Lying Out Loud

Chapter 27

They insisted on driving me.

I told them I had Gert. I told them I could go alone. I told them not to worry.

But they wouldn’t hear it.

We pulled into the driveway around noon, and even though it was surprisingly sunny for the beginning of March, everything about my house seemed dark and gray. Like it was haunted. Like there was a permanent shadow hanging over it, clinging to the tree branches in the front yard.

“You don’t have to come in,” I said, forcing myself to sound confident. “I can talk to Mom on my own.”

“Is she even here?” Mrs. Rush asked. “There’s no car in the driveway.”

“She’s … she’s probably at work,” I said. “She’ll be home soon. I have my key, so …”

“Why don’t we wait with you,” Mr. Rush said. It wasn’t a question, though. He and Mrs. Rush wasted no time unbuckling their seat belts and getting out of the car.

But I stayed, frozen in the backseat.

No.

No, it couldn’t happen like this.

“Come on, Sonny,” Mrs. Rush said, opening the door next to me. “It’ll be okay. I know it’s probably scary to confront your mom, but that’s why we’re here.”

But that wasn’t what was scaring me.

I climbed out of the car, trying to keep my composure as panic bubbled in my stomach. I fumbled for my key, which had spent months at the bottom of my purse, unused, unwanted. I hesitated before sliding it into the lock.

“I appreciate you coming with me,” I said. “But really, you don’t have to stay. It … it’ll probably be better if I talk to her alone. I can call you after —”

“I think we should be here,” Mr. Rush said. “Based on what you told us before, your mom has a tendency to overreact. If we’re here, maybe she’ll keep a cooler head.”

“We just want to make sure everything’s okay,” Mrs. Rush said, ruffling my hair a little. “Let’s go on inside, Sonny. It’s cold out here.”

My hands were shaking so hard. “You really don’t have to —”

“We know,” Mr. Rush said. “But we want to.”

With both of their eyes on me, I had no other choice but to unlock the front door and let them inside.

The living room was dark, the blinds drawn, and the stale odor of it nearly suffocated me. I shivered in my jacket. It wasn’t much warmer inside. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr. and Mrs. Rush glance at each other, and the panic rose up into my throat.

“My mom might be a while,” I said. “She works weird hours.”

“We can wait,” Mr. Rush said, but there was a skeptical tone to his voice. He sat down on the couch, a puff of dust rising around him. He had the grace to pretend he didn’t notice. “Come sit with me. We’ll wait together.”

“Um …” I looked over at Mrs. Rush, who seemed to be scoping out the place, her eyes investigating every corner of the living room. “You know, my mom might not be okay with coming home to find so many people in the house. You don’t know this about her, but she’s really an introvert. This might be too overwhelming and —”

“Sonny,” Mr. Rush said, “is there something wrong?”

“No.” But my voice cracked. “No, I’m just worried my mom won’t be okay with this when she gets home. I really should just talk to her myself.”

“It’s so dark in here,” Mrs. Rush said. “Let me get the light.”

“No!”

But it was too late. She’d flipped the switch on the wall.

And nothing had happened.

“Sonny,” Mrs. Rush said quietly, “is there no electricity here?”

“No … the bulb’s just burnt out.”

“The heat’s not on either.”

“Mom likes it cold.”

“Sonny,” Mr. Rush said.

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. You two need to go.”

“No one’s been here in months, have they?” Mrs. Rush asked. Her voice was so soft, so gentle, that it hurt.

I tried to laugh, but it came out maniacal and cold. “Don’t be ridiculous. Mom’s here every day. She’ll be home soon.”

Mr. Rush stood up and walked over to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to lie to us. Just tell us what’s going on, okay?”

And that’s when it broke, every ounce of cool I’d kept over the past few months. Maybe it was this house. Maybe it was the unwavering kindness in Mr. Rush’s voice. Maybe it was being told not to lie for the thousandth time. But it just snapped and fell away.

And there was no way to pull together the pieces now.

“Nothing’s going on!” I screamed. It left a sharp ache in my throat, and tears spilled from my eyes. “It’s fine. Just go!”

“Sonny —”

“Go!” I pushed Mr. Rush’s hand off my shoulder. “Get out!”

“Sonny!” Mrs. Rush gasped.

“Get out!” I screamed again, stomping my foot and clenching my fists, like a child throwing a tantrum. “Get out! Get out! Get the fuck out!”

“Sonya!” Mrs. Rush grabbed my arm, but I yanked it away.

“Just leave! Mom will be here soon — just GO!”

The tears were hot as they rolled down my face. My whole body shook as I pleaded with both of them to leave.

Leave so they wouldn’t have to know.

Wouldn’t find out.

But it was too late.

They knew.

The secret I’d kept from everyone. The most painful truth I’d locked away. It was about to come out, and I couldn’t bear it.

“Stop, Sonny.” Mr. Rush caught my wrists and pulled me to him, holding me in a hug so tight I couldn’t resist anymore.

I thrashed for a minute to no avail. I was too tired. Too hurt.

“She’s coming back,” I cried. “She’ll be here soon.”

“Shhh,” Mr. Rush said. “It’s okay, Sonny.”

He pulled me to the couch and we sank down together as I sobbed into his shoulder. He stroked my hair, the way my dad had when I was little and had nightmares. No one had held me like this in almost a decade. I should’ve been too old for it. Too old to be comforted this way.

But just then, I felt like a little kid again.

Like the little kid who had been left behind all those years ago.

I could hear Mrs. Rush walking around the house, but I never looked up. I never stopped crying.

“She’s on her way,” I mumbled every few minutes or so. “She’s coming back.”

But no one believed me anymore.

I didn’t believe me anymore.

I don’t know how much time passed like that, but eventually Mrs. Rush came to sit down on the couch with me and her husband. She rested a hand on my back, and the show of kindness just made me cry harder.

When the tears finally slowed and I was able to catch my breath, Mrs. Rush asked the question I’d been dreading.

“Where’s your mother, Sonny?”

I shook my head, but I couldn’t lie anymore. I didn’t have the energy or the strength.

“I … I don’t know.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“A while.” I swallowed and rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “She leaves sometimes. But … but she always comes back. But this time …”

“Oh, Sonny,” Mr. Rush murmured. “You were never kicked out.”

I shook my head no.

They didn’t ask why I’d lied, and for that I was eternally grateful. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about anything. I wanted to go back in time. Before the Rushes saw this empty, dusty, lonely house. Before I fucked up everything with Amy and Ryder.

Before I was alone.

“Come on,” Mr. Rush said. “Let’s go.”

“No,” I said, clutching at his arm. I hated myself. I hated the pathetic sound of my voice when I said, “Don’t leave me. Please.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Mrs. Rush wrapped her arms around me. “No. Sonny, we’re not leaving you here. You’re coming back with us, okay?”

“But Amy —”

“Loves you,” Mr. Rush said. “And so do we.”

“Whatever is going on with you two, you’ll work it out,” Mrs. Rush said. “And she’d want you to come back with us, too.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, though. Not after everything I’d done. This was just another lie I’d told her. Just another reason for her to hate me.

Mr. Rush walked me out to the car while Mrs. Rush gathered some more clothes from my bedroom. None of us said a word on the drive back to their house. I stared out the window, my eyes wet and burning.

It was over. The cat was out of the bag. I felt naked, humiliated. Raw.

When we got back to the Rushes’ house, Amy was sitting in the living room, watching TV. She looked stunned to see me walk through the door.

I turned my face away from her, hiding. I didn’t say a word to anyone, just ran up the stairs to the guest room where I’d been staying.

I didn’t mean to slam the door behind me, but I did.

I fell onto the bed, my face in the pillow. But I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

There weren’t any tears left.