This morning, my parents let me sleep in. My father had to go into the office to sign some important documents, and my mom spent the morning on the phone with one her clients, talking him through fixing a glitch in his security software. And Max didn’t sleep here last night. He’s dating a girl I’ve never met. I think it's pretty hot and heavy between them because Maribelle, one of our house staff members, lifted her eyebrows twice when she told me. I think she and every other single woman who works for us under the age of forty has a crush on my brother. Basically, we didn’t have the big graduation breakfast that we planned, and I ended up eating alone.
So now, I’m standing here in my cap and gown and only three hours away from graduating. Mom and Dad are supposed to meet in the foyer in about fifteen minutes. When my dad came home from the office, he poked his head into my room and asked how was I feeling.
“A lot better!” I yelled from the bathroom.
“Ready to wrap up high school?”
He couldn’t see me, of course, but I flipped up my thumb. “Yep!”
Dad chuckled. “Don’t be late.”
Even though our exchange was cordial, I think what happened last night is still gnawing at my conscience. I contemplate going to my mom’s office on the opposite wing of our house, where I think they both are right now, and apologizing for last night. This time, I won’t be whiny like I was at the hospital. I’ll be the strong and levelheaded daughter they raised me to be.
My feet take over and move me out of my room. I hurry down what might be the longest hallway in the history of hallways and then round the corner to the east wing. When I’m near my mom’s office, I can hear my parents speaking. They’re not talking loudly, so I tiptoe closer, not wanting to disturb their conversation. When I can hear them better, I press my back to the wall and listen.
“I don't know,” my mom says. “Are we those parents?”
“What you mean by that, Heart?” my dad asks.
“She couldn't come to us. Why would she lie about going to a party? She knows we would have allowed her. I think she’s afraid of letting us down. She’s trying to live up to our lofty expectations. And what happens when she’s done trying to make us happy? Will she spiral out of control like Treasure?”
“Never,” Dad replied quickly. “Listen, babe, you don’t have to worry about Paisley. She’s an amazing human being. We did good. I promise you, we did good with both of them.”
“But what about the Valentines?” Mom asks in a lower voice.
They’re silent, and then my dad says something, but I can’t make out the words.
“Have they asked for anything?” Mom asks.
My dad lets out a bitter laugh. “They’d better not. Do you think she's involved with Hercules Valentine?”
“Max says they’re not. I think he likes the boy. He said he’s different from his brothers.”
“I hope not,” my dad replies, ignoring the last part of my mom’s statement. “She’s not to have anything to do with him, period.”
“I know, Xander.”
“Does she know?”
“I think Max made it clear to her.”
“Good,” my dad snaps.
“Honey, come here.” My mom’s tone has changed. It’s syrupy, sexy, and it signals me to walk away as fast as I can. I accidentally walked in on them fucking in Mom’s office once. They were so into it that they didn’t even see me. I seriously thank God that I’ve been able to wipe the act from my mind.
When I make it to the end of the hallway, I quickly turn and scurry back to my room. I don't know what to do. Cry? Punch a hole in the wall? Shout at them for being so narrow-minded?
What is this Romeo and Juliet shit, anyway? Who has family feuds anymore? That's so passé. It’s classless and ignorant, and my parents are neither of those.
I rush into my room and flop down on the foot of my bed. Then I fall back on the mattress. I can't even tell Hercules that I did more than tell my brother what happened to me. I want him to know that I actually went to the hospital. But I can't even be seen talking to Hercules. I don’t have his phone number. Or do I? Once, Miss Fontaine made my group on a class project share contact information with his group. We were supposed to cross-check our data and make sure we didn’t end up going in the same direction. Our group tasked a girl name Rory Henry with handling checks. Maybe I can call her and ask for Hercules’s phone number. Then I ponder what that conversation might sound like and change my mind.
“Darling?”
I sit up straight. My mom stands in my doorway. She’s so beautiful in a flowy A-line flower dress. Her eyes are assessing my mood.
“Yes, Mom?” I say so cheerily that I’m not even fooling myself.
“We should go.”
