My voice cut through the darkness. “You can’t stay here.” His footsteps faltered. “Not anymore. Not with Mom here.”
My dad looked different as he walked into the living room. Maybe it was the blood covering his white shirt or the broken nose and the fresh purple bruises. Everyone always told me I looked like my dad more than my mom. Now? I couldn’t find a trace of myself in his face.
He sat down, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted. Not sad. Not guilty. Just tired, like the truth finally coming out was this huge interruption from his regularly scheduled life.
“Let me explain,” he said.
And then the weirdest thing happened. I didn’t want him to.
I was sitting there in the middle of the night and all I could think about was Becca and how she spent five years with all these questions that were never answered. And here I was, every answer within reach, and none of it even mattered. Because there was no explanation. There was no excuse. Whatever reason my dad had for cheating wouldn’t make me forgive him. Not if he spent the rest of the night apologizing. All I knew was that my mom had been completely embarrassed tonight and spending another second talking to the person behind it felt wrong.
What good was the truth when it was too late for it?
I didn’t care what the woman’s name was, where she lived, how they met, or if she had kids. There was really only one question I wanted to know.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Three months,” my dad said.
“How long has Mom known?”
“She found out in August.”
I felt so damn useless. How long had I spent obsessing over football to impress my dad? Practicing day and night? I even dragged Becca into this, agreed to date her to impress him too. And for what? For him to miss every game this season? For him to be off living this second life? And I just sat here and let him. I was too blinded by trying to be him, pick up his life from where he had left off, that I couldn’t even realize he was the last person I ever wanted to be.
I got up and walked out of the room, pausing at the stairs. “You can’t stay here anymore,” I said again. Without waiting for a response, I left my father there on the couch. I didn’t go to bed until I heard the front door open and close, then the sound of his car leaving. For a second I thought that maybe he’d go stay with this other woman. But it didn’t matter anymore. None of it did.
Everything felt tainted. Dirty. I and all my hobbies were extensions of my dad. And now I couldn’t figure out what parts of myself were really me. Like football; did I even enjoy playing it? Was it all to impress my dad? Would I have started playing on my own if he hadn’t forced a football into my hands when I was a kid? Then there was Becca. That was the worst part. Our entire relationship began because of how desperate I was to please my dad. I knew it had grown from that, but it still felt wrong that he was the reason for everything good that had happened and everything bad.
I didn’t know what to do, where to go from here.
I felt like what I needed was a fresh start. A clean slate to figure out who I was without him.
Becca
THE NEXT MORNING PLAYED OUT in a strange series of events.
I woke up in my bed, that was normal. I was still wearing the dress. There was enough sunlight coming in through the blinds to confirm that, yes, there was still blood on it and yes, there was still blood on my fingertips. Another sign that last night really happened and wasn’t a weird dream my brain concocted while I was asleep.
I winced thinking of the punch, felt this weird tightness in my chest at the memory of Brett walking away from me. And then there was the weirdest part of all, Jenny. I remember accepting her ride home and crawling into bed that night. But I didn’t remember what happened between that. It was like my brain decided to completely shut down due to information overload.
There was a knock at my door. My mom stuck her head in. “Good, you’re awake.” She walked inside, opened all the blinds even when I protested, and grabbed clothing out of my dresser. She said, “Get up, take a shower, and come have breakfast. There’s someone waiting to see you,” then left before I could ask who it was. But it could only be one person: Brett. Which meant he was currently sitting alone in my kitchen with my mom.
I never showered so fast.
Ten minutes later the bloody dress was in the hamper, red stains on my skin were gone, and my hair no longer smelled like grass. I walked into the kitchen in a rush because Brett had already spent way too much time alone with my mother and I had to intervene as soon as possible. Only it wasn’t Brett sitting at my kitchen table. It was Jenny.
I froze halfway through the doorway. They both turned at the same time to stare at me. I felt like an animal in a zoo exhibit. What will Becca do now?
“Are you hungry?” my mom asked like this was a normal breakfast setup. “I made you banana pancakes. Your favorite.” They were my favorite, but I was too confused to even think about eating.
“Jenny came over,” my mom continued when it was clear I wasn’t going to speak. “She told me what happened with Brett’s family last night. It’s terrible. I hope he’s all right.”
Great. So the news was slowly making its way around Crestmont.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Jenny said. Note to self: a town tragedy was what it took to have Jenny speak to me again. “You seemed to be a little in shock last night. You didn’t say a word the entire drive here.”
My brain was still struggling to understand this breakfast dynamic when my mom checked her watch and made a big show of standing up. “I have to get to the bakery. Will you ladies be all right here?” I think I nodded because she kept going. “And Becca, if you talk to Brett, tell him he’s welcome to come here whenever. I don’t think his house is where he wants to be right now.”
“Sure, Mom. Thanks.”
Then she left. It was awkward without her to fill the silence, be the middle man.
Jenny spoke first. “I always liked your mom,” she said. There was a half-eaten jelly bell on her plate. “It’s cool that she tries to be involved in your life. . . .” Her eyes met mine. “Her baking improved a lot too. I still didn’t really believe it until I ate this.”
“Why are you here?” It came out harsher than intended. And okay, I should probably at least try to be a little nicer to her. I mean, she did kind of save me from being stranded on the road last night.
“I told you. I wanted to make sure you were okay after last night.”
“But why?”
Her face scrunched up. “Am I not allowed to still care about you? We were best friends.”
“Two years ago,” I pointed out.
Jenny stood up in a hurry. “Coming here was a mistake. I’ll leave.”
“Jenny, wait.” I held my face in my hands. She sat back down. “I’m sorry, okay? Don’t go. . . . I’m just trying to make sense of this. Last night and now this morning? Nothing feels normal anymore.”
“I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I came here. Figured you could use some sense of familiarity. And . . .” Her words trailed off.
“And what?” I asked, wanting the distraction.