Say You'll Remember Me(68)

“Ha.”

“How hard would it have been to be like, ‘Hey. I was an alcoholic. I did things to you I regret. I’ve worked to change.’? I mean, because he did get sober. He has changed,” she said. “And your mom clearly knows what an ass he was when he was drinking or she wouldn’t have mentioned it like something he deserves an award for. He’s just not willing to make amends for any of the crap he did while he was drunk.”

“I’m glad he’s sober,” I said. “If only for the sake of the long-suffering servers at the places they like to eat.”

“I can’t stand people who are rude to service workers,” she said. “It’s the best litmus test there is. That and putting your cart away at the grocery store.”

“They never put their cart away,” I said.

“Of course they didn’t. Jerks.”

I fiddled with a straw wrapper on the table. “I try to think sometimes about how they got to where they are. Nobody is born like this. I get these animals in my clinic that bite because they’re scared or in pain or they’ve been abused.” I went quiet. “Maybe my parents were some of those things. Maybe it changed them. I would be open to hearing about it if they had the ability to acknowledge it themselves and take some accountability.”

She bobbed her head. “Yeah,” she said. “I think we grow up and we either get harder or we get softer on our parents. We realize how fucked up they actually were or we give them a pass because adulting is hard and now we get it. They’re people and they make mistakes.”

“Did your parents make mistakes?” I asked, looking up at her.

“Oh my God, yeah. One time when we were teenagers, my mom got so mad at how messy the house was, she took a trash bag and started walking around, throwing away our stuff. She threw away my new Vans that I had saved up for. I held a grudge about that day for years. But now I sort of get it. She was probably exhausted, overstimulated because we were loud, tired of asking for help. Maybe she had a headache or cramps. I’m not saying she was right to do what she did, but I do understand it. And you know what’s funny? Knowing this now doesn’t change the memory, but it changes the way I feel about the memory. That’s what apologies and perspective does. It changes how you feel about what happened.” She looked me in the eye. “I am so sorry they robbed you of that. You deserve more. You deserve an apology and for them to admit that they suck.”

I couldn’t explain how grateful I was to feel so seen.

It was different from what my friends did for me. They backed me up and supported me, the same as Samantha was doing now. But they based their opinion of me and my parents on what they’d seen with their own eyes. They’d been there. They’d met the monsters of my youth.

But Samantha saw completely through all of it based solely on knowing me alone. She believed me.

And she was right. I would have accepted an apology.

I probably would never have let them fully back into my life. I’d never really trust them. It would take at least a decade to ever rebuild any sort of relationship. But it would have been nice to have what my parents put me through be acknowledged. I knew now that I would never get that. That I’d have to be okay with that. For the most part I already was. It was the phone call that set me back. The leaves still hadn’t settled. And right now the part of me that wanted peace was officially smaller than the part that wanted revenge. And I could only punish them one way, by having everything they wished I didn’t. By being more than they ever said I would.

Mom thought my clinic would go out of business? It would be there for the next fifty years. I wanted them to have to drive by it every time they went to the store and see my name on the building.

Samantha sipped her Coke and I gave her what she liked to call one of my contemplative gazes.

And they would never know her. I wished they knew how sad that should make them. How much they were missing.

And kids. They would never know my kids.

“Do you want children?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said, setting her drink down. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“How many?” she asked.

I thought about it. “Two? So they can know what it’s like to have a sibling. I didn’t get to know that.”

“Ha. You could end up with a Tristan.” She raised her straw to her lips and then lowered it. “What if I didn’t want them? Or I couldn’t have them?”

“Then we’d have dogs. Cats. Ferrets. Whatever you want.”

She pursed her lips playfully. “Sooo what you’re saying is, I stick with you, and I can have infinity pets.”

“Maybe not infinity pets. We have to be able to give them a good quality of life.”

She was nodding sagely. “But like, I could definitely show up with an extra dog or cat now and then and you’d just sigh loudly and ask me what its name is?”

“That is accurate.”

“I think all of our animal babies should be rescues,” she said.

“Agree.”

“Can we have goats?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She grinned. “You really wouldn’t break up with me if I couldn’t get pregnant?”

I laughed a little. “No. Would you break up with me if I couldn’t get you pregnant?”