The Distance Between US by Lindsey Osorio (best historical biographies .txt) 📖

mom for lying to me my whole life about everything. The other feeling is an intense broken heart that makes me want to rush into my mother’s arms and tell her she was right about rich guys and I need her to make my hurt go away.

She’s sitting like a statue behind the cash register, like she’s been waiting for me. The lights are off with only a few glowing shelves. The look on her face is almost as lifeless as the dolls that surround her.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ve been unfair.”

“They were there tonight,” I croak. My throat still hurts.

“Who?”

“Your parents.”

Shock, followed by devastation, makes her face crumple, and she leans her head onto the counter in front of her. I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself to feel bad for her. I walk by her, up the stairs, and into my room, making sure to shut the door firmly.

I’ve seen lots of broken dolls in my life. Some with damage as small as a missing finger but others with dislocated limbs or cracked skulls. None of that compares to how broken I feel right now. It’s my own fault. I always knew he was part of an entirely different species. Why did I let myself think I could be a part of that?

I change out of my clothes and into some sweats then curl up on my bed and finally let the tears that have been building up inside my head come out in heaving sobs.

There’s a small knock on my door and I ignore it. It doesn’t stop her from coming in. Why would it? She obviously has no respect at all for my feelings. I push back the tears again and try to control my breathing. She sits on the bed behind me.

“There’s really no good explanation as to why I kept my parents’ identity from you. I guess maybe a small part of me thought you would want their lifestyle. That I couldn’t give you enough and you’d go look for them for what you thought you were missing.”

If she had just left me alone I could’ve kept it in, but the fire in my throat is ready to spew out. “Why did you leave them?” I push myself to sitting. “What did they do?”

“Caymen, no. They did kick me out. Disown me. I was always honest about that. But I’m sorry. I truly am. I could’ve been more open. I was angry and hurt and prideful toward my parents. I didn’t give them a chance to make amends even had they wanted to. I just disappeared.”

“And you made me feel horrible about keeping Xander a secret. You made me feel worthless. Like Mrs. Dalton and her family hated me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Mrs. Dalton knows who you are? I don’t understand.”

“She knows my story, but I didn’t think she knew my parents. She must’ve been keeping my secret this whole time.”

“I just don’t know if I can ever trust you again. I’m angry.”

“I understand. I hope you can, but I understand.”

“And Xander. He’s not perfect but he was kind and treated me well and you didn’t even want to give him a chance. He’s not my dad. And I’m not you. I’m not going to get pregnant and run off.”

She nods. “I know.” My mom grabs her stomach and takes a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine. I just need . . .” She stands, wobbles a bit, and then steadies herself against the wall.

 

I stand as well. “You don’t look so good.”

“I should go to bed.” She stumbles forward and catches herself on the back of my desk chair.

“Mom. Something is wrong.”

She grabs her stomach again and rushes out of my bedroom.

I follow her straight into the bathroom, where she barely makes it in time to vomit in the sink. The sink is now bright red. “Mom! Is that blood?”

She wipes at her mouth, smearing blood across her wrist. Then she coughs.

“Has that ever happened before?”

She shakes her head back and forth.

“Okay, we’re going to the hospital. Now.”

I pace the hall, waiting for the doctor to tell me what’s going on. I’ve been here for two hours. When he finally comes out I feel close to collapsing. He looks around and I’m wondering what he’s waiting for when he says, “Just you?”

“Just me?” I don’t understand his question.

“Is anyone else here with you?”

“Oh. No. Just me.” I feel bad. Maybe I should’ve called Matthew. He should be here. He has a right to know. I make a vow to find his number and call him as soon as I’m done talking to the doctor. “Please, is my mom okay?”

“She’s doing better. We’re running some tests, trying to rule some things out. We’ve given her something to help her sleep.”

“And um . . .” I don’t know how to say it. “Is the baby okay?”

“Baby?” His eyes get wide, and he looks at his clipboard. “Did she tell you she’s pregnant?”

“No. I just thought it was a possibility.”

“No. She’s not. But we’ll run a few more tests to verify.”

I’m ashamed for the tiny bit of relief I feel. I’m not ashamed for long, though, because with that possibility almost completely off the table I realize that means something more serious is wrong with her. The worry that takes over doesn’t leave any room for shame. “Is she sick?” I choke out.

“Yes, and we’re trying to figure out what’s causing it. We’ve ruled out some big things, so that’s good.” He pats my shoulder as if that will make what he’s saying feel better. “We’ll know something soon.”

“Can I see her?”

“She’s asleep and she needs to stay that way for now. I promise to call you as soon as she shows signs of waking.” He pauses and looks around again. “You really shouldn’t be alone right now.”

But I am alone. My mother is all I have. “I don’t have a cell phone.”

“What number would you like me to reach you at, then?”

There had been many times in my life where I was upset that I didn’t have a cell phone like every other teenager I know. But now, wanting to just go sit in the waiting room and fall asleep on the outdated couch, is the only time I’ve felt I might die without one. Maybe I should go to Skye’s. But what if Skye isn’t there? And her house is ten minutes farther away than the shop. Being ten minutes farther away from the hospital is not an option. I give him the shop number and leave.

I go immediately there and then upstairs, where I sit expectantly by the phone. This isn’t going to work. I need to keep my brain busy. There’s always something to do on the sales floor. In all my years of living at the doll store, I had never cleaned shelves at one o’clock in the morning. By the time I get to the front window, one wall’s worth of shelves is sparkling and I am sweating. I start on another wall. About halfway through the second shelf I find a name plaque without a doll. Carrie. I search the shelves, but she isn’t there. My mom must’ve sold her today and forgotten to put the name tag in the drawer for our next order.

We didn’t need to order Carrie, though. She’s popular: I knew we had at least two backups of her. She’s a sleeping baby, a newborn, with a peaceful look on her face. Everyone loves her. Even I think she is pretty cute, which is a small miracle, seeing as how nearly all the dolls creep me out.

I go to the back. Three boxes with “Carrie” written on the end are side by side on the second shelf. That shelf is low enough for me to reach without assistance so I grab the box down. Right away I know it’s empty by its weight, but I dig through it anyway, confirming my belief. I grab the next box down. Empty. I pull down every box, no matter what the name on the end. Soon the floor is littered with packing peanuts but not a single doll.

I now know how long it takes to pull down a whole wall of boxes and search through them. Forty-five minutes. I sink to the floor and put my forehead on my knees. I always thought I shouldered a lot of my mom’s burdens, did more than my fair share around the store, kept this place running, but it’s more than obvious she shouldered them alone. Why did my mom shut everyone out?

I am doing the same thing.

I grab the cordless off the shelf and dial.

It rings four times. “Hello?” the sleepy voice answers.

“I need you.”

Chapter 38

When Skye walks into the stockroom she gasps. “What happened?”

“I made a mess of everything.”

She sits on the couch and pats the cushion next to her. I crawl to her side and lay my head in her lap. She plays with my hair, braiding and unbraiding a section.

“I’m a horrible person. I thought I’d rather die than have my mom be pregnant again. Now I feel like I’m dying.”

“Talk to me.”

“My mom is sick. She’s in the hospital. They wouldn’t let me stay.”

“So she’s not pregnant?”

“No.”

“What’s Matthew’s deal, then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re just dating. I should call him, shouldn’t I?” My head hurts. “I don’t have his number.”

“Don’t worry about it. Your mom is going to be okay. She’ll be able to call Matthew herself tomorrow.”

 

 

I nod.

She runs her hand down my hair a few times. “So where’s Xander? Did he run to get you food or something?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to think about the other horrible part of the evening. “He’s gone forever.”

“What? Why?”

“He thought I was rich, Skye. It’s the only reason he liked me.”

She coughs and adjusts her position on the couch. “Um . . . no offense, but he has been here, hasn’t he? Why would he ever think you were rich?”

“Because he knows my grandparents. My mom’s parents. And apparently they are some of the richest people in California.”

“What?”

“They were there tonight at the benefit.”

“Wow. That’s crazy.”

I push myself to sitting. “It is crazy, right? I should be mad about it. At my mom. At Xander.”

“You’re mad at Xander because your grandparents are rich?”

“No. Because that’s the only reason he liked me.”

“Is that what he said?”

“Well, no. But . . .” I run my hands down my face. “But how is either of us ever going to know for sure one way or the other? Even if he claims he would’ve kept dating me either way, we’ll never know because he did know and we can’t prove anything now.”

Skye takes my hand in hers. “Not everything has to be proven. Maybe you should just trust him.”

“And what about my mom? Should I trust her, too? Because she lied to me my whole life. And I’m angry. And I feel guilty for being angry because she’s sick.” I flop back on the couch and stare at the ceiling.

“I understand. I’d be angry, too. But don’t you think they deserve to know she’s sick?”

“Who?”

“Her parents.”

I nod. I know she’s right. “Tomorrow, will you call Xander and get their information for me?”

“You don’t want to talk to