Patricia
"What is she talking about?" Patricia asked. She waited for an answer as Simon threw the car in gear. The veins in his arms bulged and he was gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles had drained of color. But it was his silence and the deliberate way he kept his eyes averted that had her stomach in knots.
"Simon, what is she talking about?"
When they rolled up beside Ella, he still hadn't given her an answer. Her daughter continued to walk, albeit stagger down the street. Patricia looked away from the troubling scene. "Simon, what did—"
"Can I please focus on getting her back into the car?" he snapped.
Patricia turned to the window, surprised that he had taken that tone with her. But she remained quiet.
He sighed heavily before he jerked the car to a halt and rushed out. The headlights lit up the path to Ella as Simon quickly approached her. Patricia couldn't hear what was being said, but Simon pointed back to the car. Ella walked off but Simon grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She swung her free hand at Simon's face. Patricia gasped with shock as he caught Ella's wrist in time and turned their bodies so his back faced the car and Ella was no longer visible.
Their body language filled Patricia with a strange sense of déjà vu as the scene played in front of her. She'd witnessed this heated standoff before when her parents fought.
She climbed out the car. Her breath made clouds in the night air. With every step she took towards them, she wondered what she could do to diffuse the situation. Standing around and doing nothing didn't seem like an option this time, especially after everything that had happened tonight.
She made out Ella's heels in the space between Simon's feet but before she got any closer, he turned away and was walking back.
"Is she okay?" Patricia asked as he passed her.
"Yeah." He got in the car and slammed the door.
Patricia waited while her daughter stood in the distance. Ella wiped a hand over her eyes before she approached the car. When she passed Patricia, she didn't look at her. Instead, she got into the car without another word.
A few words from Simon and everything was okay again. Patricia tried to feel grateful but she couldn't, not when Ella made it crystal clear that she gave Simon a different level of respect than she did her own mother.
The short ride back was quiet as a million thoughts swirled through Patricia's head. Ella lay balled up in the backseat with her eyes closed and head leaning against the window. For a moment, she resembled her twelve-year-old-self on the way to school. But that image dissolved when they pulled into the driveway and Ella stumbled out of the car. She fell to her knees, grabbing handfuls of grass while she vomited.
"Goddamn it," Simon mumbled, jerking off his seatbelt. He turned to Patricia. "I'm sorry."
Patricia hurried to Ella's side and pulled her hair back. Simon knelt down on the grass and rubbed her back. She groaned as her body swayed and fell against him. She mumbled something before Simon hoisted her into his arms like a rag doll.
Patricia opened the door and once inside, Simon moved down the hallway, Ella's hair dangling over the side of his arm. Neither said a word as he pushed her door open and disappeared through. Patricia waited by the door, feeling more and more like a stranger in her own home.
When Simon emerged, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. "I'm going to take a quick shower before bed, okay?"
She nodded into his chest before he released her.
Patricia sat on their bed and listened to the water run. She replayed the last two hours, trying to make sense of it all. Something was missing. Ella seemed fine before the movie. What happened? Why did she do these things?
Simon came out of the bathroom and quickly pulled on his boxers before he sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Why do I feel like I don't know what just happened?" Everything seemed like a distorted version of reality. Even the way they faced away from each other like distant bookends felt odd.
He sighed. "You were there, Patricia. You know what happened."
She stared at his back. "But why was she so upset? Did you two have a fight that I don't know about?"
"Is there ever a time we're not fighting?"
Patricia massaged her temples. "I know. But she was upset about something specific."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "A week ago we had a big blow up. She's been pissed at me ever since."
"About what?"
"Everything."
"Are you purposely being as vague as possible with me?"
"No," he answered as he lay back. "But I'm tired and need to get to sleep. I
was
in the bed before this whole thing started tonight, remember?"
"I just feel like I don't have any control over anything. I don't know why my daughter decided to get drunk tonight. I don't know why she's mad at you and no one will give me a straight answer."
"Patricia, honey, it's two in the morning. I'm worn out. Gabriella and I fight every other day. You know that."
"I know, but I've never seen her lose control like that. It scared me."
Simon reached for her hand. "I know honey and I'm sorry. But this isn't anything new for me."
"And see, that's what makes me feel this big," she said, indicating a small amount with her fingers. She rested her head on his chest. "I feel like things are getting worse, when they should be getting better." She looked at him. "They were for a while, weren't they?"
Simon paused a moment before answering. "I guess." He turned off the lamp. The sudden quiet was a stark contrast from the ruckus earlier that night. But in Patricia's mind the fight hadn't ended.
"Simon, what did you two argue about a week ago?"
"Patricia, can we please go to sleep?"
"No."
"I don't remember. They all blend together after a while."
Patricia lifted her head and stared down at him, her eyes already adjusting to the darkness and shadows. "Last time I saw her that mad at you was when you called her a slut."
"Patri—I never—" He closed his eyes and his nose flared. She wasn't used to seeing him so irritated, but when he opened them again, he spoke calmly. "I didn't call her a slut. I said she was dressed like one."
"True. But maybe you shouldn't have used that word at all."
He exhaled and placed his arm over his face. "You're right, I shouldn't have said it, but I've already apologized to her for that."
"I know."
He rolled over on his side to end the conversation.
Patricia thought back on that night, wishing she had spoken up. Ella's usual poker face had shifted, revealing how hurt she was by his words.
"Fuck you!" she had yelled back at him before slamming her door and ending the battle started by her risqué attire. But Simon won the war by taking her door off the hinges for a week for her slamming it one time too many in his face.
Patricia was always stuck in the middle of this constant push and pull between her husband and daughter. Both refused to give an inch while she watched on helplessly. If she sided with Simon, then Ella accused them of ganging up on her. If she sided with Ella, then Simon would say, "That's why Gabriella is the way she is." She was always left trapped in a lose-lose situation no matter what.
When they married, Patricia questioned whether to turn over full disciplinary reigns to Simon. She didn't want to be one of those mothers who let anyone punish their child, but she was usually too worn down from work by the time she got home to deal with any more problems. And because she had never taken an authoritative stance before, Ella hardly paid her any attention when she did try to enforce rules.
So she let Simon take over and at first, it seemed to work. Ella stopped skipping class and graduated from high school and even entered college, which was a subject they had never broached before. For the most part, things ran smoother after Simon arrived. Even with the frequent blow-ups, she had noticed progress in Ella's behavior. Until tonight. And witnessing up close and personal how out of hand things could get, Patricia suspected that the problems between her husband and daughter ran much deeper than she ever imagined.
She needed to hear Ella's side.
**********
Gabriella
Ella pried her eyes open to shield them from the sunlight beaming through her window. Her tongue felt like sandpaper while her limbs refused to cooperate as if they were tied down with weights.
"Fuck," she groaned, after sitting up too fast. Colorful spots danced before her eyes, along with a searing pain at the back of her head. She was still in last night's clothes, but couldn't remember how she had gotten into bed.
