Page 58 of PS: I Hate You
Josh and I aren’t like our mother. We’re not fame chasers.
I keep quiet, mainly to avoid saying something that will escalate this into a fight. Today was a long stretch in the office with my head buried in data and constant coworker distractions. I’m too tired and burnt out to go at it with my mother.
“Well?” she presses when I continue to say nothing. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?” In the mirror I spy two dark circles under my eyes that scream at me to go home and sleep. “There’s nothing to tell. I’m doing something Josh asked me to do. If he wanted you to do something, I’m sure it would’ve been in that letter he wrote you.”
She huffs, and I try not to let curiosity push me into asking whathe wrote her. His note to our mother could have contained anything. Forgiveness. Condemnation.
Despite Josh’s loving personality, I suspect the latter.
He had little time for people who didn’t at leasttryto be decent. Take our father, for example. The man left soon after I was born and never got in touch. Apparently, he sent childcare payments—though nowhere near enough if you ask Cecilia or Florence—and that was it. But when I was thirteen, I convinced myself that something was keeping him away. That Florence was wrong about me being the reason he left. That my father had wanted to be my dad all along but couldn’t for some reason. Maybe our mother’s uncaring personality had driven him away, or she was keeping us from him. Maybe he was so ashamed for leaving in the first place that he never thought we could forgive him. But I could. Thirteen-year-old Maddie was willing to do anything just to have one parent who cared about her.
I begged Josh to help me find him. Just a phone number. Just to call him and tell him that if he wanted back in my life, I’d welcome him.
At first, Josh tried to convince me not to bother. He didn’t refuse outright—that harsh of a rejection was never Josh’s way. But he did his best to gently redirect me. He asked what I wanted from a father and promised he’d do all of the things a dad would, if I just let go of the idea of the man who provided half my DNA.
But I was relentless, and eventually, Josh gave in.
After some internet sleuthing, he found a phone number and an address. On my fourteenth birthday, almost exactly thirteen years ago to the day, I called him. We sat in the front seat of Josh’s car, my brother behind the wheel, fingers tapping an agitated rhythm and me clutching his cell phone because I didn’t have one. The car stayed parked on the driveway because we weren’t looking to go anywhere, I just wanted to keep Florence and Cecilia from interrupting.
Although, if our dad invited us to visit, I was ready to beg that we drive to New Jersey, where Josh said he lived.
When the call connected, I heard a voice that reminded me of my brother’s, only a note deeper.
And it was so strange to hear the almost-Josh voice tell me he didn’t want to see me. That he left us with Cecilia for a reason. That he started over and has a different life now. That we never knew each other in the first place.
What was even more jarring was my goofy, loving brother tearing the phone from my hand and snarling into the speaker that the man was a piece-of-shit scumbag who didn’t deserve to know me and would never understand the amazing person he’d missed out on.
Josh hung up, started the car, and drove us to my favorite Italian-ice stand, where I forced myself to eat a cup of strawberry-flavored ice chips so my brother wouldn’t be able to tell that my heart was a crumbled-up mess.
But he knew. Josh always knew.
He stopped at the supermarket, bought a twenty-four pack of bargain-brand toilet paper, then drove us to New Jersey, where we spent the rest of my birthday TPing our father’s house. And when we stood back, admiring our handiwork, Josh wrapped an arm around my shoulders and held me tight against his chest.
“I know the world tells us that we need a mom and dad. But we don’t, Magpie. We need each other. You have me. Always.”
Those words held me together for a long time.
But they weren’t true. Because it wasn’talways, was it?
“I think your brother would love the idea of us doing this together.” My mother’s voice pulls me out of the painful tangle of memories back into my agonizing reality thatthiswoman is left, and Josh is gone. “Where is the next trip? When are you going? I can meet you there anytime, anyplace.”
Fuck, no.
I should’ve been expecting this phone call. Should’ve known it was coming and braced myself. Of course my mom is looking for a new angle. Something to write about on her blog and social feeds.
Her meal ticket is dead now.
But this? Spreading her son’s ashes across the United States? That is a perfect story to milk. So many staged grieving images she could take in beautiful destinations. Even if she only wrote one article per state, that’s eight right there. Publish one a month and that’s most of a year covered. And I’m sure she could drag this out. The opportunities are limitless. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to add on a few states just for dramatic value. Who gives a fuck what Josh wanted?
My eyes lock on my wrist.
Love, Josh
I did. Ido. That’s why this is my job.
Well, not mine alone.