how much we look alike. My eyes are hers. My legs, my hands, my mouth. All hers. Only my hair is my dad's. And the collar bones, I was told. My mom's collar bones are very prominent, almost like wings. Her hair is lighter than mine. Now she dyes it blond.

„I assume I owe you an apology.“

„Do you.“

„Yes.“ She leans forward. Her hands are manicured, nails painted in a sweet shade of rosé, but they still look old. Veiny and knotty. Older than her forty-four years would justify.

„I'm sorry for all the things I said to you regarding... regarding the abortion. I recognize that I've crossed some lines.“

I clench my jaw and refuse to look at her. „I don't care about what you say.“

We're both silent.

„Delilah, you can ask me. Whatever you have on your chest. I'm tired of us fighting.“

I turn my head so fast, I feel something pop.

„Are you now? After twenty-two years, you're tired now.“

She swallows. „I know I've made many mistakes.“

„Yeah. First one was marrying Dad when you didn't love him.“

„Yes.“

I want her to be her usual, cold self. I don't know how to deal with my mom admitting to having made mistakes.

„It's not an excuse, but I want to tell you so you understand me better.“

I make a noise, half groan, half snort.

„When your dad proposed to me, everyone – and I mean, everyone; my family, his family, my friends, my siblings – told me I'd be crazy not to accept. He was making six-figures even back then and loved me stupid. I was young and I was a woman. I didn't know how to say no. I couldn't explain why I didn't want to be his wife. No one wanted to hear that I'd rather work than have kids.“

I don't want her to keep talking.

I want to be mad.

„Divorcing him seemed... impossible. I didn't know how to rely on myself. I was scared to lose the support of everyone I loved. And I didn't want you to grow up without him. He loved you so much, Delilah. From the moment on he first saw you. And you loved him too. I didn't want to do that to either of you.“

I give her a hard, unforgiving stare. „Old story, mom.“

She flinches. „Alright. Fine.“

She gets up and smoothes her clothes down.

„Why now?“ I ask.

She turns back to me and her schooled expression show an emotion I don't want to see.

Pity.

„Why divorce him now?“

„Because he pushed me down the stairs, love.“