Cause of Death Laura Dembowski (best selling autobiographies txt) 📖

nearly three decades. Maybe I should be thankful she’s always intruding.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Andrea.”

Ugh. Now I sound like Lana because I don’t know what I want. Sure, Lana can be a pain in the ass, but God knows how Dave would be if she left us to each other. That’s when old married couples turn on each other and suffer through, or get divorced.

“Make her change.”

“Clearly you’ve never had kids. I mean, she’s not perfect, and we haven’t done a perfect job, but she’s not on drugs or a homicidal maniac, so I guess we’re doing okay.”

Andrea stares at me for a while, silently judging me, figuring out what to say next.

“I have to go,” she says simply, grabbing her bag.

I watch as she departs the restaurant. I should be mad. I wasn’t in the wrong during our conversation, and now my day out has been ruined. Instead, I’m fine, numb, maybe, which is possibly how I’ve been since the day Lana was born.

I sit and enjoy my lunch and more solitude. I drag things out as long as possible, not really wanting to return home to laundry, cooking, dishes, and Lana, the only things I seem to have left in life.

The one word that keeps ringing in my head not just through the rest of lunch but through the rest of the day and into the evening is alone. Alone. Alone.

I walk in the door. You might think that since Lana relies on me so much, she’d run to the door like the lost puppy dog she is the moment I walk in, but this does not happen. It never happens. She sits nonchalantly on the sofa, typing away on her computer.

“Hi,” I say.

“Did you have a good lunch?” she asks through a sob—or at least with a tone that indicates something is clearly wrong. What is wrong is the burning question, though.

“It was . . . interesting. What’s going on here?”

“I’ve been doing that stupid online dating and no one writes me or likes me or anything. Well, that’s not true; the ugly, fat, unemployed guys who say they’re still in school but have three kids and have already been divorced do, but I’m not really interested in them.”

“I wouldn’t be, either, but I’m sure the good guys will write soon.”

“It’s like they can sense I’m stuck living at home with my parents. They know they won’t like me even though I set up, like, the perfect profile. Things won’t be like this forever; why can’t they see that?”

“I didn’t meet your dad right away,” I say. “I’m sure I’ve told you before.” About a hundred times, but she never listens. “I was living at home, afraid nothing good would ever happen to me, and then I got a new job and met your dad and fell in love and had you.”

“I bet that was the worst day of your life. Do you wish you never had me? I would.”

My eyes bulge. As many times as I’ve been angry with Lana, which is many, many times, I’ve never once wished I hadn’t had her. Okay, maybe a couple times. I always wanted kids. She is what I got, and though I imagined motherhood differently, I suppose I’m lucky I got to have a child at all.

“Of course not.” I run over to her and sit next to her on the sofa, my arm around her.

“Things are never gonna work out for me. I’m not like you. You had friends and went out and were normal. I’m not. I’ve never had friends. People don’t like me. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“It will get better,” I say, sounding like a broken record. It’s what I always say to her, and I think it’s true, but as time passes, maybe she has a point. Maybe things are never going to change. They’re never going to get better. We’re going to be stuck here forever.

I don’t tell Lana any of this. It’s not going to help her situation, so it won’t help mine either. I comfort her for another half an hour or so until she calms down, and we start talking about something else. I can tell by the look on her face she’s only thinking about her future, no matter what words are coming out of her mouth.

“Has Lana ruined our life?” I ask Dave, lying next to him in bed later that night.

“No. No. Of course not. How could you even ask that—even think it?”

“She brought it up earlier, but it got me wondering if it’s true.”

“I don’t think it’s true. Do you?”

“No. I just wanted to ask.”

And I don’t think it’s true. Really. Our lives would be different without her, but better? No way. She’s our daughter. Our angel. Our sunshine. She’s not like this all the time. She has fun and laughs. She has the best laugh. But when someone says something like that, it gets you thinking, you know? You wonder, dream about the possibilities. What might have been. It’s intriguing.

Dave doesn’t wonder, even when I pose this question. He loves Lana unconditionally, more than he loves me, I’m pretty sure. That’s another hard pill to swallow. We came first, Dave and me, and now I play second fiddle to my own daughter everywhere but the bedroom, except lately she’s been in control of our love life, too. Dave and Lana deserve each other, perhaps, but what about me? I’m the innocent victim, even though no one seems to see it that way.

“Have I ruined everything?” I ask a minute later.

Dave pauses. “No.” Then he rolls over and goes to sleep.

I have my answer. Everyone blames me.

Chapter 4

Lana

“I should just kill you, or myself!” my mother screams. I’m afraid the neighbors will hear and call the police. That’s the last thing we need. This whole threatening homicide and suicide is a new development, and I can’t tolerate it.

It all began when Mommy