“Gross.”
Heels clicked on the floor. Mom glided in as beautiful as always, wearing a beige turtleneck and wide-leg beige trousers, paired with simple gold jewelry, a black bag, her dark sunglasses, and her hair pulled into a perfect slick back bun. She pulled off her sunglasses and smiled, her white teeth brightened up the whole room.
“Hurt yourself again, darling?”
Sonnet smiled softly. “Yes. How was your brunch date?”
“Perfect. The ladies have all decided on a tea-time charity event for next month. Ah, where’s your father?”
“Outside with Goose.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. Growing up, Dad always put his foot down when it came to animals. It was because Dad never recovered after putting down his childhood dog and never wanted to go through that for another pet again. But it was clear he had already made a bond with Goose, who wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Anna, has Patrick received his tea yet?”
“No, ma’am. He’s been out there all morning, and I haven’t had a chance to take it to him.”
“No need. Have Sonnet do it while I get changed into something more comfortable.”
Sonnet opened her mouth to object, but Mom had already walked out of the kitchen, and Anna was handing her dad’s favorite mug.
Anna gave Sonnet aget to itlook and ushered her out the door.
Sonnet sat down beside Dad on a bench under the willow tree and handed him the mug. “What kind of tea does Mom have you drinking now?”
He sighed. “Valerian root, I believe.” He took a long sip and frowned. “I really miss my Americanos and whiskey. Forty-eight isn’t old, you know. It isn’t old at all. Oh, God.” Dad covered his face with one hand, sobbing into it.
Had Sonnet ever seen Dad cry before?
Goose waddled over, dropping a slobbery stick at his feet and whined. He was trying to comfort him, something Sonnet didn’t know how to do.
“Dad...?”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.” Dad patted Goose on the head before throwing him his stick. His face was wet and tired and wrinkled. He looked like he hadn’t slept. “I keep sitting out here every day thinking about everything I’ve done to you, to Summer, to my wife. Forty-eight isn’t very old, and yet I’ve already done so much damage to everyone I love.”
“No, Dad. Don’t talk like that to me. You haven’t hurt me in any way.”
“I haven’t been a father to you,” he said firmly, looking at her more than he had in the past decade. “I was ashamed. Ashamed by the way you were brought into this world.”
Oh.
Sonnet smiled painfully and looked down towards her bare feet at the nail polish chipping away. “I’m sorry that I had to be a reminder of your shame.”
“No. No, dammit. That’s not what I meant. I…” Dad cursed under his breath. “I’ve had to come to terms with what I did a long time ago, and I am so grateful to have a wife who forgave me, supported me, and loved me in spite of it. But the shame of how I treated you is what I can’t live down. You were brought into this world unknown to me. If I had been there, maybe things would be different for you and your mother.”
All these years, she had never heard her dad express these things, much less mentioning her mother. This whole time, she had believed it was because of the shame he carried for having an affair in the first place and then having to raise a living reminder of it.
“But you just said it,” Sonnet whispered. “I was unknown to you.”
“Yes,” he choked. “And yet, I still accept the blame. Your mother was a strong, stubborn woman. She never would have reached out to me. I should have known something, should havefelt it, should have reached out instead of pretending she and I never met.”
“You never talk about her.”
“I never wanted her to be known or remembered as just a woman I paid for, or just a whore, so I never bothered to say her name at all in hopes of keeping it safe. I wanted your mother to be safe for you.”
Sonnet rubbed her chest as her heart started to ache. “All those articles being written about her…it hurts. All these people who didn’t even know her are writing about her as if they did. And the worst part is that she’s not even here to defend herself. My mother is gone.” Her voice cracked as different headlines flashed into her mind. “She wasn’t just a whore. I know my childhood with her was questionable. I know I saw things I shouldn’t have. But my mother wasn’t just a whore, but now they’re all writing about her like she was.”
There was a beat of silence before Dad grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Perhaps you should publish your own article about her.”
