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“Who’s this?”
Not even a hello, but I knew that’s just the way he was.
“It’s me, Dad,” I said, smiling from hearing his voice again. “It’s Jackson.”
“Oh,” he grumbled.
I tried to ignore his tone, telling myself it wasn’t disappointment, it was simply him.
“So, I wanted to wish you a merry Christmas,” I said.
“I can’t talk long, Jackson. Meredith and I have a Christmas party to plan.”
“Meredith?” My voice cracked.
“One second,” Dad said. In the background, I heard him talking to someone. A child’s voice. A little boy. “Hey, Cole, just one second, okay? I need to finish this call first.”
His tone had completely changed. Was that my father speaking? I felt a lump in my throat when Dad got back on the line.
“Sorry, Meredith’s son is in a hurry. We are heading out to the mall for some party favors and a last minute trip to see Santa.”
“Who?” was all I could ask.
“Cole. He’s six, and he’s something else, let me tell you.”
I had to check the number. Was this really my dad speaking? He had never praised any of his sons, never talked about us like that. He actually sounded amused and happy about his girlfriend’s six-year-old son.
“She’s got two little boys,” he said. “Cole and Andrew, who is three…”
Two boys. He hadn’t bothered to call any of us in a year, but here he was playing father to two little boys he had no part in bringing into this world?
Were we so easily replaced?
“One second, I need to help Andrew with his applesauce packet.”
My heart literally hurt. My eyes stung but I refused to cry. I couldn’t cry. Dad would just call me a pussy, like he always did. I couldn’t remember him ever helping with meals or anything.
“Hey, Jackson, I really have to go. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
“Yeah, okay Dad, I understand.” I tried to keep my voice as flat as possible. “I hope you have a good Christmas. I love you—”
Before I could finish, the line went dead.
I sat there with the phone in my hand for a moment, stewing in my disbelief. Something was nagging at the back of my mind. Meredith. Where had I heard that name before? I googled my dad’s name and what came up made my heart sink. There was an article, talking about my dad with his mistress, Meredith Carpenter. One of his political aides. She was closer to my age than she was to his, and a leggy blonde from the looks of it.
They’d been dating this entire time, even before the divorce? So the photos were real?
Everything, all the headlines, were they all real?
Was my dad the person everybody had painted him as, and this entire time, had I been lying to myself?
I chugged the rest of my hot chocolate, but there wasn’t enough schnapps in it for me, so I made my way to the bar. I picked up a bottle of whisky and filled my mug with that instead. I finished it in a few seconds flat and poured myself another one.
“Merry fucking Christmas to me.”
“Jackson, are you okay?” Harper asked, coming to stand near me.
“I’m fine,” I said, steadying myself. “Just getting something to drink.”
