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She’s definitely crying now, soft weeping sounds that fill me both with annoyance and pity. “It wasn’t meant to happen like this,” she whispers.
“What do you mean? What wasn’t meant to happen?”
“Your father. He wasn’t meant to betray us both.”
I blink, then frown staring out at the busy street. “What are you talking about, Mom?”
“Oh, Tessa...” I hear her blow her nose. “I’ve filed for a divorce. Can’t let him do this to you.”
Divorce. The word hangs between us like an alien spaceship. Despite everything, the thought of my parents separating stings.
“A divorce.”
“He’s been cheating on me for years. Or since I met him, for all I know. And all the lies…” She sounds steadier now. Her voice is strong and level, more determined than ever. “He’s been feeding me stories about the firm’s finances, about alliances, about the Anholts… About his sleeping around and pawning you off like… like…” She sputters.
Cogs start turning in my head. “You weren’t at the gala and the meeting with the Anholts. Did you know about Sean being back and Dad’s intentions?”
“He told me you decided not to go to the gala and that we’d meet the Anholts at the yachting club, so I was there waiting and waiting… Then I got fed up and went home.” She falls silent for a moment. “Your father told me what happened with Sean. Yelled it at me during our fights these last few days. So I’m sorry, baby. It’s not for you to pay for my mistakes.”
My mom has never been a good liar. So maybe she’s telling the truth. Maybe she didn’t sell me to the highest bidder.
Despite the awfulness of it all, I feel a little lighter.
“I got a job,” I say, not sure why. “And I’m dropping out of college. And I moved out. Staying with Audrey and Asher for a few days, until I decide what to do. I don’t know…” I swallow hard. “Don’t know if I want to go back to the apartment. What if Sean is there?”
“Honey...” Music wafts through the line, and I wonder where she is. “Your father shouldn’t be allowed to chase you away from your home. He’s done enough damage already. It’s not fair. You should be free to pursue the studies you want and do what you like.”
I ponder this, watching people window shopping, talking on their cells, driving around. “Not everything is about what I want or even need. Fair is a relative term. I’ve lived an easy life, Mom. And although I’d love to study archaeology, I think it’s best if I start living like a normal human being.”
“Honey, what are you talking about? You’re an intelligent young woman, with many talents, and you deserve to study what you want and do—”
“Many people deserve that, but will never get it, so I don’t know that has anything to do with fairness. It has to do with having money, and money isn’t something I have right now.”
“You do have money,” Mom says. “I have a fund at the bank in your name. You’ve had access to it since you turned eighteen. It’s not millions, but it’s something.”
Something. Don’t take anything for granted.
“Thank you, Mom.” I smile, and the act of smiling makes me think of Dylan. Not everyone has such a cushion, a parent to back them up when push comes to shove. “But I think I’m keeping my job, and I’ll take a year off to regroup, you know? Decide what I really want to do with my life. What really matters.”
“Fair enough.” She pauses, sighs. “I’d love to see you. Can we, I don’t know… Do a mother-daughter thing one of these days? Go shopping? Go out for coffee? So you can tell me all about what happened?”
I’ve never been close to her. She was always distant, hidden in my father’s shadow, parroting his words, endorsing his actions. But she’s reaching out, and I want to believe she means it. I want to regain my faith in the people I love. Find my trust.
So I say yes.
***
Funny how knowing my mom approves of my actions, but also the fact there’s a trust with my name on it at the bank, seems to lift a huge weight off my shoulders. And that brings my thoughts back to Dylan once more. Everything seems to lead back to him these days.
I think of the shabby little house with the overgrown garden, the moldy, dirty kitchen and the small bedrooms with the old furniture and awful, stained floral drapes. The hostile glances following me as I drove past the shuttered houses, the shady deals taking place on shadowed porches as evening fell and the bullies waiting to beat Miles up as he returns home from the bus stop.
I rub my chest. I’m afraid for them. For the boys. For Dylan, who’s so tired even his little brothers are concerned.
Can’t let myself care too much. Not again.
But when I pick Miles up from school, and I drive him home, my plans are once more overturned because Dylan is again there.
“No work today?” I call as I climb out of the car, and I’m immediately bowled over by a small hurricane that looks like Teo. He squeals and buries his face in my legs. My resolve to just say hi and go melts away, and I pick him up. He smells like baby talc and chocolate. “Hey, Teo.”
