Another Piece of My Heart (3 page)

Emily’s crowd is now what Andi would call
goth,
but what she thinks might today be called
emo
. They dye their hair jet-black, and have piercings. Emily came home with a pierced nose last month. It could have been worse, Andi thought. It could have been a pierced eyebrow, or lip, or, like so many of Emily’s male friends, giant holes in their earlobes that they stretch every few weeks by inserting bigger discs in their ears.

She tried to ask them about it. Just last week, Andi came home to find Emily in the kitchen making scrambled eggs for two boys, sitting at the kitchen counter. They looked like twins, in their grey drainpipe jeans, raggedy sleeves hanging over their fingers, their hair, the requisite blue-black, covering their eyelinered eyes almost down to their pierced and sulky mouths.

“Hi!” Andi said brightly, putting the grocery bag on the counter. “I’m Andi. Emily’s stepmom.”

“My father’s wife,” Emily muttered, belligerently, from the stove. Andi didn’t respond, putting her hand out to shake hands with the boys.

The first looked down at the hand as if he’d never seen one before, then warily took it and sort of held it limply before dropping it quickly. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” said the other. “I’m G-man.”

There was something familiar about him. “G-man?” Andi peered at him.

“Yeah,” he grunted, looking down.

“George!” she exclaimed suddenly. “George Mitchell?”

He shrugged.

“Oh, my goodness! You’ve … changed. I haven’t seen you for years. How are your parents?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged again as a hot red blush filled his cheeks.
Oh, God,
she thought, wondering if Beth Mitchell was going through the same hell as she was, wondering what had happened to her sweet, clean-cut son. She hadn’t seen Beth in at least a year, not since she had run into her at a Bikram Yoga workshop (which Andi hadn’t been able to complete, thanks to almost passing out from the heat halfway through).

“Is your mom still teaching at Red Dragon?”

George grunted something that sounded like a yes.

“Well, tell her I said hi,” Andi said, peering at the black bone hoops in his ears, which had stretched the original piercing hole to half an inch, half an inch through which Andi could clearly see the French doors at the other end of the room. “So Geor … G-man.” She frowned, unable to tear her gaze away. “Can I ask you a question? What is it about the holes in the ears? I know I’m old, but I just don’t get it.”

All three teenagers looked at one another in horror as George shrugged, and mumbled in embarrassment, “It’s just what everyone does.”

And what will you do when you are my age?
Andi thought.
What will you do about the inch-wide holes in your ears? What do you think your children will think, and how in the hell do you correct it? Can a plastic surgeon sew your ear back together?

A vision appeared, of thousands of middle-aged people, all walking around with giant holes in their ears, giant earlobes dangling, swinging as they walked, getting caught on things and ripping.

“Do you, like, need anything in here?” Emily turned to her in exasperation. “Because we were having a private conversation.”

The urge to laugh was suppressed.
A conversation? These kids can barely talk.

“You want to put my groceries away?” Andi kept her voice light.

Emily paused, then: “Okay.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll get out of your way. Don’t forget to wash the dishes when you’re done.” She quickly walked out before Emily could say something else, but Emily called out just as Andi reached the hall.

“Hey, Andi?”

Andi turned, rare for Emily even to call her by name, and watched Emily leave the boys in the kitchen and come out to the hallway by herself, her hand extended.

“Do you know what this is?” Emily dropped her voice as she pointed out a rash on her fingers.

Andi peered closely. “I think it’s just from dry skin,” she said, “or maybe an allergy. Do you want some cortisone cream?”

Emily nodded. “You’re sure I don’t need a doctor?”

“I’m pretty sure, sweetie. Let’s try the cream and, if it’s not better tomorrow, we’ll go to the dermatologist. How’s that?”

Emily smiled, and her face lit up. “Thanks, Andi,” she said, disappearing back into the kitchen, leaving Andi stilled by her sweetness, her turning to Andi as a mother, wishing she could hold on to these moments rather than have this constant pendulum, hate to love, to hate again.

At times like this, Andi feels a surge of all-consuming love for Emily, but more often it is a surge of dislike. Andi refuses to use the word “hate,” at least out loud. But when Emily is screaming, and Ethan is paralyzed with fear, and Andi is railed against over and over, with no one standing up for her, this is what she thinks.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

And during those times, when Ethan refuses to get involved, when he sits on the bed, looking miserable, looking from one woman in his life to the other, one of who is screaming, the other who is trying to get a word in but can’t because she is constantly shouted down, this is what she thinks:

I hate you, too.

She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. But just as Emily blames her father for choosing Andi over her, it is hard, sometimes, when Andi is tired, and drained, and despairing at having to deal with the constant drama, for her not to feel that Ethan, in disappearing for hours to try to heal Emily’s pain, has also abandoned her.

And when Andi is hurt, or abandoned, her natural inclination is, has always been, to run away; to make the hurt disappear by disappearing herself.

Emily is all she and Ethan ever fight about. All they have
ever
fought about. And five years on, in her deepest, darkest moments, Andi wonders for how much longer she can do this.

Whether it is worth it.

*   *   *

Emily weaves down the hall as Andi watches from behind the safety of the bedroom door; then Emily walks into Sophia’s room.
Oh, God. Please don’t wake her up.

Andi hears Sophia’s voice, sleep-filled, as the light is switched on, and now Andi has to intervene. She has no choice.

She walks firmly down the hallway, her heart already pounding with anxiety, and walks in to find Sophia sitting up groggily in bed, with Emily sitting on top of her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Andi says, her voice loud with anger. “Sophia was fast asleep. Get into your own room.”

“Oh, chill,” Emily says. “I just wanted to give my baby sister a kiss good night.”

“Leave her alone. She was fast asleep,” Andi says. “And wait until your father hears about you breaking curfew again.”

Emily gets up and pushes past Andi in the doorway, pausing to lean her face in close to Andi’s.

“Big fucking deal when my father finds out. What’s he going to do? Take my car away again, then give it back when I cry? I don’t care. The only thing he can do to hurt me is stay with you. Bitch.” And she walks into her bedroom, slamming the door and leaving Andi shaking in the corridor.

*   *   *

“Are you okay?” Sophia, still fuzzy with sleep, appears next to Andi. She nestles in close, leaning her head on Andi’s shoulder and taking her hand.

Andi closes her eyes for a few seconds. She is the adult. She is the one in charge. She is the one who should be looking after the children. Instead, a thirteen-year-old is comforting
her.
This is not the way it should be, and she has to pull herself together, if nothing else than for Sophia’s sake.

“I’m fine.” Andi smiles down at Sophia. “Don’t worry so much. And get back to bed, young lady. You need your sleep.”

“You know she doesn’t mean it.” Sophia frowns. “She means it at the time, but … not really. It’s like a habit.”

“Bed!” Andi points to the bed. Her world is topsy-turvy. A thirteen-year-old is asking her if she is okay. It should be the other way around.

“Okay, okay. Are you going to bed now, too?”

“Sophia”—Andi waits for Sophia to climb into bed, then pulls the covers up and tucks her in, Sophia scooching over to the side so Andi can sit down—“I will probably go back to bed, or I may read for a bit because I am not sleepy.” She smiles down at Sophia as she smooths the hair back off her forehead, continuing to stroke her hair as Sophia opens her mouth in a huge yawn.

“Want me to stay with you for a bit?” Andi asks as Sophia nods with a sleepy smile.

Within minutes, Sophia gives the nod: Andi can go; she is almost asleep.

Oh, if only Emily were as easy as this.

*   *   *

“What’s going on?” Ethan is standing in their bedroom doorway as Andi pulls Sophia’s door closed and walks down the hallway toward him, his hair tousled with sleep. “What’s all the noise?”

“Emily just got in.” Andi tries to keep her voice down, not wanting Sophia to be further disturbed. She gestures to Ethan to keep it down, then walks into the bedroom before continuing.

“Emily’s either drunk or stoned, and she just woke Sophia up. I told her to go to her room, and she called me a bitch.”

Their bedroom door is suddenly flung open. “That’s because you are a bitch!” Emily is there, in their room, glaring daggers at Andi, who feels nothing other than exhaustion.

“Yes, I know,” Andi says wearily. “I’ve ruined your life, your life is hell, you hate me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.” She turns to go into the bathroom, knowing the usual litany is coming, too tired to deal with it.

“I wish you’d die,” Emily screams. “I wish you’d get hit by a car and die.”

“Emily!” Ethan interjects. Finally. “Enough! You don’t mean that.”

“I do!” She now bursts into hysterical tears, which is usually enough to get her way. “I do. You don’t love me anymore. Ever since she came on the scene, you stopped loving me. You don’t care about me, and you’re a terrible father now. I wish you’d all die.” The sobbing increases as Ethan lays a hand on her arm.

“I do love you,” he starts, his voice gentle as Andi watches in disbelief. Ethan looks up at her, and Andi shakes her head in dismay, turning to leave, knowing that she won’t be seeing Ethan for the next hour while he calms his daughter down, putting his arms around her to rock her to safety as she sits on the bed.

It doesn’t matter that Emily broke curfew and might be drunk and stoned. It doesn’t matter that Emily just screamed terrible things. What matters is that Emily is upset, and Ethan, in these moments, exists only to comfort Emily.

Sure enough, just before she reaches the stairs, Andi turns to see, through the doorway of their room, Ethan, his back to Andi, holding a sobbing Emily, her head on his shoulder. Emily, in a creepily prescient moment, raises her head just then and locks eyes with Andi.

She gives her a small, triumphant smile.

*   *   *

“Do you not see what this is?” Andi laments later to Ethan, who is tentatively sinking down on their bed, having finally calmed Emily down by walking her to her own room and lying next to her on the bed, stroking her hair until she fell asleep.

Emily is asleep. Ethan is exhausted. There is no way in hell Andi can go to sleep now. She is as wound up as a spring, and any attempt to read now would be futile: she cannot focus on anything other than her fury.

“She has you wrapped around her finger,” Andi insists. “What she said tonight was appalling. That she wishes I were dead? And you didn’t say anything. As soon as you said ‘enough,’ she turned on the tears because she knows you feel so damned guilty that all she has to do is cry, and you’ll sit there and give her all the attention she wants.”

“I did say something. I talked to her about it,” Ethan says weakly.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Andi’s exasperation is clear. “You talked to her about it? She comes in at four in the morning, stoned, when her curfew is midnight, wakes her younger sister up, tells me she wishes I were dead, and all you can do is
talk
to her about it?”

“What do you want me to do?” Ethan’s voice suddenly rises in anger. “I’m fed up with this. With all of this. I’m trying to be the best father I can be and trying to be a good husband, and I’m constantly being put in the middle of the two of you. Why can’t you just work out this problem between you? Why can’t you just find a way to get along?”

“You think this is a problem between
us
? Everything I do is to try and make Emily happy. I buy her things, I take her out, I try to talk to her. I spend half my life thinking of what I can do that will make Emily’s life nicer. Not Sophia. I barely think about Sophia because so much of my damned energy goes into Emily. And then I am repaid with her screaming that she wishes I were dead? And you think this is a problem between
us
? Are you kidding me?” Andi’s voice is a scratched, loud whisper.

“Look at you.” Ethan gives her a withering look. “You’re reacting in exactly the same way as her. If you were calm and loving with her, she wouldn’t be like this. She needs an adult in her life, not another teenager.”

“For your information, I am calm and loving 99 percent of the time. I only lose it when I see how manipulative she is with you. When I walked away, and she was ‘sobbing,’ she smiled an evil smile at me. She knows she won tonight.”

“Oh, don’t be so stupid.” Ethan looks at Andi in amazement. “
Evil smile?
What are you? Ten?”

“Okay.
Triumphant
. It was a triumphant smile. She knew she’d won because she got you to herself, which is all she wants.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Ethan shakes his head. “Now you’re the one being childish.”

“Do you realize that she only ever throws these tantrums when you’re here?” Andi continues. “When she’s on her own with me, most of the time she’s fine. Some of the time, she’s even delightful. But as soon as you’re here, she has to turn me into the evil stepmother again, and she starts acting up to get your attention. She’ll do anything to make sure you choose her.”

There is a long silence as Ethan looks at his hands.

“I can’t deal with this tonight,” he says. “I’m going out.”