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And what killed me now was that to some extent, he’d succeeded.
That day had broken me, and every day since, he’d made the crack in my heart a little bigger.
I was not allowed to give money or food to homeless people down the street. Don’t encourage them, Edie. Life’s about choices. They obviously made the wrong ones.
I wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers, not even small talk with responsible adults around me. Van Der Zees do not enjoy small talk. We are far too busy for that. I was expected to conduct myself as the perfect ice princess. And at the beginning, I’d rebelled. But then Theo happened, and my father became more than the breadwinner. He became the master who pulled at the invisible strings of his shadow puppet. Me.
Twelve years after Jordan showed me cruelty by breaking my routine, he’d done it again.
I was at home, cutting open packages with potential wigs for Mom that I’d ordered from an orthodox Jewish store in Brooklyn when he walked into my room. Jordan didn’t bother knocking, and I didn’t bother asking why he was at home. He never was—and he sure as hell never entered my room—but I treaded carefully around him. His peculiar, self-centered behavior seemed to have deteriorated further in recent weeks.
“Can I help you?” I asked, arranging the blonde, human-haired wigs on my bed and brushing them, trying to decide which Mom would like best.
Jordan propped one shoulder against my doorframe, staring at me with disdain. I wondered if he could feel it. That I was different. Because sleeping with Trent Rexroth definitely changed me, much more than the evidence on my body. The cracked nipples, sore and red, and the pink welts on my ass and inner thighs were just an external decoration. But when he’d come inside me, he’d left something behind. Some of his strength.
“Sit down, Edie.”
“Give me one good reason to,” I blurted, picking up a wig and running the bamboo brush through it. I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, and if it was the flash drive he was after, he needed to give me more time. Trent wasn’t only on my tail. He had it wrapped around his little finger now.
“Because I’m your father and you do not talk back to me if you want a peaceful, calm life. Now sit.” He stepped into the room, his stern, blue eyes leaking scorn. I sat on the edge of the bed unhurriedly, looking up to meet his gaze. My silence spoke volumes. I hoped he was able to hear all the words it dripped.
“Edie, I’m afraid things are going to change quite soon in this household, and it’s my duty to break it first to you, since you’re the responsible adult of you and your mother.” Ignoring the dig at Mom—he was hardly a respectable candidate for the Todos Santos Parent of the Year award himself—I folded my arms over my chest, waiting for more.
“I’m leaving.” He said it simply, like the words didn’t slap me across the face. Like black dots weren’t swimming in my vision.
“Why?” I asked. I didn’t care about him leaving. If anything, the term good riddance sprang to my mind. I hated him. But Mom didn’t. Mom depended on him, and I was tired of collecting the broken pieces of her that he left behind, trying to piece them back together.
It wasn’t the cleaning up after him part that killed me. It was the sharp edges that dug into my skin when I picked her up. Because whenever he shattered Mom, both of us bled.
“Let’s admit it. Your mother has not been well for a very long time now, and she’s been refusing to seek the help she obviously needs. Not all creatures can be helped. I can’t be saddled with her situation if she doesn’t make more of an effort and, sadly, I cannot see myself sitting around waiting for that to happen.”
She’s unwell because of you. She doesn’t want to go into rehab because she is scared you’ll run off with someone else. Which you probably will. The words swirled in my head and pushed their way to my tongue, but I bit down my upper lip. He was the one who’d said that Van Der Zees should always be calculated and shrewd. I dropped the wig on the bed, beside me, turning my head up to the ceiling on a sigh.
“Won’t this kill your political aspirations?” I rubbed my palms across my face.
“It would.” He shrugged, stepping deeper into the room and closing the door behind him so that my mother wouldn’t hear. Not that she was big on leaving her room these days. “I’m not running for mayor. I went down to the city hall yesterday and withdrew my candidacy. The campaign is off.”
