Lying Out Loud

Chapter 28

I didn’t leave the guest room for two days.

Partly because I was sad and miserable and didn’t want to inflict my pain on anyone else. But mostly because I was ashamed. Ashamed of my meltdown in front of Amy’s parents. Ashamed of the truth.

Mr. and Mrs. Rush knocked on the door a few times, but I didn’t answer.

I wanted to go to Amy, to find safety and comfort with her the way I always had. I wanted to call Ryder, or better yet, to have him here with me. To have him put an arm around me and tell me it would be okay. To say something pretentious and ridiculous so I could make fun of him and stop thinking about everything else.

I missed them.

But, more than anything, I wanted to barricade myself in this room, to be alone forever, punishing myself for every awful thing I’d done.

Eventually, however, my need for food outweighed my desire to lock myself away Rapunzel-style. I waited until everyone else was asleep before sneaking down to the kitchen.

At least, I thought everyone was asleep.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I looked up from the bowl of cereal I’d just poured. Amy was standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed in pink-and-black-striped pajamas and fuzzy green slippers. I ducked my head and focused my attention on the Cocoa Puffs I was about to consume.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” I said.

“I haven’t slept well lately.” She walked past me and opened a cabinet, grabbing a bowl for herself. Once she’d filled it with cereal, she came over to the island and stood across from me. “My parents told me what happened at your house…. I get why you didn’t want them to know, but why didn’t you tell me she was gone? I would’ve kept it secret for you. I would’ve tried to help.” There was a note of hurt in her voice.

“I know you would have,” I said, swirling my spoon in my bowl. My appetite was waning all of a sudden. “But … it wasn’t about admitting it to you. It was about admitting it to myself.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was easier to say she’d kicked me out for doing something wrong. Then I could pretend it was true. It hurt less than acknowledging that she’d … she’d left me. Just left me.”

“Do you have any idea where she went?”

I shook my head. “No. She was seeing a guy. She probably took off with him somewhere. Who knows? It’s not like it’s the first time.”

I’d called my mother “flaky” for years, but that was an understatement. From the time I was eleven, I never knew if she’d be home when I got off the bus after school. Sometimes she’d stick around for months, and things would be almost normal. She might forget my birthday or accidentally lock me out of the house, but she was around.

And then, sometimes, she wasn’t.

I was in sixth grade the first time she pulled her disappearing act. She’d been seeing this guy, Dave. He was younger than her, and even then I knew he was kind of a loser. One day, I came home and the house was empty. Luckily, by then, I knew how to take care of myself. I lived off cereal and microwavable meals, even when she was home.

She’d come back three days later, tanned and happy. Dave had suggested an impromptu road trip to Florida, and she could’ve sworn she’d left a note. As if that made it better.

After Dave it was Carl.

After Carl it was Trevor.

And then I stopped keeping up with their names. It wasn’t like I saw them much, anyway. Sometimes Mom would be gone for days, and I’d find out later she’d just been across town, crashing at her boyfriend’s house. Sometimes she’d vanish for a week — a shopping trip in Atlanta, a romantic getaway in St. Louis, a week in Chicago. She lost several jobs because of those random trips.

So when I came home one afternoon last September, I wasn’t surprised to find her gone.

But a week turned to two.

To three.

To four.

She’d never been gone that long. And the house was too quiet. The nightmares happened almost every night.

So I’d called Amy, told her I needed a place to stay. Told her I’d been kicked out, because I didn’t know how to say the truth: that my mom was gone for real this time. That she’d left, and I didn’t think she’d be coming back.

“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “But maybe things will get better. My parents used to be gone all the time, too, and —”

“It’s different,” I said. “Your parents were gone, but they paid the bills. They made sure you had a place to stay. You could call them, and you knew they’d be back eventually. I haven’t heard from my mom in … five months?” I pushed my bowl away, barely touched. “Her phone doesn’t even work anymore. For all I know she could be dead.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Even if I don’t say it, I can’t not think it. And — this is terrible, but — sometimes I wonder if that would make me feel better. If I knew she hadn’t come back because she couldn’t. Not because she doesn’t care.” I shook my head. “Sorry. That’s morbid. You already think I’m a bad person and I just told you I wish my mother was dead. Nice job, Sonny.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Amy said.

“No. Just a bad friend.” I picked up my bowl and took it to the sink, dumping my food into the garbage disposal. Once it stopped running and I turned around, I found Amy staring at me.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked. “Since we’re being honest with each other?”

“Sure. What is it?”

Amy chewed on her bottom lip and looked down at her own bowl. “I meant everything I said the other day. About you pushing me around. But that’s not the only reason I was mad.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s always been just us, you know?” she said. “Sonny and Amy. Amy and Sonny. We were a team. And then everything started happening with Ryder, and it felt like you only wanted me around to help you win him over.”

Ryder. Just the mention of him caused a painful ache in my chest.

Amy continued, “And it wasn’t just that you were pushing me around — I’m kind of used to that.”

I grimaced. That wasn’t something I wanted my best friend to be “used to.”

“It’s that you were doing it for him. You were doing everything for him. You talked about him all the time. And I started to realize you weren’t opening up to me the way you used to. You were telling him things instead. I didn’t even know you’d written to your dad until he called on Christmas. That’s the kind of thing you used to talk to me about. And then when you started dating Ryder, you hardly spent time with me. I was jealous. So when I’d found out you’d lied about telling him the truth … It really hurt, Sonny. I didn’t feel like we were a team anymore. It … it felt like you didn’t care about me.”

She looked up at me, eyes wide and a little wet.

And seeing her on the brink of tears brought me there, too.

“I’m sorry. For all of it. Of course I care about you, Amy. More than anybody. You’re my best friend. I never meant to hurt you.” I took a deep breath. “Part of the reason I spent less time with you after I started dating Ryder was the whole college thing.”

Amy looked down at her feet.

“I shouldn’t have said all that the other day, about you having it so easy.”

“You weren’t wrong,” she said.

“I still shouldn’t have said it. And I shouldn’t have lied to you about college,” I said. “But every time you talked about it, I just felt … scared. Because I knew you’d be leaving me. And I knew that if you knew I wasn’t going, you’d be upset, too, and … I don’t know. I didn’t want to think about it. And I didn’t have to when I was with Ryder.”

“I’m sorry that I just assumed you were going,” she said. “I guess I do take the good things in my life for granted sometimes.”

“I think we’re both probably guilty of that.”

She hesitated. “Why did you lie to me about telling Ryder the truth?”

“Because I didn’t want you to be mad at me?” I said. “That sounds ridiculous in hindsight. But I guess I just thought … I thought that if I lied, I might be able to keep you both. Instead, I lost you both.”

“You didn’t lose me,” she said. “But you will if you keep doing this.”

“I know,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself. “But it’s scary to tell the truth sometimes. I’ve always been able to hide behind lies. To shield myself.”

“What are you shielding yourself from?” she asked.

“Judgment? Scorn? I don’t know.” I wanted to lie right then. To get out of this conversation before it got too honest. But Amy was right. I couldn’t keep lying. “The funny thing is, I hid behind lies because I was scared that … that if people knew everything, saw all of me, they’d take off running. Like my mom did. So I’d only let bits and pieces show. Instead, the lies ended up driving everyone away.”

“Not everyone,” she said. “You’ve got the Rushes in your corner. But you’ve got to start letting us in. Letting us help. You know … you mentioned college.”

“I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”

“Just hear me out,” she said. “That’s another thing. No more talking over me or pushing me around. That’s got to change.”

I nodded. “Sorry.”

“That’s on me, too,” she said. “I’ve got to start speaking up. I’ve got to stop being quiet, weak Amy and start being … Fierce Amy.”

“Fierce Amy?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Someone’s been watching America’s Next Top Model.”

She ignored me. “Back to the college thing. It might be too late for next semester, but that doesn’t mean it can never happen. There are scholarships — I’ll help you find them. And my parents aren’t just going to kick you out on the street after you graduate.”

“I can’t let them keep taking care of me.”

“Then you can pay some rent when you find a job,” she said. “But let us help. You’re part of the family, Sonny. Whether you like it or not. You’re stuck with us.”

“I guess I can think of worse people to be stuck with,” I said. “But what about us? Are we back to normal? Sonny and Amy?”

“Not quite,” she said. “That’s probably going to take a while. I love you, Sonny, but you’re going to have to prove that I can trust you again. That you’re not going to lie to me anymore.”

“I can do that,” I assured her. “It’ll be a hard habit to break, but … but I can take an oath. A vow of honesty.”

“That sounds a little more dramatic than what I was hoping for, but okay.” She put her bowl in the sink. She hadn’t eaten much of her midnight snack either. “Now come on. I know it’s silly, but I have a hard time sleeping when you’re in the other room.”

We headed toward the stairs together. “You know,” I said. “While we’re trying to build a healthier friendship, we might want to deal with our whole codependency thing.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “But maybe another night.”