Page 59 of Don’t Let Me Go

“Jackson? Can you wake up?”

My ears must be playing tricks on me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that if I opened my eyes, I’d see my mother standing

at the foot of my bed. But that’s about as likely as the Jacksonville Jaguars making it to the Super Bowl.

A second later, though, my mattress sags under the weight of someone sitting beside me, and I feel a hand squeeze my shoulder.

“Jackson? Baby?”

The word baby sends a jolt through my body. Nobody calls me baby. No one except—

I open my eyes and, sure enough, my mother is leaning over me, her blond power bob framing a face pinched tight with worry.

At least I assume it’s worry. Years of Botox and cosmetic surgery have gradually stripped my mother’s face of its ability

to express the most basic human emotions. Staring into it can be a lot like looking at one of those Rorschach tests. You see

what you want to see.

“Hello, Jackson.”

My mother runs an immaculately manicured hand through my bedhead, pushing my hair out of my eyes. It’s meant to be affectionate,

but her touch makes me flinch. I don’t know what she’s doing here, but after the way she and my father treated me, she’s the

last person I want to see.

Across the room, I notice Aunt Rachel lingering in the doorway in her blue dungarees. She avoids my eyes with a guilty sideways

glance, and suddenly my mother’s appearance makes a lot more sense.

“You called my parents?” I growl.

“Of course she called us,” my mother answers, still attempting to fix my unruly hair as if that’s her greatest concern. “She

told us that you haven’t gotten out of bed in ten days.”

“It hasn’t been ten days,” I scoff.

I catch the pitying look on my aunt’s face, and it occurs to me that I have no fucking clue what day it is or how long it’s

been since I left my room to do anything other than take a piss.

“Has it?” I ask.

Before Aunt Rachel can answer, my mother is tossing back my sheets. “Baby, why don’t you get up, take a shower, and get dressed?

Hmm? Then we’ll have a nice lunch and talk. Just you and me. How does that sound?”

Maybe it’s because I’m too exhausted and confused to argue; maybe it’s because I know there’s no point in refusing my mother

when she sets her mind on something. But against my better judgment, I hear myself mumble a short, defeated “Okay.”

“Great.” My mother beams, smoothing down her fuchsia blazer as she stands. She looks like she’s just closed the sale of the

century and is already spending the commission in her head. “We’ll see you in the kitchen.”

Once she and Aunt Rachel are gone, I pull myself out of bed and drag my body down the hall to the bathroom. My first shower

in over a week is a revelation. I let the hot water blast down on me until it scalds my skin, but the pain feels good. It’s

a relief to feel something other than constant numbness.

When I get back to my room, I dry off and put on a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

Then I make my way to the kitchen, where my aunt and mother are talking in hushed tones over a platter of fresh fruit and finger sandwiches.

Actually, Aunt Rachel is talking. My mother is smiling and pretending to listen, but I can tell that she’s mentally redecorating.

It’s a habit she’s picked up from years of staging open houses to entice potential buyers.

She’s constantly revising the world in her head, making everything and everyone over in her own image.

“Oh, Jackson,” Aunt Rachel exclaims, rising from the table with a start when she notices me hovering in the hall. “Come on

in. Have a seat. I was just on my way to the store.”

“You’re leaving?”

“We’re out of milk,” she says, giving me a lame shrug to go with her even lamer excuse. “But you should enjoy lunch with your

mom. You two have a lot to discuss.”

When my aunt passes me in the archway, she squeezes my shoulder and musters an unconvincing smile. Then she’s gone, and I’m

left to face my mother on my own.

“Your aunt has made us a nice little spread,” Mom observes cheerfully as she fixes me a plate. “I always forget how handy

she is in the kitchen. It’s criminal she hasn’t been able to land a husband.”

Digs disguised as compliments are nothing new from my mother. Over the years I’ve learned not to engage with them. I slump

down into Aunt Rachel’s empty chair and take the plate she’s prepared for me without a word.

Faced with my silence, Mom smiles uncertainly and plays with her sliced kiwi. Now that we’re alone together, she seems less

confident than she was when she had an audience to watch her perform the role of doting mother.

I wonder how long it will take her to ask me what’s wrong. Then again, it wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t ask at all. Mom’s

never met a problem she couldn’t sweep under the rug. It’s why she let me move in with Aunt Rachel in the first place.

“Your father and I got the pictures you sent,” she announces as she sips at her iced tea. “You’ve certainly made some interesting

friends.”

I’d almost forgotten the photos I’d texted her. That night and my birthday seem like a lifetime ago.

“I’m assuming the rather emaciated-looking boy who seems to always have his arm around you is the one who?.?.?.?the one that

you’ve been...” She trails off, unable to bring herself to finish her thought. For a second, a part of me enjoys seeing

her squirm as she tries and fails to acknowledge my relationship with Riley.

Then I remember that I have no relationship with Riley.

“That’s all over,” I tell her.

“Oh.” My mother blinks in surprise. Whatever Aunt Rachel told her to get her to come to Orlando must not have included the

breakup. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

“We realized it was a mistake,” I say with a shrug, and leave it at that.

My mother nods, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head. She’s trying to work out what this piece of news

means for her. And for me. A gleam of excitement flashes in her eyes.

“Well, that’s okay!” she gushes, unable or unwilling to disguise her relief. “Baby, we all make mistakes. Especially at your age. High school and hormones? It can be very confusing. But there’s no shame in trying something new and realizing it’s not for you.”

I want to laugh. What my mother has chosen to hear ( I’m straight again ) and what I actually meant ( I broke up with my boyfriend ) are two very different things. Before I can correct her, though, she pushes forward.

“You have had such a trying year, Jackson. And I know you feel like your father and I haven’t supported you in the way you’d have liked.

But I hope you know that we have only ever wanted what’s best for you.

We know the kind of man you are and the kind of man you’re capable of becoming.

And it just kills us, baby, when we see you doubting yourself and making certain life choices that, frankly, don’t make any sense. ”

I shake my head in exasperation, and Mom throws up her hands defensively.

“I know, I know. I’m the one who supported your decision to come here and live with your aunt. But, baby, I have been regretting

that decision all summer long. I mean, let’s be realistic. Your aunt is a very kind, very generous woman, but she isn’t capable of taking care

of you or giving you a stable home. Look at the people she’s letting you consort with!”

I open my mouth to defend Aunt Rachel and my friends, but my mother stops me.

“Not that they aren’t pleasant enough kids in their own way, I’m sure,” she backtracks. “But, Jackson, look how confused they’ve

made you. And look how unhappy you are. Even at the height of that whole Devon Sanderson fiasco, you never refused to get

out of bed for days on end. You never stopped showering and eating and taking care of yourself. You never had your whole family

worried you might do something— drastic .”

The word drastic catches in her throat. For the first time, I see the fear in my mother’s eyes. And despite all the awful, ignorant things

she’s said about Aunt Rachel and Riley and my friends, I can’t help feeling grateful .

All I’ve wanted since the day that I told her about Riley was to know she still loved me. And even though she hasn’t said

the words, I can tell from the way she’s looking at me with desperate panic that she’s terrified of losing me.

“That’s why,” she continues, “your father and I think you should come home.”

It takes a second for my brain to catch up with my ears, but when it does, my jaw drops. “You what ?”

“We discussed it last night, and we really feel like it’s the only solution. I know you wanted to move here so you could escape everything that happened last year. But don’t you see? You’re only making things worse for yourself. You’re not thriving here. You’re flailing. Even your aunt can see—”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “Does Aunt Rachel know you want me to move back home?”

“Of course she does.”

“And what does she think?”

My mother tilts her head in confusion as if Aunt Rachel’s opinion is about as relevant as a stack of expired coupons. “Your

aunt wants you to be happy, Jackson. We all want you to be happy.”

“You think I’ll be happy in Tallahassee?”

“I think you’ll be a lot better off at home surrounded by a family who loves you and real friends who want the best for you, instead of wasting away in a strange city with well-meaning but dubious people who have

confused you and made you miserable.”

“They didn’t confuse me,” I protest. “And they didn’t make me miserable.”

“Then why am I here, Jackson? Why am I getting frantic phone calls from your aunt telling me she’s at her wit’s end because

she’s worried sick about you? Why do you look like a walking corpse?”

I don’t know what to say. I want to tell her about Jocasta, tell her the only reason I’m miserable is because I had to break

up with Riley to save our lives. But I can’t. That would only convince her that I’m even more screwed up than she thinks I

am.

“Baby, just think about it,” she says, her voice gentle but insistent.

“If you came home, you could finish your senior year with all your friends, you could rejoin the football team—maybe you could even get back together with Micaela. Everything could go back to the way it was, and we could forget all about this confusing summer and just move on with our lives.”

My mother stares at me with wide, pleading eyes. They’re the same shade of blue as my own, a reminder of the bond we share.

As mother and son. As family. But I have zero desire to return with her to Tallahassee.

That old life, the one she looks back on so fondly, the one that made me utterly miserable, is something I will never return

to. Not as long as I have any say in the matter.

I open my mouth to tell her that, but the words stick in my throat.

Returning to my old life might very well be hell, but it’s not like there isn’t another hell waiting for me here in Orlando.

Come the fall, every day will be its own special purgatory. Every day I’ll have to see Riley at school and pretend that he

means nothing to me. That my arms aren’t aching to hold him. That my heart isn’t empty without him.

How am I going to survive that? How am I going to survive seeing him over and over again and not die a little every day?

At least in Tallahassee, I’d be spared that torture. In Tallahassee there wouldn’t be the constant daily reminder of what

I’ve lost. Of what I can never have.

My mother senses my wavering. Quick as a flash, she leans across the table and takes my hand in hers, her eyes shining with

hope.

“Jackson, baby, come home .”