Page 41 of The Apparent Trap

I weigh what I’ve promised. The only part I know I owe her is the Lee of it all. Both Carmen and Lee specifically asked me not to tell Georgia. It hasn’t been hard to not share Carmen and Lee’s connection because it’s not my secret to tell, nor does it affect my everyday life. And after this weekend, after everything Lee said . . . his words are practically bursting out of me.

Georgia’s cold shoulder toward Lee for the last two months has been, frankly, hilarious, and I’d like nothing more than to tell her everything he said. But there’s no way to explain what happened at Thanksgiving without saying why we had Thanksgiving together. Why we could never actually let anything happen between us. Why his relationship with Carmen will supersede anything else in his life.

That part I really can’t tell Georgia. I don’t break promises, even to people who maybe don’t deserve my grace. It’s not who I am.

But.

Carmen and my dad. Could I tell Georgia that? Would it help me to let just that part out?

Yeah, at the start Carmen told me not to mention anything about their relationship. But she only said it was because it was early, and it’s not anymore. And also, more importantly—what right does Carmen actually have to make me hold inside her ridiculous relationship with my dad?

And let’s face it, Lee and I have been abject failures at coming up with plans to break them up. Maybe we’re too close to it, too emotionally invested. Maybe I need someone else to talk about this with.

I can leave Lee out of it. I can keep holding that piece in.

“Spit it out,” Georgia says, clearly bored of watching me internally freak out.

I sigh. “If I tell you this, you can’t tell anyone.”

“What are we, middle schoolers at a sleepover?” she scoffs. But then she takes my hand, and I know the jokes are over. “I’ll keep any secret for you, Ez. I’m the girl you call to bury a body.”

“I’m really hoping this does not end with burying a body.”

“Theoretical bodies. No real bodies.”

“Okay . . .” I say, appreciating her attempt to lighten the situation. “Seriously, this concerns someone at work, so you can’t say anything.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I promise.”

I take a deep breath in. “Okay . . .” I repeat, unsure of how to even say the words, they feel so ridiculous. Better to just jump right in. “Carmen is dating my dad.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, blinking. “What?”

“Carmen, you know, Zamora, she’s dating—”

“No, I mean I heard you. I’m just . . . shocked.”

“Well, yeah, same,” I reply with a huff of a laugh.

“Since when?” she asks, her journalist brain whirring.

“Late October, I guess.”

“How did that happen?”

“I introduced them,” I admit.

“On purpose?!”

“No!” I cry. “My dad came to say hi and bring me some banana bread, and I was with Carmen, and they chatted. They exchanged numbers for her to interview him about some fire stories, but obviously that’s not all that happened.”

“She just straight-up asked your dad for his number in front of you?”

“Well you’ve seen how weather nerds are around him!” I exclaim with an eye roll, and she nods knowingly. “She was excited to meet him because she studied his papers in school—”

“The first indication someone is too young for you.”

“Yes, on a list of many things, that should’ve been a red flag that they both noticed,” I say with a sigh. “But anyway, I just thought that was it. And maybe it was at first? I don’t really know, to be honest.”