Stop shaking, Willow. It’s okay…
My chin quivers.
You’ve been on the wrong side of things all along. You fool.
I expected my dad to hurt me.
I never expected her to.
My father silently fumes before he bursts again. “And why’d he just give you checks?” He lets out an anguished laugh, hands on his waist. “You’re telling me there was nothing attached to them? No stipulation?” He shakes his head in disbelief.
“I told you, he wanted me to keep quiet, out of pity, I don’t know. He just kept sending them, and we needed the money for your car, the house—”
“You’ve got to be…” He yells at the top of his lungs, pissed and furious. I flinch, and then he grabs a nearby bowl of oranges. He tosses it violently at the wall.
I jump as the ceramic shatters all over the linoleum.
“He paid for my car, for my house?!” He points a finger at his chest again, a good distance still between him and my mom, as though it sickens him to even be near her.
“Please…”
“Did you cheat on me?” he suddenly asks, veins protruding from his neck. “Tell me the fucking truth, Emily!” He’s crying.
I’ve never seen my dad shed a tear, not even from anger, not even when he said goodbye to me.
My mom rocks back a little, as though his words and voice have shoved her hard. At her extended silence, I want to press my back to the wall and slide down into a tight ball. I want to hide, but I can’t unfreeze. I can’t move.
“I didn’t…” The way her voice trails off, it makes it so hard to believe her—but I still want to. I want to believe she didn’t do this.
She didn’t cheat on my dad. She didn’t.
I believe it. I do. I want to be on her side.
My dad breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling, tears dripping. And then he asks, “Is she even my daughter?”
My throat swells closed. She didn’t cheat on my dad. He has it all wrong.
Maybe I just really want her to confide in me. To tell me the truth. This force inside pushes me, and I round the corner. “Mom?” I sound small.
As I stare between my mom and dad, their rage and hurt and distress start to cage behind an opaque screen, one that bars me from entry.
I blink, wetness sopping my lashes.
I hate that they won’t show me anything real right now—that I have to spy in order to see it.
My mom straightens up and rubs her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Go upstairs, honey.” Her voice cracks.
“Who’s my father?” I ask.
“Rob Moore is your father, and he’s Ellie’s too,” she says adamantly. “It’s not what you think—”
“I’m leaving,” my father says, his tears dried up. Another glare plastered on his face.
He hardly acknowledges me.
He passes me to reach the doorway, and our bodies seem to lean away from each other, like pressing the wrong side of two magnets together, unable to near.
He has a clear aversion to me, and now I think I know why. He believes I’m not his child, even when I really am.
I listen to his footsteps all the way to the living room. Not long after, the door bangs closed, and my mom turns her back on me, beginning to clean a few dirtied glasses in the sink. She can’t just act like nothing happened.
“Mom!” I shout.
“I’m done talking…” Her arms shake like mine, and maybe a year ago, I would’ve stayed quiet and just gathered these bare details and created my own horrific conclusion. I don’t want to live with this half-picture anymore. I don’t want to see through clouds, stained glass and opaque screens. I want transparency for my own life, and only she can give that to me.
“I’m not done.” My voice is softer than I intend. She doesn’t turn around. I take a deep, strong inhale. “Mom,” I choke, “I’m not done.”
She slowly spins around, her hand fisting a dishtowel, eyes bloodshot. She waits for me to speak this time.
I lick my lips and I ask, “Do I have a brother?” She lied about him. I’m not sure if I can trust her, and I’m not sure if I should love her—but I do love her, and I do still trust her. That can’t vanish that quickly.
But right now, I resent her. For the first time, I truly do. And I hate it.
“Willow…” She shakes her head at me, struggling to reveal what she’s kept secret for so long.
I wipe my burning eyes beneath my glasses. I shift my feet and accidentally step on a balloon. It pops loudly, and we both flinch.
My family tree has been set on fire, and I’m desperately trying to find one missing branch so I can make sense of myself again.
I need him.
Whoever he is. I need to know what he’s like. How old he is. A name. A place. Maybe he understands things that I don’t. Maybe he gets it.
“It was a long time ago,” she says. “I was a teenager, about your age, a little younger when I was pregnant.” She lets out a weak, broken laugh. “You can’t even imagine…”
I watch her lean against the sink and stare off at the half-eaten vanilla cake, lopsided on the counter. “Is he still alive? Does he know—”
“Loren Hale,” she says, her voice suddenly stoic and cold. “That’s your brother.”
My legs want to buckle, but I manage to stay upright, my mind whirling as pieces of a much larger puzzle fit in place. “He knew…” He came to our house about four years ago. She told me that she knew his father. And I realize, his visit wasn’t random. He came and he left so quickly. “Did you tell him not to tell me?” I wonder.
Her lips press in a line, and I take her silence as affirmation.
“Oh my God,” I mutter, my chin trembling again as I restrain a flood of tears. She kept him away from me. Why would she do that?
Loren Hale is my half-brother. All this time…we could’ve talked, had a relationship, been friends—seen each other. Instead there’s just this black hole of nothingness, hollow and empty.
I feel empty.
“Can you just forget about it?” my mom asks me.
I shake my head in a daze. “No…I want to meet him.” I need to tell him that I know the truth now. I want to regain this piece that I’ve lost.
“You can’t,” she says tiredly and brushes strands of her hair off her forehead. “The Hales are famous, Willow. The moment the media learns that Loren’s related to you, they’re going to harass our family. I’ve tried so hard to give you girls a normal life. You may decide to live in that world later on, but Ellie is young and she’s not going to. Okay?”
I try to process this as quickly as I can. Hale Co. is what elevated Jonathan Hale’s status to “wealthy billionaire” and his son to the heir. But their fame ultimately came through a salacious scandal that involved Lily Calloway, Loren’s fiancée.
Soon after, the Calloway sisters and their men became public interest and fodder. They’re all in at least three tabloids every day. Paparazzi follow them around Philadelphia, their hometown.
People love them and hate them.
I understand why my mom would want to protect us from that, but Loren Hale has only been this famous for a few years at most. She could’ve introduced me to him when he was just a rich kid in Philadelphia.