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Mom frowns. “Why wouldn’t she bed safe?”
The memory of my father’s hand tightening on his belt flashes through my mind.
I want to tell my mom, but she’s already so fragile as is. “When’s the last time you’ve taken your pills?”
She fiddles with a piece of string poking up from my bedding. “I’ve been trying to cut back, you know that. I’ve made an effort to plan your wedding. I thought you’d be proud.”
“I am proud,” I tell her, sitting down next to her on the bed. “I just want to make sure you’ll be ok, too.”
“I always am. Now, let’s get to the church. You need to get married.” She hurries out of my room. I know she’s keeping something from me just like I’m keeping something from her.
* * *
I got home,and all was quiet. Normally, Anna would be running around the house, having gotten home from preschool before me. I was in middle school, and it always ended around three, so it was strange that no one was home. My Mom was out shopping or something.
I set my backpack gently on the ground by the door. Father didn’t like me tossing it just anywhere. He said it caused clutter and that clutter got you one step closer to the devil. I saw my father’s shoes in the foyer, so I knew he was home.
And next to his shoes … were a pair of high heels.
They weren’t my mother’s. She barely wore high heels because she broke her ankle a few years ago. After it mended, she swore off high heels, even though my father tried insisting she still wear them. She told him no, and it was probably the only time I’d ever seen her stand up to him.
I walked into the living room and looked around. A lacy top was on the couch. I touched its thin straps before backing away. Why was a woman’s slinky shirt on our couch? My mother never wore anything like that, and seeing as I was only eleven, my father would kill me if I ever tried to wear something like that. Anna was only four.
Then I heard a giggle come from my parent’s bedroom. My father’s voice followed. “Yeah, you’re a sexy thing, aren’t you?” His voice was primal and dark. It made me feel afraid because I’d never heard him sound like that before. There was that giggle again. High pitched and feminine.
It dawned on me that my father was in his bedroom with a woman who wasn’t my mother. But why?
I knew I should have scurried off to my room. That was what would have been expected of me. But I needed to know what was going on. Something was urging me to.
So, with a gulp, I walked toward my parent’s bedroom. When I looked through the slit in the door, I saw my father’s bare backside. Underneath him was a woman much younger than my mother. She looked like the teen girls I watched on my favorite TV shows—the ones my father always criticized me for watching.
And they were … moving together. I didn’t quite understand it. My parents kept me in the dark when it came to that stuff, so I didn’t have the comprehension to fully understand what was happening.
I did know one thing.
I knew it wasn’t right.
I couldn’t bear the sight anymore, so I turned away. Unfortunately, I stepped on a creaky floorboard. I gasped, then heard my father shush the woman. Then there was silence.
I waited for a beat before running toward my room. My father’s thunderous footsteps sounded out behind me.
“Nina?” he asked in a calm voice, but I could sense the anger underneath. I could always sense the anger.
I didn’t look at him. “I have homework to do.”
“Don’t tell your mother.” His words made me freeze. “Just … go to your room and don’t come back out until dinner time.”
I didn’t waste a second as I ran to my room. Even after hours passed and Mom came home and made dinner, even after sitting down at the table as a family, I couldn’t look at my father, not once.
* * *
I followmy mom out of the room, my wedding dress flowing around me. I never told her what I saw, even now, years later. I desperately want to, but ever since she started struggling with her pills, I haven’t had the heart to tell her. She moves slowly as she crosses the living room. Planning this wedding took a lot out of her. I tried my best to help, but Father told me planning my wedding wasn’t my job.
“Mom?” I call out, making her stop. When she turns to me, I try to not wince. She looks so fragile and tired. I could tell her everything. About Father, about me, about what I saw. But the words don’t come. They never come.
“Nina,” she says, coming back toward me. “We really need to go. Your father is meeting us at the church. He’ll be upset if we’re late. Anna?” she calls out. “We have to go!”
Anna comes slinking from her room, looking uncomfortable in the bright blue dress Father insisted she wear. “Weddings are stupid. I don’t want to go.”
