Growing Pains

December 24

I just celebrated my 30th birthday last month. I spent it alone at home and blew out a candle I pressed into an exorbitantly priced cupcake that I picked up in town. My town has one grimy pub and I wouldn’t go there on a random Wednesday, much less on the one day of the year that belongs to me. I couldn’t afford to go out in Boston this year, and my family is — well, they’re a guaranteed migraine. I wanted to spend my birthday without a tension headache for once. It doesn’t bother me too much, because my money’s tied up in a plane ticket to visit my friends in California for the holidays. I can stomach one lonely cupcake if it means drinking champagne in an L.A. club on New Year’s Eve. 

I’m going to move out there someday. I’m making it my New Year’s resolution, just as I’ve done for the past five years. One day I’ll actually do it. You see, my family is the reason I’ve basically put my therapist’s kids through college. The weight of filial piety is keeping me chained to them. Leaving home, especially as a disgracefully unmarried woman, is simply not done in our culture. My one act of rebellion is skipping town for the holidays.

Let me give you the rundown on this chaotic family tree. Dad has worked at the same company my entire life and has kept the same working schedule the whole time: 12 hours a day every day besides the glorious Football Sunday. When he isn’t sitting at his desk, he’s melting into his ancient recliner with a case of beer next to him. He basically only makes his existence known to shout, usually at either the TV or my mom. He has kept her trapped at home, permanently stuck in a cycle of cooking and cleaning, throughout their whole marriage. Mom doesn’t really have friends or much of an identity outside her role as caretaker. She just lets dad run the house.

My older brother, Rob, is an engineer nearby in Boston. He was smart to move out just far enough to get some breathing room without our parents freaking out about the distance all the time. He and his wife usually spend holidays at their place with her family. I can’t blame him for not extending an invite. My younger brother, Dave, is mommy and daddy’s perfect little boy. He can do no wrong, even when he got his ex-girlfriend pregnant last year before high school graduation. They split up right after the baby came a few months ago, and I think he already found another gullible idiot to put up with him. Lastly, there’s my dad’s mother, who we haven’t heard from in years. I guess that runs in my dad’s side of the family.

I have to be at the airport in a few hours. My bags are packed and my phone is silenced so I don’t have to hear the guilt trips from my family. There are some flurries falling to paint this little town white for Christmas. At least my mom will have that to bring up her mood as she looks out the kitchen window. She already texted me earlier this morning with a photo of her giant grocery haul. She’s such a nervous prepper.

Speak of the devil, here’s another text coming in from her. It reads: “FLIGHT CANCELED. COME HERE QUICK.” That’s odd. I open up the airline app and see a big, red banner warning me that all planes throughout the northeast have been grounded for the foreseeable future. I look out the window and the once-sweet snowflakes have transformed into a raging snowstorm. I can’t stay here. I made sure my house would be empty so nothing would go bad while I was in California. I don’t even have a granola bar to snack on. I hate to say it, but my mom’s right. I text her back that I’m on my way. I guess I’m stuck spending Christmas in hell.

– – – – –

December 25

I remember when there was no better feeling than waking up on Christmas morning to the anticipation of exciting gifts under the tree. Now, I open my eyes and feel nothing but dread thinking of the day ahead of me. I wish I could just go back to bed until the storm passes. I go downstairs and see that dad started drinking early again and already fell asleep in his recliner. The house is filled with his roaring snores and the TV announcers chatting about the football game.

“Let me see if I can get the Christmas parade on,” my mother says softly. She reaches for the TV remote and my dad wakes up just enough to slap her hand away before the snoring resumes. My mom’s face falls and she shuffles back to the kitchen to continue cooking. I hear Dave’s bedroom door creak open for the first time since I arrived yesterday. He has done nothing but blast his awful music and argue with his new girlfriend the whole time. The two emerge with sour expressions and hands gripping a bottle of vodka poorly concealed in a paper bag.

My mom doesn’t flinch. She smiles and asks, “Where’s my sweet granddaughter?” 

Dave rolls his eyes and waves her off. “At my ex’s for the week. Hailey and I have plans. We’re celebrating one month together. Anyway, we left our laundry in the hallway for you.”

My mom doesn’t even have the energy to respond. She looks down at the ground silently as I shake my head. The football game is interrupted by an emergency weather alert that the storm is rapidly intensifying into the “storm of a century.”

Then, the home phone rings. To everyone’s surprise, grandma shows up on the caller ID. During the first ring, we all just stare at it with the hopes that someone else in the room will handle it. Grandma hasn’t called or visited us on Christmas since I was in school. When the phone rings a second time, I lunge forward to pick it up. Let’s figure out what this is about and get it over with.

“Hello… grandma?”

“Maria, is that you? My lord, you sound so grown. Please, my car broke down and I don’t have enough food here to last me through this storm. The weather forecast is just awful. I hate to admit it, but I need your help right now. I’m assuming you picked up because your father was too drunk to do so.”

I sighed into the phone. “Yeah, it has been a while… but I guess that’s something that never changed. Give me a second.”

I bring the phone down and whisper to my mom that grandma’s in a bad place and needs to stay here for a little bit. My mom’s eyes widen and dart over to the sight of her husband reaching for his ninth beer of the day. She and I both know that my dad won’t be too happy about this, to say the least. I tell her I’ll pick her up and end the call.

I grab my keys and call out with a slight tremble in my voice, “Dad, I need to bring grandma here. The storm’s getting really intense and it’s not safe for her to be home alone.” He rolls his eyes, chugs his beer, and turns back to face the TV. 

I walk out the door and drive carefully over to my grandma’s house. The moment I pull into her driveway, she walks out the door. It looked like she had been anxiously waiting by the door with packed bags. She gets in the car and we exchange awkward smiles. We drive in silence, both unsure of what to say. What am I going to do, ask her why she disappeared?

My car rolls to a stop in my parents’ driveway and I glance over. I burst out, “Why did you leave us?”

My grandma’s eyes are welling up with tears. “I never wanted to leave you, but I had to cut off your dad for my own health. Maria, I’m so sorry. He scares me. I never would have called, but I’m desperate.”

I look at this shell of the grandmother I once knew and can’t help but lower my guard. This frail, crying woman is nothing like the character my dad had built in stories over the years, of a cruel, heartless monster who gleefully abandoned her only son and grandchildren. 

She continues tearfully, “I guess I’m to blame in the end. I raised him, didn’t I? His father sure didn’t contribute there. No, your grandpa taught your dad all he knew about how to really hurt someone. That’s a real talent they both have. I’m glad that gene seems to have skipped a generation.” Now definitely isn’t the time to tell her about Dave.

“When your grandpa died, your dad filled his shoes in the worst way. He would scream at me over anything and everything to let out all that hate bubbling up inside him. He took control over my house and my money until he met your mother and, God bless her, she became his new target. Eventually, I realized I couldn’t live with myself watching my own son berate the mother of his children every day and knowing there was nothing I could do to make him stop. I threatened him to get his act together one last time or I was gone, and so was his name from my will. I’m sure you understand now how that ended up, since you were just a little one when I last saw you. It eats me up inside, but the fading memories of how frightened I felt around him shock me back to reality.”

My head’s spinning as I take in this story. It all makes sense now. Leaving is the only way to break the chain of dysfunction. I see now that my mom’s insistence on staying was a reflection of her dedication to us kids and not of loyalty to my dad. She’s in the same position I’m in — worse, even.

She clutches my hands in hers. “I couldn’t go back then, but Maria, you kids are all I’ve got now. I promise I’ll stand by you in these next few days and beyond just as I should’ve done all those years ago. I hope that one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

I let the tears gathering in my eyes roll down my cheeks. “Grandma, I forgive you. You did what you had to do. Now let’s get this messed up family Christmas over with.” We laughed and got out of the car.

– – – – –

January 7

It has been a week since the storm ended and I walked out that door. After a solid hour of shoveling with my mother, we were able to dig out my car. I started packing up my things as soon as I got home. It was well past time for me to walk away from this mess. 

My friend had a falling out with her roommate during the holidays and asked if I was still interested in moving to the west coast. This was my chance! I immediately accepted her offer. We celebrated with a glass of champagne on a video call. 

When I finish packing up my last box, I call my grandma to tell her I’ll miss her and to keep in touch. Then, I call my mom. I can hear the baby crying in another room, and Dave and my dad yelling at a video game in the background. I tell my mom that I love her and that she’s welcome to start fresh in the sun with me whenever she’s ready. I tell her I’ll take her to the beach, just like she always wanted. I haven’t even moved in yet and I already feel like a giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I’m still nursing that stress headache, however.