Savior Complex: A Small Town Love Triangle Romance

“Day after tomorrow,” I agree. “I’ll be there at nine.”

That evening, I start cleaning. I even sing as I go, blaring Tony Bennett over the sound system I had talked Nanna Dot into buying years ago.

“I left my heart, in San Francisco…” I croon, pushing the pile of clothes off the couch and into a laundry basket so I can transport it upstairs. The doom piles have diminished dramatically and this house is starting to feel like a home again. Even though the sun set hours ago, the house feels brighter somehow. Smells good too, with the lemon essential oil diffusing in the corner and the shine on the just mopped floors.

My phone rings on the coffee table and I glance at it, then groan. My mom’s face stares back at me, smiling even though she never smiles at me anymore. I probably should have found a photo of her scowling instead. I pick up the phone, answering it as I switch off the stereo.

“Hello?”

There are only two reasons why my mom calls me nowadays. One is to disguise it as a social call, but then slip in all the ways I fall short as a human. The other is her recent fascination with family dinners. I think one of her friends at the country club mentioned how their family keeps in touch this way, and my mom wanted to pretend that our family was close too. But really, it just became a way for her to tear me down in person.

“Nina, you really need to work on the way you answer the phone. The person on the other end shouldn’t be able to tell how tired you are. I don’t even know why you’re tired, anyway. You don’t have a thing to worry about, what with all my mother’s money in your bank account.”

I pour my coffee while she talks. There’s no sense in arguing with her, and honestly, I’m so used to her drivel, I don’t even react anymore.

After a few minutes, I finally interject with “Why’d you call?” and then get ready for the lecture on my tone, even as I try to keep my voice light and airy, as she prefers. But she doesn’t lecture. No, it’s far worse than that.

“Aunt Lil and her family are hosting family dinner tomorrow night, and I’d love if you were here also. It will be a family reunion of sorts, so make sure you’re wearing something that fits you and not that godawful skirt you wore the last time.”

This is terrible news, and I immediately think of ways to get out of it. I work the early shift tomorrow, so that excuse won’t work. But then I remember my car on the other side of town.

“I’d love to, but can’t,” I say, trying to hide my enthusiasm. “My car broke down last night, so I’m kind of stuck.”

“Then buy a new car. Hell, buy ten new cars. Lord knows you can afford it. But I expect you to be here.”

“I woke up with a sore throat and a cough this morning,” I say, then cough to prove my ailment.

“I’m sure it’s just allergies,” my mom says. “You’ll be fine by tomorrow. We just won’t get near you.”

Great.

Here’s the thing about my Aunt Lil, she is just as bad as my mother. She’s different in that she won’t say anything to your face, but every comment out of her is this backhanded dig. It might sound kind or thoughtful to the unsuspecting stranger—I know better though.

Uncle Dan is fine, except that he never wants to be there either. He’s too busy trying to stay off of Aunt Lil’s shit list to actually talk to any of us. I swear he just counts the minutes until they get to leave again. Why, I don’t know. Once he leaves, he’s alone with Aunt Lil.

And if the whole family is coming, my cousin Jordy is included, and I fucking hate her. We used to be close. We used to spend nearly every weekend together at Nanna Dot’s. We were more than cousins. We were like sisters.

But things changed. She stopped coming around. And after Nanna Dot died… It hurts, the way she rejected me. Wouldn’t even speak to me. Never even asked for my side of the story as our mothers whispered lies in her ear.

She never even checked on me after the funeral, and that hurts the most.

I hardly see her anymore, but when I do, we barely acknowledge each other. When she looks at me, it’s with complete disdain, like she can’t believe we have to share the same air space. This from the girl who used to stay up late with me bingeing Friends episodes or giving each other makeovers. That girl is gone, and I guess I’ve changed too, because I don’t want to be around her anymore either.

But now I get to drive two hours north when I can think of a million other things I’d like to do tomorrow. I can think up all the excuses I want, but there will be no getting out of this, so I might as well prepare myself for a torturous evening.

“Can I bring anything?”

“No, we got it covered,” my mom says. “Besides, I’m still battling heartburn from the last time you brought those acorn squashes stuffed with sausage.”

“It was turkey, Mom, from that cookbook you gave me for Christmas.” It was actually pretty good, too, even though it was low-cal.

“Oh, are you using that cookbook? It’s supposed to help you with that weight issue you’re battling.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, hanging up before she can answer, knowing I might pay for that later.

I melt onto the couch, a ball of dread already forming in my belly. I have so many hours between now and the time I have to face my family, and I can already feel a stress ache forming in my neck and a dull pain behind my eyes. Every muscle in my body is clenched just in anticipation of the shit show tomorrow night will be. I don’t even try to pretend things will be okay. My whole purpose for being there is to be my family’s verbal punching bag.

And still, I’ll go.