And in the middle of that contemplation, mom starts crying all of the sudden, not really noticeably, but her eyes are red and she’ s blowing her nose, and I stare at her trying to figure out why she’ s crying, but I know for a fact that I wouldn’ t want her to stare at me when I’ m crying because it’ s a weakness I don’ t want others to see, so I just concentrate on having dinner. Auntie asks why mom’ s crying and grandma asks too, and mom says the food’ s spicy is all, and I’ m still trying to figure out why she’ s crying because I can’ t recall any triggers. Then all the grownup women talk about their girls and how difficult and tiresome raising their children is, and I sit there feeling guilty as hell because that’ s me they’ re talking about.
Mom starts crying all over again on the way home and they’ re now having an argument, which is ten times worse. They’ re talking with raised voices behind closed doors because I’ m supposed to be studying, but I can hear their voices faintly over the three layers of wall, except I can’ t hear the specifics and it feels like my stomach is dropping because this can turn into a Real Fight and I don’ t want to spend the rest of the week walking on eggshells. I desperately wish for my sister.
The morning after is the Cold War and I’ m careful not to disturb mom or dad, making myself as insignificant and small as possible because the only collateral damage that can happen here is me. Dad and I have brunch and I keep staring at the clock on the right wall, mentally allocating hours to my essay writing and test prep and homework, and the only sound in the house is mom clicking at her computer and us having our food, and mom suddenly packs her bag and leaves the house to god knows where, and it’ s the first time I wonder what would happen if mom were to one day decide that she’ s had enough shit and leave out the door, which is highly unrealistic but terrifying all the same.
For the umpteenth time I feel bad for dad because he’ ll never get to know what an ideal happy family feels like. Dad and mom are different to the core and I feel bad for mom because he won’ t ever understand her, not really, and mom says it’ s like having two seniors in the house because dad’ s always studying, and she has to be so alone. I see two spoons beside her spot in the living room, and I know they’ re there because she’ s been pressing them on her eyes to make them less swollen from all the crying, and it kills me.
Dad and I go out for dinner, and the restaurant around us thrives with activity but we’ re depressed and silent. Dad says depression is contagious, and I can see it’ s really taking a toll on him, and he says,“ I think I’ m becoming a tad depressed myself, how about you?”
And I can’ t tell him I’ ve gone through a whole era of depression far worse than this two years ago for different reasons and this is nothing compared to that, so I say,“ I’ m fine. I’ m fine because this will all pass, and it feels like it can’ t get any worse than this, but it’ s fine.”
And dad says,“ I feel really guilty whenever she talks about married life like it’ s a bad thing”, and that’ s the first time he’ s acknowledged that, so I give him a level look and don’ t say anything, because it’ s not really his fault. It’ s no one’ s fault.
We get home and light the candles on the birthday cake and I ask mom if she wants some cake but she tells me she doesn’ t want any. Dad asks her to come and blow out the candles, and she’ s in the living room and doesn’ t answer for awhile, but then dad asks again and she turns around and stomps to the kitchen. For a moment I think she’ s decided to grace us with her presence but she pulls the candles out like weeds from a garden and throws them on the floor. Her voice is something horrible when she says,“ I don’ t want the goddamn cake so stop bothering me. It was so much better here without you both.”
Dad and I are just frozen there for a minute. I can see our reflections on the window, and I’ m still processing what just happened, but then dad now looks more angry than depressed so
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