Kody Keplinger: Lying Out Loud

“Sonya!” Mrs. Rush grabbed my arm, but I yanked it away.

“Just leave! Mom will be here soon — just GO!”

The tears were hot as they rolled down my face. My whole body shook as I pleaded with both of them to leave.

Leave so they wouldn’t have to know.

Wouldn’t find out.

But it was too late.

They knew.

The secret I’d kept from everyone. The most painful truth I’d locked away. It was about to come out, and I couldn’t bear it.

“Stop, Sonny.” Mr. Rush caught my wrists and pulled me to him, holding me in a hug so tight I couldn’t resist anymore.

I thrashed for a minute to no avail. I was too tired. Too hurt.

“She’s coming back,” I cried. “She’ll be here soon.”

“Shhh,” Mr. Rush said. “It’s okay, Sonny.”

He pulled me to the couch and we sank down together as I sobbed into his shoulder. He stroked my hair, the way my dad had when I was little and had nightmares. No one had held me like this in almost a decade. I should’ve been too old for it. Too old to be comforted this way.

But just then, I felt like a little kid again.

Like the little kid who had been left behind all those years ago.

I could hear Mrs. Rush walking around the house, but I never looked up. I never stopped crying.

“She’s on her way,” I mumbled every few minutes or so. “She’s coming back.”

But no one believed me anymore.

I didn’t believe me anymore.

I don’t know how much time passed like that, but eventually Mrs. Rush came to sit down on the couch with me and her husband. She rested a hand on my back, and the show of kindness just made me cry harder.

When the tears finally slowed and I was able to catch my breath, Mrs. Rush asked the question I’d been dreading.

“Where’s your mother, Sonny?”

I shook my head, but I couldn’t lie anymore. I didn’t have the energy or the strength.

“I … I don’t know.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“A while.” I swallowed and rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “She leaves sometimes. But … but she always comes back. But this time …”

“Oh, Sonny,” Mr. Rush murmured. “You were never kicked out.”

I shook my head no.

They didn’t ask why I’d lied, and for that I was eternally grateful. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about anything. I wanted to go back in time. Before the Rushes saw this empty, dusty, lonely house. Before I fucked up everything with Amy and Ryder.

Before I was alone.

“Come on,” Mr. Rush said. “Let’s go.”

“No,” I said, clutching at his arm. I hated myself. I hated the pathetic sound of my voice when I said, “Don’t leave me. Please.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Mrs. Rush wrapped her arms around me. “No. Sonny, we’re not leaving you here. You’re coming back with us, okay?”

“But Amy —”

“Loves you,” Mr. Rush said. “And so do we.”

“Whatever is going on with you two, you’ll work it out,” Mrs. Rush said. “And she’d want you to come back with us, too.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, though. Not after everything I’d done. This was just another lie I’d told her. Just another reason for her to hate me.

Mr. Rush walked me out to the car while Mrs. Rush gathered some more clothes from my bedroom. None of us said a word on the drive back to their house. I stared out the window, my eyes wet and burning.

It was over. The cat was out of the bag. I felt naked, humiliated. Raw.

When we got back to the Rushes’ house, Amy was sitting in the living room, watching TV. She looked stunned to see me walk through the door.

I turned my face away from her, hiding. I didn’t say a word to anyone, just ran up the stairs to the guest room where I’d been staying.

I didn’t mean to slam the door behind me, but I did.

I fell onto the bed, my face in the pillow. But I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

There weren’t any tears left.

I didn’t leave the guest room for two days.

Partly because I was sad and miserable and didn’t want to inflict my pain on anyone else. But mostly because I was ashamed. Ashamed of my meltdown in front of Amy’s parents. Ashamed of the truth.

Mr. and Mrs. Rush knocked on the door a few times, but I didn’t answer.

I wanted to go to Amy, to find safety and comfort with her the way I always had. I wanted to call Ryder, or better yet, to have him here with me. To have him put an arm around me and tell me it would be okay. To say something pretentious and ridiculous so I could make fun of him and stop thinking about everything else.

I missed them.

But, more than anything, I wanted to barricade myself in this room, to be alone forever, punishing myself for every awful thing I’d done.

Eventually, however, my need for food outweighed my desire to lock myself away Rapunzel-style. I waited until everyone else was asleep before sneaking down to the kitchen.

At least, I thought everyone was asleep.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I looked up from the bowl of cereal I’d just poured. Amy was standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed in pink-and-black-striped pajamas and fuzzy green slippers. I ducked my head and focused my attention on the Cocoa Puffs I was about to consume.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” I said.

“I haven’t slept well lately.” She walked past me and opened a cabinet, grabbing a bowl for herself. Once she’d filled it with cereal, she came over to the island and stood across from me. “My parents told me what happened at your house…. I get why you didn’t want them to know, but why didn’t you tell me she was gone? I would’ve kept it secret for you. I would’ve tried to help.” There was a note of hurt in her voice.

“I know you would have,” I said, swirling my spoon in my bowl. My appetite was waning all of a sudden. “But … it wasn’t about admitting it to you. It was about admitting it to myself.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was easier to say she’d kicked me out for doing something wrong. Then I could pretend it was true. It hurt less than acknowledging that she’d … she’d left me. Just left me.”

“Do you have any idea where she went?”

I shook my head. “No. She was seeing a guy. She probably took off with him somewhere. Who knows? It’s not like it’s the first time.”

I’d called my mother “flaky” for years, but that was an understatement. From the time I was eleven, I never knew if she’d be home when I got off the bus after school. Sometimes she’d stick around for months, and things would be almost normal. She might forget my birthday or accidentally lock me out of the house, but she was around.

And then, sometimes, she wasn’t.

I was in sixth grade the first time she pulled her disappearing act. She’d been seeing this guy, Dave. He was younger than her, and even then I knew he was kind of a loser. One day, I came home and the house was empty. Luckily, by then, I knew how to take care of myself. I lived off cereal and microwavable meals, even when she was home.

She’d come back three days later, tanned and happy. Dave had suggested an impromptu road trip to Florida, and she could’ve sworn she’d left a note. As if that made it better.

After Dave it was Carl.

After Carl it was Trevor.

And then I stopped keeping up with their names. It wasn’t like I saw them much, anyway. Sometimes Mom would be gone for days, and I’d find out later she’d just been across town, crashing at her boyfriend’s house. Sometimes she’d vanish for a week — a shopping trip in Atlanta, a romantic getaway in St. Louis, a week in Chicago. She lost several jobs because of those random trips.