Page 19 of The Apparent Trap

I don’t know how this man is two for two on seeing right through me. If I’ve maybe begun to convince myself that I’ve overblown that night, he’s ripped that cover clean off. For whatever reason, those eyes on me are like a truth serum.

“Because,” I blurt out, “my mom died, and it’s probably my fault he’s been alone for so long.”

Lee’s expression unknots, understanding seeping in. “That’s not your fault,” he says softly.

I catch a tear before it has a chance to fall, and I’m shocked at how quickly that feeling erupted, a volcano of guilt previously buried that surfaced from nowhere. I sigh, weary already, but knowing there’s no avoiding explaining this now that we’re caught in this strange conundrum together. “I hadn’t really considered it until, well . . .” I pause, because there’s no world where I tell this man that he cracked me open and then forgot about me, only to now apparently have the ability to do it again. “After she was gone, we leaned on just each other and never learned how to share the weight with anyone else. So maybe ‘fault’ is the wrong word, since it was both of us. But I really never felt the need to change. I’m content with things the way they are.” I ignore his skeptical expression and look down. “But clearly he wasn’t. He seems . . . he seems so much happier right now. And I didn’t even realize. I thought he was happy.”

“Well maybe he was.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But there was more for him. Clearly. And I am terrified of what will happen when it all goes wrong—”

“Because it will,” he reiterates.

“I know,” I say with a nod. “But how can I tell him to stop being happy when I’ve held him back for so long? Even if I know it’ll end badly, it’s not my place to hurt him.”

I look up, and I’m surprised to see the emotion written across Lee’s face, like he wants to say more to me but he’s stopping himself. I’m struck again by how different he can be when he’s not in front of everybody else—the camera, the anchors, or the rest of the staff he jokes around with, the way he constantly seems to be in motion.

“You’re right . . . You can’t tell him that,” he finally says, and I’m surprised that he’s agreeing with me so easily, even if maybe I showed more cards than I wanted to.

“So we’re back at square one,” I say with a sigh. “Neither of us is in a place to say anything, so we just have to watch this train wreck.”

“That’s not your fault either,” he says quietly, watching me, his hands folded in his lap like he’s not sure what he’d do if he unclenched them.

I can feel myself heating up from the look on his face, so I start pacing the small room.

There’s nothing I hate more than an unfixable problem. This is what I do—I produce for a living. I make things happen behind the scenes. I plan and set up and execute. I can’t just stand by and wait for the other shoe to drop right on top of my dad.

Yet I can’t say anything.

But what if I didn’t say anything?

I turn to Lee, like a lightbulb’s gone off in my head. “What we both want to avoid is the appearance that we’re meddling in their lives, right?”

“Yeah?”

“But we also want to help them come to the right conclusion sooner rather than later so nothing gets too messy.”

“Yes, thank you for the recap.” The smirk is back, like he can’t help but make light of things.

“I’m just saying . . . what if there was a way to do both?” I’m still pacing, but there’s a rhythm to it now. I’m on a roll. “What we need is for the shine to come off maybe a little quicker than it would otherwise. We need them to realize all the potential issues that come with this relationship so they can break it off before either is too invested.”

He’s following but still skeptical. “Without telling anyone else, how is that possible?”

“We’ve gotta like . . . reverse Parent Trap them.”

“Like the Lindsay Lohan movie?”

“Surely the original Hayley Mills version is the best, right?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, like I’m losing the plot. “Okay, never mind, either version,” I continue, my mind now whirring. “We each want our person happy in the end, and we don’t want them to get hurt along the way. So what if we just . . . nudged it along? What if we got them to do things that would illuminate the mistake they’re making?”

“Such as?”

I pace a little bit more, trying to find the right way to thread the needle. “I don’t know, encourage an activity that we know the other one will hate? Or I could get my dad to take Carmen on dates that he thinks are fun but are actually extremely old man?”

“I’d love to hear what qualifies as ‘old man’ for you,” Lee says, but I ignore him.

“Or you could like . . . get Carmen to take my dad somewhere outdoorsy where he can’t keep up?” I continue.

“You’re suggesting doing a wrong thing for the right reasons.”