Tastes Like Winter by Cece Carroll Read Free Book Online

of them
would move out so the fighting would stop. But now that it’s going to happen…
    It’s there in my mother’s eye, and the pain is excruciating.
    Please don’t say it; please don’t say it…
    She continues unaware, “I’m sorry, Emma, but I don’t think we’ll be
able to work things out. We’ve decided that it would be best for your father to
move out and get a place of his own. It’s been too hard on you. We don’t want
to keep exposing you to the fighting. It isn’t the norm. This isn’t what we
want for you.”
    She looks at me with pain-filled eyes while I sit there and absorb what she is saying. No
more fights. No more listening to their daily arguments. I have known this was
coming for a while now. I should be grateful. I should be happy that they, we,
the three of us, can move on to a healthier place. But I feel like crying
instead. She waits for me to say something, but all I can think to respond with
is a measly “Okay.”
    My mom looks frustrated, as though this is not how she expected this
conversation to go, which angers me. Does she want me to yell and storm up to
my room in a childish tantrum? Does she want me to tell her it will all be okay
and that I am fine with this divorce? Her eyes plead with me. What the hell does
she want me to say? I look over to my dad, hoping he might have an answer.
    The silence is painful, slicing into my last nerve, until finally he
speaks. His voice is firm and lacks emotion. “I leased a one-bedroom apartment
by South Gate. The deposit has already been paid. I will be moving out slowly
over the next few days. After I am settled, we can work out some sort of a
schedule for visits. I would like to keep seeing you.”
    His words are hollow; he barely sees me now. And a one-bedroom? He
obviously wasn’t thinking of me when apartment hunting.
    “Okay?” I offer, trying to keep emotion from my voice.
    Is this conversation done yet? My mother’s shoulders slump, and she
looks more defeated than I have ever seen her. My father looks angry, not that
he has any right to be. He shoves back from the table and stands.
    “Okay.” He dismisses us and exits the room, as if he can’t get away
from us fast enough. Seconds later, I hear the door to his study close.
    I, too, stand, my movement slowed by the weight of the conversation. I
hesitate, wondering if I should say something to Mom. I feel bad for her, I do,
but I don’t like seeing her acting so weak, and I do not think coddling her
right now will help matters. I desperately try to strengthen my wall of tough
love.
    “Okay…” I whisper before turning back to the dining room entrance,
picking up my bag, and quietly making my way upstairs.
    I hear her suck in a whoosh of air behind me as she tries to control
herself and muffle a sob, but I force myself not to turn around. She has to
learn how to pick herself back up. I can’t do it for her. But, God, I hope she
learns quickly, because hearing her breaks my heart.
    I shut the door to my room and turn on the sparkling lights that fall
behind my bed. They softly illuminate the space, creating a familiar and warm
glow. I pull my cell out of my pocket and tap on it, contemplating if I should
call Genna and tell her the latest news. I want my best friend’s help carrying
this burden, but I’m afraid that for the first time in our life she might not
be able to help me. As I look around my empty room, that thought makes me feel
even more alone.
    Genna hasn’t changed. I have. She hasn’t stopped being a supportive
friend and asking how I’m doing, but lately I get the impression that she isn’t
actually listening to me when I do try to share. She looks at life through
these rose-colored glasses and tells me everything will work out, and I’m
sorry, but that is not what I want to hear. I love her, but I wish she would
hug me and let me know that I am not alone and stop looking at my situation
like something that will resolve itself in time. I want to shout at