Page 125 of Pretender

That’s what this room reminds me of. The things I’m pushing away while keeping the noise up around me.

Here, it’s just me and the room.

It’s too quiet here.

So quiet I can hear my thoughts, and often they veer into Dad-territory. To all the unanswered questions. And the uncertainty around why he visited Italy without Mum, if he really cheated on her, or if I’ve misinterpreted the letters and their mention of the woman he was meant to marry. And worst of all … in the quiet, I dwell on not knowing for sure he loved Mum the way he told me.

Whether it was true that he was happiest with us. With me.

I’ve been escaping from this. From all the questions I don’t have answers to. But lately, Florence has been pulling on me. It hit me hard today, and I couldn’t figure out how to tell Linnea.

The man, the Aurato messenger boy. When he said my family was thrilled to hear I’d been in the shop, and that I’d shown interest in reuniting, I couldn’t breathe from the shock.

That’s not what I did, though. Was it? That’s not why I took Linnea there. We just happened to need to go shopping. But of all the places we could’ve gone… I chose Casa Aurato. I defied the screaming in the back of my head, and I went there. Even though I was aware of the history. Maybe I was hoping for something.

Fuck, I wish I could talk to her about all this. But I wouldn’t even know how to start. It’s been a fucking mess in my head for thirteen years and now adding the idea of meeting my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins…

They’re strangers, but a part of me longs to see how they are. If I could belong with them. With a large family. Like Mark’s. He has devoted parents and four younger siblings. I’ve always had just Mum, and although she’s been the best Mum I could ask for, and the Beckers and the Beauchamps always welcomed me with open arms, it wasn’t the same. But could this be?

I’m scared, though.

Terrified it will just be a painful reminder that they knew a side of Dad I never did. The side of him that makes my lungs constrict and my fists itch with the need to punch something. I did that the one time. Won’t do that again.

Maybe they could fill in the blanks. They could tell me what the letters I read from them to my dad never elaborated on. I’ve tried to make sense of it, but all I gather is he lied to Mum. He lied to me. And I’m not sure who he was.

“Fucking shite,” I breathe and lean my forehead onto the desk a bit harder than intended. “Ouch.” I stare at the off-white carpet, willing it to tell me what to do. What would Linnea do?

If the roles were reversed, she would tell me. I’m sure of it.

She definitely wouldn’t be lying to me.

It’s not that big of a deal, though. Is it? It’s just about my dad. It’s not like I’m doing what he did. I’m not sneaking around, leading a double life.

Oh, except I do have the one secret. Le Lounge.

Shit.

I had the chance to tell her when she asked about my past in the car that day, but it would’ve ruined the moment. It wasn’t the right time.

Thinking of Linnea, her trusting eyes on me—I know I need to stop all of this.

I have to resign from Le Lounge.

As for the family… I don’t want them confirming my worst fears about my father. It’s easiest and best to leave them in the past. All done and dusted, and I’ll focus fully on her.

I sit back up in my chair, fuelled by the decision.

Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

Blank slate.

Although, I will tell her about my dad. Soon. But after the wedding, just in case it blows up.

It won’t.

I roll my chair closer to the desk and shake my mouse to wake the computer. It takes only a minute to flick an email to Le Lounge telling them I’m resigning from the club.

Easy. That was easy. No more Le Lounge.