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I walk inside the closet and get dressed, incapable of pretending I am not in agony. That’s what I get for falling in love with him.
At the breakfast table, he eyes me suspiciously. His phone rings, and I put my face in my palms when he leaves.
“Is everything all right?” Marie asks. I nod and push the half-eaten plate aside.
“You need to regain your strength.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She stops insisting. I go outside where a car waits for me. Dark thoughts swirl in my head on the short ride to my parents’ place.
I hug my mother, and Serena jumps into my arms, telling me everything about her friends and school. I force myself to smile and interact, but it’s as if something in me snapped, spilling over with misery.
From a bench in the garden, I watch Serena swing. My mother takes a seat next to me, patting my hand.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing never means nothing.”
I nod, offering a small sigh.
“Must be the last remnants of flu,” I say.
“Or matters of the heart.”
“I love him.”
I lift my gaze and find her smiling.
“But he doesn’t, and it hurts.”
“What makes you so sure he doesn’t love you? Because he was the one who came to get us when you fell ill. He was worried the entire drive and couldn’t stop talking about you. Your father said he’d never heard him talking about anything other than business or politics.”
“There was this girl he ...”
“And she’s not in his life anymore, I presume?”
“No, but what does it matter?”
“Your father was briefly married before we met.”
I blink at her. Shock and confusion mute me.
“Anika was his high school sweetheart. First loves are always a bit dramatic and intense. Was I jealous? I think even if I saw her now, I would be. She had a piece of your father, my husband.”
She smiles, half sad, half happy. “They kept it quiet. Not even the press knew about it. I guess both of them wanted to forget that it didn’t work out. Love isn’t smooth or conflict-free. And everyone has a past.”
I ruminate on her words as I spend more hours with them. We eat lunch, and even my father comes home earlier, making me feel special. I have never known him to leave work. Not even on his breaks.
He walks me to the front door, pulling me into a big hug and kissing my temple.
“I can’t wait to watch the championship. I know you’ll be the world’s best player.”
“It’s called gamer, Father.”
“You got your ambition from me, and I guess your modesty from your mother.”
