Chapter 147 Echoes of a Childhood Silence
POV Maya:
“How many times am I going to have to tell you, Maya?” I lower my head, not wanting my mother to repeat the same words again. “You are not an appropriate child to accompany us.”
She says it exactly like that. She always repeats it.
“Mommy, I swear I’ll behave. I swear I won’t ask for anything. I won’t even talk. Please don’t leave me alone.”
“Alfred, talk to your daughter. I give up,” Mom says, turning back to the mirror, while Dad sits down on the bed, patting the empty space beside him.
With watery eyes and an aching heart, I sit next to him. Never on his lap—Dad never let me sit on his lap. Sometimes I heard girls at school talking about how their parents embarrassed them by picking them up, hugging them, kissing them in front of everyone. When I heard that, my heart tightened. I never experienced that. My parents were never in the same place as me for more than four hours. They never kissed me, much less hugged me. Not that I remember.
“Maya, you can’t come with us. We’ve already told you that. It’s an adults-only party. It’s no place for you, especially with you being retarded.” I take a deep breath, a sharp burning starting to sting my eyes.
“Alfred, she’s not retarded. Don’t talk like that,” Mom says without even looking at us, focused on applying red lipstick.
“Fine, but it doesn’t stop being true. How do you take a twelve-year-old to a high-society party if she can’t even speak properly?”
“Daddy, I’m getting better…”
“No, Maya, you’re not going.” Dad stands up beside Mom and whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh. The two of them already forgetting that I’m still sitting on the bed.
Since I can’t go with them, I think this is the moment to show them the invitation for the school trip they gave us to take home. I really want to go. I heard from other students who already went that it’s fun, that parents gather around a campfire telling stories, they eat marshmallows and drink hot chocolate. I’ve never had either. It would be my first time.
“Mom, Dad,” I call them. My mother rolls her eyes, but looks at me. “Today at school they gave us these invitations.” I walk over and hand the paper to my mother, who takes it with a grimace.
“A trip in the middle of the woods?” she asks, laughing.
“It’s going to be fun,” I say, trying to convince them.
“Maya, the answer is no. We’re not going to the middle of nowhere. We have better things to do.”
“I’d really like to go. This could be our first family vacation,” I say, and my parents look at each other and laugh.
“Travel as a family? Maya, what world do you live in?”
Mom keeps laughing and Dad joins her. It makes my heart hurt. They always say things that make my heart hurt.
“Why can’t we go? Why can’t you ever stay with me? Why? Just tell me why.”
“Maya, that’s none of your business,” Dad says, ending the conversation.
“But I—”
“Maya, enough. We don’t have to explain everything we do. You’re not important enough to have that privilege, unless you’re rich enough to make people like me want to spend five minutes listening to you. Now go to your room. It’s past your bedtime.”
I was twelve years old when I heard the harshest words from my parents. It was there, watching them get ready for a party, that I promised I would never become a millionaire. I promised myself I would never be like them.
I grew up in a loveless home. I grew up without parental affection. I grew up without being allowed to express my feelings, good or bad. Over time, everything became too much. My heart was never able to handle the cyclone of emotions that always surrounded me, that consumed me, and I believe it never will be strong enough to.
My heart broke only twice. The first time when I was twelve. The second time was today, hearing the same words come out of Dominic’s mouth.
Years apart, but the crushing pain is the same.
I lift my gaze to the five Moretti brothers. They keep laughing. They keep talking among themselves. The noise around me becomes too loud. I feel like everything is happening in slow motion.
The Morettis’ faces are frozen in mocking smiles, in smiles that hurt me.
The same smiles.
Everything the same.
It’s like seeing my parents fourteen years ago.