The Truth About Life

-Olivia: Chapter Eight-

It's 2am, I cannot sleep for the life of me. Having Gabe visit every weekend is way too much. Too much added stress.

When we were married, having him sleep beside me kept the dreams at bay most nights, the monsters away.

Now, it's just me, and the monster seems to be closing in. I'm dreaming too much now, or nightmaring too much, if that's a word.

Every time I close my eyes at night, I see my uncle's face. I haven't let him have physical control over me for years, but he still has mental control over me. Even though I want the terrible memories of him the hell out of my head!

Like the other day for example, Audrey bought herself some Caress body soap. When she was showering, the steam and smell of the soap wafted under the bathroom door. When it reached my bedroom where I was folding clothes, I gagged. The smell of the soap isn't particularly what I hate, it's the memories attached to this specific smell that are brutal.

I closed my eyes, took deep, cleansing breaths. But I couldn't keep the memories at bay.

My uncle telling me he has a migraine, him taking his clothes off and telling me he needs my help to feel better. I can still hear the rustle of his clothes hitting the floor. His belt buckle making a muted clunking sound as it hits the cold linoleum. I can still hear him running the tub water. I can still hear his body sinking into the bath water and him asking me in a sickeningly, tender voice to just rub his body with soap. He'll feel better real soon.
"You'll do that for me, won't you Olivia?"

I was 6 years old.

The memories leave me on a wisp of steam as Audrey cracks the bathroom door, shouting for a towel.

I'm in the kitchen, the smell of berries and sugar simmer on the stove. Summer is finally here and I'm making Chase and Audrey's favorite desserts in celebration of the first weekend of summer. And, secretly, Chase's 9th week of being drug free.

He isn't the same loud, funny jokester, but how can you be after what he experienced. He's more stoic and moody now. Kind of brooding. It honestly makes me nervous. That he'll go back to the drugs, because maybe we're not as comforting as meth. Who am I kidding, of course we're not. Having us all hover over him, I'm starting to annoy myself! What do I do? Hover? Not hover? I wish he would just talk to me, just tell me what he wants me to do.

I think about the support groups for parents with kids addicted to drugs. I've wanted to go a couple of times, just sit in the very back and see what it's like. Just last week I drove to the old catholic church where the meetings are held every Thursday night, promptly at 6pm.

I sat in my car watching other parents walk into the church. Some looked happy, with smiles on their faces, talking to other parents. Others looked like the weight of the world was resting on their shoulders, their faces long and drawn out. Their steps slow, dragging.

Is that how I look, like a parent that's been put through the wringer? Are the happy looking parents putting on an act? Are they trying to "happy" away what's going on in their lives?

I couldn't make myself get out of the car, that would be admitting that I have a problematic son, that we're dysfunctional. Deep down I know we're something, but I'm not sure I want a group of strangers to know that.

I turned the key in the ignition and slowly pulled away from the church. I glanced back in the rearview mirror, see the cross on the steeple shining in the waning sunlight.

The smell of burning berries brings me back to my kitchen. "Oh, hell," I say out loud. I yank the ruined pot of berries off the stove, toss it in the sink. Throw open the windows to air out the smoke. I pull more berries out of the freezer and start on the pie filling again.

Once the berries and sugar are simmering on the stove again, I pull out Cecil's old, tin recipe box and riffle through the index cards, where all of her sumptuous recipes are hand written in her beautiful, flowery script, until I find the one for pie crust.

The feel of flour and cold, shredded butter sifting through my fingers is pretty grounding, and I start to feel calm.

I'm in my element baking and creating delicious things. I roll the perfect pie dough into the glass dish and carefully poke holes in the bottom with a fork. The oven beeps, letting me know it's time to bake the crust.

I give the berry filling a quick stir and taste. Mmm, just the right tart to sweet. Cecil Wright would be proud; I think to myself. All those days at her house did my soul good.

I pull the heavy cream and eggs out of the refrigerator to start on Audrey's favorite pie, coconut cream.

Audrey and I are out in the backyard putting the finishing touches on the patio table, where we'll eat our "beginning of summer dinner.''
I put together a delicious dinner of potato salad, spicy pulled pork sandwiches, smoky baked beans, a crisp green salad and of course, to top it all off, the pies.

My heart is feeling lighter as we set the table and string up the patio lights. Having Audrey by my side helping, is a balm, I think, to both of our souls.
I'm just getting ready to call for Chase that dinner is ready when he walks out the French doors and onto the patio, his backpack slung over his shoulders, a hoodie over one arm.

I look at him, confused. "Where are you going? I told you a couple of days ago tonight would be our first weekend of summer family dinner."

I sweep my arm towards the table, to encompass all the food and time I spent on dinner today. Chase shrugs his shoulders a couple times and his backpack shifts, like there's something really heavy in it.

"I have somewhere to be, mom. I'll catch up with you guys later on."

I start to shake my head, "No way, your dads coming to this dinner to spend it with Audrey and you. He'll be here any minute."

Chase gives me a somewhat apologetic look and starts walking to the front yard, out to the street, and disappears around the corner.

"Should I go after him? Should we give him space?" I voice these questions out loud, not expecting an answer.

Audrey says, "He wouldn't stay if we asked him to, not when he knows Penny is coming with dad tonight." Audrey rolls her eyes and shudders a little at the thought.

"What did you just say? This is supposed to be a family dinner, he did not tell me Penny was coming when I talked with him on the phone a couple days ago."

My voice is rising and I start to feel my control slip away. I hate that feeling, I need to be in control. Especially if Penny is coming. Wait, this is my house, I don't have to let her come over for dinner, do I?

Of course, I do. I need to be the bigger person and be a good example for Audrey.

"My gosh mom, if Chase isn't going to be here, I don't want to be. I didn't want this dinner with dad in the first place. I hate him, I won't ever forgive him for leaving us. I was just sticking this dinner out for Chase's sake." With that announcement, she turns on her heel and walks inside.

Just then, I hear two car doors open then slam shut in the driveway. Gabe and Penny make their way to the backyard, holding hands. Penny, is of course, perfectly coiffed. Every hair in place, her clothes wrinkle free. Gabe looks handsome and put together, too.

I, on the other hand, haven't brushed my hair since this morning and have berry juice from pie making all over my top. I sigh, rolling my eyes up to the heavens. This'll be a really super "family dinner".