All the walls were blue. It looked like someone grabbed a handful of the sky and threw it everywhere. There were framed photos covering nearly every inch of empty space. Most were of my dad and his new wife, smiling at the camera with sunlight in their eyes. A few were of their baby. She had big brown eyes and a little dimple in her cheek. It was like a shrine to his new life. Where were the photos of me? The other family he had for twelve years? How could my mother and I spend the last five years trying to piece our lives back together while he was here, rebuilding his so easily?
His wife returned, holding a towel. I wanted to ask her name. How they met. When they got married. Did they know each other before the divorce?
“Here,” she said, “use this to wipe off the blood.” I had this weird thought that she’d use it for DNA testing to find out who I was, but grabbed the towel anyway because that was ridiculous.
The cut stung when I pressed the cloth to it. I wiped off my leg and noticed how quiet it was. There was no baby crying. No radio or television noises in the background. My mom always kept the radio on, even when no one was home. Now my skin was starting to crawl, and I felt weird and dirty all over. I wanted to get out of here. Fast. I kept picturing my dad’s car pulling into the driveway and the moment he would step inside. What would it be like? Watching his two worlds collide?
“What’s your name?” the woman asked, holding out a Band-Aid.
I guess she really didn’t know who I was. Made sense. My mom and I clearly weren’t important to my father.
“Cassie,” I said. She smiled. I noticed the small gap between her front teeth and the way she blew her curls out of her eyes. And I hated it. I wanted her to be rude. Or have some flaw that would make it easy to dislike her. Instead she seemed nice. Really nice, the type of person who hands out Band-Aids to strangers.
“Do you live around here?” she asked.
I shook my head. Took a step back. The guilt was twisting higher, reaching my lungs, making it hard to breathe. This felt wrong. So wrong. I mumbled a goodbye and left, ran down the driveway while scanning the street like a crazy person. I was a few houses down when I swear I heard someone call my name. I didn’t look back. I kept running until I was inside my apartment, out of breath. I locked the doors, locked everyone out, and sank onto the floor with my knees to my chest. I shut my eyes and waited for my heart rate to slow down.
I thought I’d feel different.
I thought this would feel better.
Instead I was even more confused.
Their house seemed normal. There was nothing special about it. Nothing extravagant. His wife seemed nice. But my mom was nice too. He had a daughter now. But he had me before. So why swap out one for another? I thought going there would give me answers, not more questions.
I groaned, stood up, and sulked to my room. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have gone straight home and minded my business.
Even though my dad lived a few streets over, it felt like a different world. And I should have kept it that way. I shouldn’t have let the worlds collide. And if my mother found out . . . Would she be hurt? Betrayed? Would she think this life with her wasn’t enough for me? Because it was. It so was. But five years wondering why is a long time, and wanting answers to questions I’m unable to ask makes it even harder.
My heart was beginning to hurt, the same way it did the day he left. It was slow at first, a subtle burn. And then the flames began to grow, devouring everything in their path. So I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed a book. Any book. I didn’t even bother reading the title. I flipped to the last chapter because I needed the happy ending right now. I read and read and read until reality faded into fiction.
Brett
ME AND MY MOM WERE waiting on the porch Sunday morning when the taxi parked outside our house. My dad stepped out, smile on his face, luggage in hand. I ran down the steps to help. He patted my back, asked about the football game, and apologized for not coming back on time. I thought back to what Becca said after the arcade, to remember all the games he attended. I told him it was okay, that we won anyway, and we walked up the driveway. I was grinning now, happiest when my whole family was home.
We had dinner together that night. My mom ordered food from my dad’s favorite restaurant. She was being really quiet during the meal, hardly eating. I asked her a few times if she was all right and she’d pat my hand and nod. I asked my dad question after question about his time in New York: What did he do? Did he go to Central Park? He said he was too busy with business to sightsee. Which made sense.
When he said he had to leave again next weekend, my mom dropped her glass of wine onto the table. It spilled everywhere, staining the white tablecloth red. We all froze for a second before she ran off into the kitchen, returning with a roll of paper towels. She was crying, hands shaking, and she wouldn’t stop apologizing under her breath. My dad grabbed her hands and they walked away together. I heard the door to their bedroom shut. It was weird. Really weird.
I grabbed a towel and cleaned the table. I put all the food away and brought my dad’s luggage upstairs. The door to their room was still closed. I could hear them whispering. My dad was apologizing for being away so much. “I’m doing this for us,” he was saying. I could hear my mom crying still. I knew it was hard on her when he left, and he’d been leaving more often than usual in the past few months. It started off as a weekend here and there. Lately, it had been almost every weekend. It was hard on her. It was hard on me. But he always came back. Wasn’t that what mattered?
When my parents stopped talking, I ran back to my room before they opened the door and caught me eavesdropping. I felt weird having to tiptoe around my own house. My parents never kept secrets before. My mom never acted that way on the rare occasion she spilled a drink. We always stayed up laughing when my dad came home. This was a first.
I lay in bed, waiting for my dad to knock. He always brought me back something from his trips. Last time it was a hat from Chicago. Before that a watch from Washington and a key chain from North Carolina.
This time he brought back nothing.
Another first.
It rained the next day. The sky was gray all morning, thunder beating through. Becca made a huge deal about having to eat lunch in the cafeteria. She was moping the whole time, even when I cleared a table in the corner for the two of us. Sure, people were staring, but I ignored them. When she pulled a book out of her bag and started to read, I didn’t question it. I was stuck in my own head too.
My mom was acting strange this morning before I left for school. She was still in bed when I woke up. My mom never slept in later than eight. I peeked my head through the door to ask if she needed anything, make sure she was okay after last night. She said she was fine. I didn’t believe it. I left anyway to pick up Becca.
My dad was back in town now. Things were supposed to be going back to normal. Instead, it felt like something was off. And the worst part was that, whatever it was, my parents were keeping it a secret.
“What are you reading?” I asked Becca to distract myself. Without taking her eyes off the book, she shushed me. “Come oooooooon. Show me.”
She kept ignoring me.
“Just one little peek. Please?”
Her eyes remained locked on her book.
I reached out, quick as lightning, and grabbed it from her hands.