Page 48 of The Surprise
Beth unwrapped that bubble wrap, and then I got socked in the gut. I know it’s stupid to say we broke up, since we were officially dating for like one day, but that’s how it feels. I check my phone at least twenty times a day, and I send a message to her about half of those times, but she never replies.
I wonder whether texting her ten times a day would be grounds for her to get a restraining order. I could ask my mom, if we were talking. No matter how many times I begged her to appeal the judge’s ruling, she just shook her head. “Let it go, Ethan,” she said. “He’s the finder of fact, and it’s a factual issue. No appellate judge will overturn it. I did the best I could, given that we left for a month. The will was clear.”
I know she’s sad too.
I know she did her best.
I know I’m rubbing a sore spot raw.
I know she thinks it means we’re not meant to be here.
I know that I’m not the only person badgering her, either. Steve’s at least as upset as I am.
But the thing is, I can’t seem to help it. I can’t stop texting Beth. I can’t stop dinging Mom. I can’t stop doing any of it, because I hate how powerless I feel. I haven’t felt this powerless since Dad got sick, and that time, nothing I did helped. I hate feeling like this, and I don’t want to be here again. I can’t stop chasing the high I felt when Beth liked me, when I had a future, and when I wanted to wake up in the morning and do exactly what I was doing.
I know what my stupid therapist would say.
He’d tell me to look to the future, not the past. He’d tell me that I need to work through my feelings, not get caught up in them. I’d really like to chuck my stupid grief journal at his face and tell him that my anger’s justified.
The world is unfair.
Why would God even give us this ranch and introduce me to Beth, just to take it all away? Mom says He never gives us things we can’t handle, but I think that’s wrong. This was just mean.
It’s like handing Gabe the ultimate Lego collection, and then melting it down to goo in a pot in front of his eyes. It’s like showing Izzy a video of her winning the NRHA derby and then having her turn around and discover it’s not really her. It’s like Whitney being crowned queen, and then the country falls into civil war on the first day.
It’s cruel.
Is God really this cruel?
First Dad, then this? It sure feels like He is. Mom would say this is when Ineedto be praying, but I think that’s wrong. I’m not going to go talk to the guy who just socked me on the chin.
I’m too pissed for that. Anything I say will just make it worse.
“Ethan.” Mom taps on my door.
“What?” I hate how surly I sound. I know Mom did her best. I know she’s as upset as I am. But I also know that there’s a part of her that’s relieved, and that’s why I can’t seem to let go of my anger with her, either.
“Izzy helped me load up the back of the Tahoe, but we’re making a lot of progress going through the girls’ room. Can you possibly drive it over to Amanda Saddler’s and unload it for me?”
She wants me to start moving all our stuff—the temporary move we’re making so the girls and Gabe can finish this school term. The thought of that—moving again for just a few weeks—irritates me more. I hop up and open the door, ready to tell her exactly what I think about her plan to run back to Houston.
But when I open the door, she looks sotired.It’s the mom I remember from the year after Dad died, and I can’t yell at her. Mom’s not the enemy. I know she’s not. I hug her instead, and something about that makes me almost start to cry. I spring away and jog to the front door.
I can’t cry in front of Mom. I know it’ll make her cry, and she’s spent way too much time crying in the past few years. If God socked me on the chin, he kicked her in the face, and she’s still here. Going through the girls’ room. Swimming against the current.
Fighting the fight, even when it really sucks.
Maybe for the first time, I understand a little bit why Romeo and Juliet took that poison. I still don’t respect them. I still think the story sucks. But Igetit in a way I didn’t before. Sometimes, when it feels like everything is stacked against you, when it feels like none of it is your fault, it’s tempting to just give up.
But I’m not like that, so I grit my teeth, and I inhale until I’m not about to cry, and I park Mom’s car in Amanda Saddler’s front drive. I have to kind of psych myself up to deal with her by myself. I know Mom and Aunt Amanda really like her, but she’s a really weird old lady.
For instance, what kind of person wants a pet that turns into bacon? It’s not even nice to rub. It’s not as bad as a porcupine, but it’s too close for comfort. And isn’t that the point of pets? Comfort? So why have one that’s neither cute nor soft?
Whatever.
She’s letting us stay with her for a few weeks, and that feels better than up and moving right before the holidays. Although, the thought of spending our first Christmas up here in some stranger’s house instead of in the home we’ve grown used to living in depresses me. I tried to convince Mom to try and buy the ranch in the auction, but she didn’t even consider it.
“Ranches like this only make financial sense if they’re paid off,” she says. “And even then, it’s a lot of work to make a smallish amount of money.”
