“Let me guess.” I stop at the end of the table. “A book deal, a lifetime movie deal, and they want three interviews.” Everyone wants to know this story, and I don’t want to tell a damn one of them.
She grimaces. “You only do it if you want to, honey.”
“Well, I don’t want to.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t blame you. Living through that hell once was enough for us all. How did therapy go?”
“Like shit.”
Mother sighs and pulls her reading glasses down the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what to do to help you. I’m at a loss here, Ava. Tell me what to do.”
“Nothing.” I skirt around the end of the table.
“Honey…”
“I just want to go to sleep, Mom. I’m just tired. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to sleep.”
“Ava, you tried tokillyourself. I lost your brother, I can’t bear losing you again, too.”
And there it is, the things she throws in my face any time she can’t understand this.
“Shit happens,” I mumble.
“Ava!”
“I don’t know what you want. I’m trying. I am—”
“I want my little girl back.” She pushes up from the table and I head to the foyer. I don’t want to have this discussion right now. “Ava!”
“That’s the problem, I’m not a little girl. You can’t fix this with a fucking Band-Aid, Mother.”
“Watch your mouth, young lady.”
Never have I uttered a cross word to her. I bite down on my lip, guilt racking my body. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I…I just… I just need to be alone.”
I run up the stairs, my footsteps echoing into the tall ceiling. She’s still standing at the foot of the stairwell, looking up at me when I disappear into my bedroom and shut the door. I take my phone out of my jean pocket, lie down on the bed, and skim through Facebook, reading over everyone’s mundane posts. And then my phone dings with an email. The heading reads: I believe you love him.
I quickly open it, reading over the message:
I believe you love him.
Dear Ava,
I know you must have a thousand offers, and maybe you just aren’t ready to tell your story, but I can promise you, the story I want to tell is actuallyyours. I want the brutal and raw truth. I want to know why you love him, because call me a romanticist, but I do believe love is sometimes found in the most peculiar of places. I’m attaching links to other true-crime stories I’ve retold, an, as I believe you will see, I’m not into portraying the conventional side of things. If you are interested in discussing, I would be more than thrilled to speak with you.
Best,
Tabitha Strong
NYT Bestselling True Crime Author
Paddington Press
Iclose the email, uncertain of whether I’ll actually contact her or not, and I drift off to sleep in the middle of the day, praying to dream I’m back in that room waiting on him.
35
Ava
