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Divya lets out her usual throaty laugh.
"Should I pretend otherwise?" I ask.
Which only makes them laugh louder.
Oliver even shoots her one of his can you believe this looks.
"I like him," Divya says. "Are you sure you aren't dating?"
"Gross. No," I say.
"Gross, huh? You don't like tall guys with tattoos all of a sudden?" she asks.
I clear my throat.
"Is it because he's not an athlete?" Divya's eyes flit to Oliver's arms. "He looks like he's in good shape."
"Oh my god, Mom, don't be gross!" I say.
Oliver chuckles, amused by my discomfort.
"What's gross about noticing a guy works out?" she asks.
"What if he talked about my body like this?" I ask.
"Should I try?" Oliver asks. "Say something about how much I love your shoulders?"
"You're making it seem normal." I nudge him. "And since when do you like my shoulders?"
"Since always. They're sexy. Especially with that haircut," he says.
She completely ignores his objectification. "It suits her, doesn't it?"
"Did I ask for opinions?" My voice drips with Mom you're embarrassing me whine. It's horrible, but in a familiar way.
It feels normal.
Like any other Sunday brunch.
Like it's surrounded by a happy, stable family life.
I let that feeling wash over me.
I let them tease me about my hair (she can't go five minutes without wondering if it's the right shade of silver), my style (she won't go out in anything that isn't intentional), my hate of vegan butter (no, I would not like vegan butter on my chocolate pancakes), my distaste for sweets (and no syrup either), my lust for coffee (the largest French press you have, please).
I tease them back.
Divya about her taste for sweets. Her insatiable appetite for chai. Her excessive use of syrup. Her obsession with coral lipstick and maxi dresses.
Oliver about his coffee addiction, his need to show off his tattooed arms (does he own anything with long sleeves), his love of grunge music.
For a while, everything is easy.
Then he excuses himself. To use the bathroom.
And Divya looks to me. "I know you don't want to talk about it, sweetie. But we have to."
I swallow hard.
"There's a lot going on. And it's happening fast. I know what I'm willing to do." She folds her hands together in her lap. "But I need to know… what will it take to get you back home? I want you to be okay, Luna. Tell me what I need to do to make that happen."
Chapter Twenty-One
Luna
I want things to stay the same.
That isn't possible. I'm not stupid enough to believe it is. But that logic does nothing to alleviate the ache in my heart.
I want to feel… in the know.
And not like my parents have been lying to me for ages.
I swallow another sip of my coffee. Try to collect my thoughts. Find some reasonable response.
Fail. "Did you know?"
"Did I know?" Her eyes meet mine.
"About her affair? Did you know?"
"Luna…" She shakes her head the way adults do when they just can't explain something. "It's complicated."
"You knew she was seeing someone else?"
Divya nods. "Yes."
"For how long?"
"For a while."
"But…" Why? How?
"We… Luna, I love your mother. I always will. But we've been drifting apart for a long time."
"You knew?" I ask. "You gave her permission?"
"Not exactly."
"What exactly?"
"We both knew it was over," she says. "We want different things out of life now. With you in college—"
"You were waiting?"
Her eyes cloud. "Yes."
"So you were lying to me?"
"It's not that simple."
"You knew you were separating, but you still sat there, holding hands at graduation. You still stood there, gushing over memories on my first day of college. You woke me up an hour early to make chocolate chip pancakes. You still—"
"You'll understand one day, Luna. If you get married. It's hard. It takes work. Sometimes, it takes too much work."
"But…"
"We still love you. And we can still like each other. If we stay together, we won't." She folds her hands. "Maybe we should have told you sooner. Maybe we shouldn't have left you in the dark. But we did the best we could."
There's no apology to accept. Only the typical adult I know better, deal with it.
"I know it's hard, Luna. But we want to make it easy for you. We're going to split assets. Fifty-fifty. The house… we need to know what you want. Do you want to stay? Do you want to sell it? Or… if you want to live on your own. We can help. Whatever you want."
What I want? "I want you to be honest with me."
"I am."
"You kept this from me. For how long?"
"I love you, sweetheart, but this was our business. Not yours."
No. It's my business too. It's my family too.
And now Mom is coming to me, trying to make it right, saying it's all about making it easy from me.
After lying to me for months.
Years.
This is such bullshit.
I'm not.
I can't—
"Excuse me." I stand. Move toward the door. The bright street. Somewhere to breathe.
