Chapter 28: Chapter 28

As soon as I hear the sound of a phone ringing, I snap out of my deep sleep. It's possible that it's not even mine, but I can't be sure. I am not going to bother checking into it. I can hear someone open the door. There's no doubt that it's Mark's phone.

He must be talking to someone at his place of employment when he says, "Hey... no, I can't come in today... I already told you why..." What!? "No, dad, I'm not coming in today!" Did John forget? Because I was present when Mark called him to let him know that I will begin chemotherapy the next day,

Then it dawned on me. It was my first day of chemotherapy.

Before readjusting my position and sitting back up, I wait for Mark to finish his call and exit the room. After putting one of Mark's sweatshirts that I discovered on a box, I reach for my glasses and then exit the room to go into the kitchen.

"Hi," I say in the most upbeat tone I can muster.

Mark asks me, "Hi, how was your sleep?" as he prepares some coffee for himself and then heads over to the Keurig to prepare some hot chocolate for me.

I respond with a grin while staring at the chocolate, "Excellent. Didn't wake up once."

He concludes that the person must be at home.

"Could be." I say shrugging.

The events of last night immediately come to memory. Then there was the kiss, followed by the conversation about what I would do if the company were mine. It hasn't escaped my attention that this is eerily similar to the first time we locked lips. We paid it no attention whatsoever. I mean, come on, that was probably only our fifth kiss between the two of us in total. At least from his point of view, there is nothing uncomfortable about it. I'm really excellent at acting like everything is fine, so there shouldn't be any problems with ignoring it.

Mark calls out to me and says, "Hey, did you hear me?" to bring me back.

I give it a good shake. "Oh no." I apologize.

"No need. I simply asked you if you're ready? For today, I mean," he continues. "I just wanted to make sure."

There is a brief pause on my part. I put on an act when I say, "Yes, I'm good. Ready!"

enthusiasm.

He warns with a look on his face that suggests he is exhausted, "Don't do that. Don't fake it." "That's something you've been doing rather frequently."

"What no I haven't." I say lying.

His unguarded glance makes me want to divulge all of my private information to him, even if he has just told me, "You're doing it now. You shouldn't be like that. Don't blow things off, tell me the truth."

"Fine. I'm frightened." I admit. I said this while holding my breath and trying to suppress the tears that were welling up in my eyes. "It's been almost 10 years since the last time. I've been mainly healthy for the past ten years of my life. I've been able to have fun and eat crazy stuff," I continued. When she gets to the last part of the sentence, "Now I'm stuck with jello," I giggle.

Mark approaches me and gives me a hug when he gets here. I'm starting to feel warm again. For example, while we were kissing, when he was singing, or even when we were watching movies together.

"Look. You can get several kinds of jello." Mark quips.

My response is, "Yes. I guess you're right," which causes me to giggle, and then there is a brief moment of stillness. "All right, I'm going to go take a shower."

I go into a nice, hot shower. I give my head a scrub that is nearly too vigorous. I wash my face so vigorously that it almost causes my skin to peel. After allowing the water to burn me and setting it to a high temperature, I wash off the pain by lowering the temperature to a more comfortable level.

When I step out of the shower, despite having the want to cry, no tears really come out. I just sob. I pull myself together and put my hair in a high ponytail before dressing in the most comfortable clothes I can find.

There's a call waiting for me from Sophie. I respond with, "Hi."

I interrupted her as she was about to add, "Hey, I'm sorry. I truly wish I could have remained. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. I'm sorry."

I tell my younger sister as I pace the room, "Stop saying sorry. Ok? I get it. Mom is incredibly controlling." I am relieved that I will have this to take my mind off of the chemotherapy today.

She asks me, "Really? You recall her being controlling?" and I respond in the affirmative. The tone of her speech gives the impression that she is completely taken aback.

I ask you in jest, "Photographic memory, recall?" (photographic memory, remember).

As she comes to her senses, she exclaims, "Exactly, Forgot." She inquires, "So what exactly did she make you do?" I have a feeling that she's starting to feel at ease.

I respond by saying, "Well, so... oh yes, she forced me to take vocal lessons, piano lessons, ballet lessons, and a whole bunch of other stuff." When I finally feel comfortable enough to talk to her, I ask, "So, what does she make you do?"

"She makes me shop for clothes that she wants, when what I really want are just sweats and comfortable shoes. She thinks that I'll be judged if I don't wear those kinds of clothes though. I don't care what people think. Am I being crazy? I mean, there are different ways that she controls me, but that's the biggest way. I hate it!" She rambles on and on.

I try to reason with them by saying, "Okay, calm down." I informed her, "There's more to the story," and she agreed.

She asks with clenched teeth, "What do you mean there's more to the story?" (There's more to the story?)

I inhale and exhale deeply. As we went to a different park, the other mothers were discussing about a daughter who didn't look like the others, and they were saying that her parents must be crazy to allow her wear those clothing. I explaineded to them that my mother never picked out my clothes; instead, I wore whatever you wanted me to wear.

Sophie says in a tone that is almost a whisper, "And the tiny girl was you."

I begin by saying, "Yes... there's more."

She then says, "What?" "Will you kindly inform me!"

"Well, that took place..." I pause for another breath since I don't want to tell her.

"What the hell happened?" she comes close to shouting.

I informed her, "That was the day she departed," and she nodded.

"Really?" she asks incredulously.

"Sure, it's true," I say, while simultaneously urging you not to cry.

"Well," she says, and then she stops herself. She mutters, "I'm sorry, I have to go," before hanging up the phone.

I put my phone down carefully and start crying as soon as I do. Crying that isn't just a few cries here and there I try my best not to think about what happened that night, but telling Sophie brought up a flood of memories. Her navy blue sweater, the way she called Maddy, the sound of the car engine starting, the way she drove away, the way she tucked me in, and the look on her face when she said goodbye rather than goodnight all come to mind. Then I saw the look on my father's face when he found out the truth.

Before Mark comes in, I have a few moments to sit there in that position. He comes running over to me and asks, "Alyanna, what could possibly be wrong?"

I couldn't help but blurt out, "I told her!"

He then questions, "Told who what?" I am unable to respond. Mark inquires of Alyanna once more, this time with a more insistent tone, "What happened?"

The tears are streaming freely as Sophie yells out, "I told you, Sophie!"

"Fine." He seemed to be perplexed. He inquires, "What exactly did you say to her?"

I respond by saying, "I told her what happened the day my mom left." I remind myself to calm down and take a deep breath before continuing. I went on and explained everything to her by saying, "She called to apologize about the hair thing, then she stated that mom is so controlling."

Mark inquires, "What was it that she was in control of?"

When I turn my back on Mark, I remark, "She controls the way Sophie dresses, but she doesn't control the way I dress. And the fact that she didn't control the way I dressed is part of the reason why she left."

Mark freely confesses, "I'm still completely perplexed."

"The day my mom left, I wore something along the lines of not fashionable, I guess you could say." "She heard other moms talking about how foolish I look, and it just tipped her over the edge, and she left that night." I feel like the tears are coming back again.

Mark inquires, "What on earth were you crying about?"

"I just remembered every single detail from that night, and I lost it." The tears are most certainly rushing back now. "I just remembered every single detail from that night." I whisper the last sentence so that I can only hear it. "I broke down and I can't manage it. I can't handle any of this." "I need my mom. I need Charlie. Most importantly, I need you."

Mark whispers, "What did you say?" while he does the same thing.

I am telling the truth when I say, "Nothing. I'm better now. It was wonderful to tell someone about it."