"Are you going to wait for Kyle at the dorm?" I walk back to her side. “I can drop you off before I head to my parents’ house.”
"No, it's okay. Kyle just texted and said he'll meet me here,” she says, hugging me tightly. “I’m coming back home tonight with wine and chocolate. Hug your mother for me, okay?”
“Thanks,” I say, then I turn toward the parking lot and walk to my car.
It's 5:42 p.m. by the time I pull onto my parents’ street. The entire drive over my stomach has been in knots. The neighborhood is calm and quiet. There isn’t a soul to be seen, only the memories of my childhood as I pass all the large houses and immaculate landscapes. My parents have done well for themselves. Between my mother being one of the most successful real estate agents in town and my father’s work at the college, they were able to settle in this pretty upscale neighborhood well before I was born. My eyes settle on Jordan’s house in the distance. The large two-story craftsmen style home, which sits directly across from my parents. My mind races with thoughts of my childhood. All the family game nights and epic barbecues. His mother, Lisa, left us last year due to cancer and now my father will become the cancer that tears our family apart. None of this feels real. I pull into the driveway noticing my father’s car isn’t here and take one final deep breath before I get out. I know this is the right thing to do, as much as I’m going to hate it. My mom needs to know what happened and it isn’t fair to make her face this with both of us watching. I’ll just tell her now, and if she wants me to stay, then I will.
My steps are light as I make my way toward the door, mentally rehearsing the words I will tell my mother. The entryway to the house has a large porch with tall flower bushes along its length providing privacy and great shade in the summer. It was my favorite hangout spot when I was a kid and I spent countless hours lounging on my porch swing reading books and hanging out with Jordan. Making my way up the few stairs, I reach into my pocket to grab my house key but movement out the corner of my eye makes me look to my left. On the far end of the porch is my mother, sitting very still in a chair, tears pouring from her eyes.
8
XIA
“Mom?” I spin on my heels and move toward her. “What is it? Where's Dad?”
“I told him to leave,” she says, looking over my shoulder, not making eye contact. Just the sight of her in so much pain causes my heart to splinter.
"He's such a…" My throat feels like it’s closing as I choke on my words. I was about to call my father an asshole. My father. The man who has been everything to me my whole life. The man who I watched treat my mother like a queen. It just doesn't fit. But I guess this proves that even the person you trust most can change into someone you don't recognize.
"I'm sorry," I say, wrapping my arms around her stiff body and pressing my forehead against her shoulder. Small shudders roll through her as she leans against me.
"It's okay, baby, it isn't your fault."
"No, I was trying to get here early to warn you. I'm sorry, I should have just called. I thought I still had enough time to beat him here but I lost track of time during my study session." Moisture springs to my eyes and I turn my head as I attempt to blink it away.
"It's okay," she says, releasing a shaky breath and wiping her cheeks. "I love you for trying to help. I do," she says. Devastation reads plainly on her face and when she finally looks me in the eye it takes all I have not to break down. "But this isn't something I want you to be worried about. It's our mess, not yours."
"I know, but I hate him for doing this to you," I say, continuing to hold back tears. I can't break down. She needs me to be strong for her but if feels like my heart is being stomped on.
"No, I hate that he ever bought you into this."
"He had no choice. Jordan and I saw them at the café. Then he came to my dorm and admitted everything."
“Everything?”
“Yes, well, he didn’t deny it. I flat out asked him and I guess he couldn’t lie to my face.”
"Well, the asshole should have been more careful. For your sake, at least." I swallow hard at her use of the word I avoided using moments ago as an even deeper sadness washes over my thoughts.
A few seconds later, the sound of a car approaching causes me to look out toward the street. I can't see much through the small spaces between the bushes, but it’s enough to know the vehicle kept going. For a split second I thought it could be my father coming back and I don't know how I feel about that. A part of me is still holding on to this illusion that somehow he will make this right, that he will fix this pain that we all are in. But how can he fix it if he's the cause?
I feel like I'm sinking. Falling deep into a world where I can't trust anything anymore. Not the love of my father, not my love for Jordan, and definitely not the fairytale I’ve been holding onto, thinking that things will magically work out between us. If I've learned anything this week, it’s that I can’t trust that. My eyes are glazing over and it isn't until my mother stands, jolting me back to reality, that I realize I've been staring at the ground.
"Come on," she says. "Let's go inside before I burn our dinner."
Our steps are slow and heavy as we walk across the porch and into the house. Not much is said as we fall into the rhythm of pulling plates down from the shelves and setting the table. I wish I knew what to say to help her through this but there are no words. She opens the oven and the smell of steak follows the earthy sweetness of fried scallops. I try not to look at her. She made my father's favorite meal. A few years ago he was diagnosed with high cholesterol and hated the idea of having to give up his surf and turf, which of course is deep fried. So my mother found a healthier alternative.
"Do you think he'll come back to the house tonight?" I ask. I assumed not, but she grabbed three plates instead of two. I don't know if it is a result of muscle memory or if it was intentional.
"He better not." Her eyes are downcast as she busies herself, setting the dishware on the table, slowing and hovering over the third plate as she realizes her mistake. It's as if it hits her in this moment that everything in our lives is about to change. I look from her to the plate as I hesitate at my chair. She glances at me, and when she sees I’m watching, she abruptly snatches the extra plate from the table and takes it back to the kitchen.
With a sigh, I sit heavily in my chair and wait for my mother until she comes back into the room and takes her seat. I can only imagine what's going through her head. I wonder if she'll leave him. He more than deserves it but the idea of them divorcing sets a deep pain in my stomach. I've never had a serious relationship, so I don't know what makes certain types of offenses forgivable to some, and unforgivable to others.
"What are you going to do?" I finally ask. She was in the middle of cutting her steak but freezes when she hears my question. The knife scraping on her porcelain plate squeaks before she brings her eyes to mine. I haven't touched my food. I don't have an appetite. My hands sit neatly in my lap as I wait her out.