In college she was actually quite shy. She never felt like she was good enough and she was always on a diet. Then something happened. She started posting all of these very empowering messages on social media and even got herself branded as something of an influencer.
Now, with that one statement, something changes.
It’s almost as if the person that I thought I knew has disappeared.
I shake my head and ask, “What are you talking about?”
She turns away from me and starts to walk away, but I grab her arm.
“Tell me,” I demand to know. “What do you know about Mom and Dad?”
She doesn't reply.
“How long have you known?”
She shakes her head.
“Why are you telling me about this now?”
Her face falls. She wasn’t supposed to tell me this and now she can’t take it back.
“I wasn't going to say anything. I had no idea that she told you about his earlier infidelity. I've known about it for a while. I actually walked in on them.”
“Walked in on who?”
“I was there when Mom caught Dad with his girlfriend. It was so embarrassing and I just wanted the earth to split open and swallow me whole.”
My head starts to buzz.
I’m immediately transported to earlier today when I walked in on them. Anger starts to boil inside of me.
My mom had gone through the exact same thing and yet she stood there and told me to take my fiancé back.
What the hell is wrong with her?
“Tell me exactly what happened," I demand to know.
She takes a deep breath.
“We were out at a restaurant for dinner. Just the two of us. This is after you went to college and I was the only one who was left living at home.”
“Uh-huh.” I nod.
“We decided to stop by Dad’s office and drop off some food. It was actually my idea. Mom didn't want to go. I wonder if she had her suspicions.”
She stops talking and looks down at the floor.
“What happened next?” I nudge her.
“The lights were still brightly lit everywhere except for in his office. No one was around except for a few associates here and there working in their cubicles. Mom knocked and when he didn't answer, she tried to walk away. I heard some commotion in there. I opened the door and that's when I saw them. Him and some girl. She looked at least twenty years younger. How pathetic, right?”
I shrug.
I don't know what to say.
She's right. It is pathetic.
But what do you do when it's your own father?
“What happened after that?” I ask.
“I ran away. Mom stayed behind, somewhat. The elevator was taking too long so I ran to the staircase and started sobbing on the landing.”
I stared at a space somewhat behind her.
I want to ask what happened after that, but I already know.
If it happened when Brooke was still in high school, then Mom took him back.
“She promised that they were going to go to therapy,” Brooke says. “I don't know if they ever did. When I tried to ask her about it again, she told me never to bring it up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Lindsey?”
“She was mortified. She begged me not to. I was also embarrassed. I didn’t want you to think worse of Dad.”
Mom did everything in her power to cover his tracks.
“That's the whole problem,” I say after a long pause. “She protects him so much that she makes him into some sort of saint.”
“You know, this is why I didn't want to tell you,” Brooke says. “You take such hard lines. People are much more complicated than this. They make mistakes.”
“What are you trying to tell me, Brooke?” I glare at her.
Narrowing my eyes, I purse my lips.
“Nothing,” she says quickly.
“No, really. Is this your way of advising me to stay with Alex?”
“What you do with Alex is up to you,” she says, shaking her head.
“Yes, I know that. Thank you but I don't need your permission to break up with or marry anyone,” I say sarcastically.
Despite all of my admiration for her confidence and all of her bravery, it dawns on me that she's just a child. She has never had a serious relationship and she has no idea what it's like to be in one. Maybe that's why it’s so much easier for her to forgive Dad. Maybe that's why it's so much easier for her to think about forgiving Alex.
After all of this the last thing that I want to do is go back to the party. I spent most of the evening pretending that I'm still getting married and I have no intentions of continuing this farce.
Instead, I ask her if she wants something real to eat.
She laughs and we head to the kitchen.
The caterers and the chef are still there, cleaning up. There’s a large four tier cake sitting in the middle of the marble kitchen island. It makes me nauseous to even look at it, even though I know that it will be delicious.
I open the refrigerator and grab the first thing I see: a bag of fresh red cherries. Large and plump, they sparkle under the beautiful kitchen chandelier that my mom installed ahead of the party.
Brooke pulls out a can of whipped cream, but after checking the ingredients, she puts it back and grabs the vegan kind.
We use the back staircase to head to Brooke’s old room. It looks exactly like it did when she was in high school. There are posters draped in twinkle lights all over the walls.
There's a large stand-up mirror right across from her bed. It's hard to believe that a girl as young as ten had been sleeping in a king-size bed all of her life when most kids are happy with just a twin.
I pop a cherry into my mouth. I bite into it carefully to avoid the pit and then savor the explosion of sweetness that colonizes my mouth.
“These are probably some of the best cherries I've ever had,” Brooke announces.
I laugh because she says that often. Cherries are her favorite and that's why Mom always keeps them stocked in the fridge, paying more than eight dollars a bag at Whole Foods without even blinking an eye.
“Did I tell you about my new assignment at work?” I ask.
14
Emma
“I’m going to have to write a story on D. B. Carter,” I say and wait for her reaction.
It was actually she who first brought it up and suggested that I investigate him. She likes to read a lot of urban fantasy and fantasy romances and D. B. Carter is one of the biggest names out there among the indie authors.
“You did not!” Brooke squeals. “Seriously?”
“Yes. I pitched it when I had no other ideas and Corrin thought it was a great one and, of course, took it on. This is all your fault!”
“No, no, no. This is going to be so fun.” She laughs. “You know that you're going to solve one of the biggest literary mysteries out there.”
“Are there a lot of literary mysteries?” I ask, tilting my head. “I mean, come on.”
“Okay, maybe not, but don’t be so negative.”
“How could I not be? I have to do all of this research on a person who does not want to be found and I have to turn it in by Monday. What do I even do if I find out who he is? It's not like he's going to let me interview him.”