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However, I had to be strong. I couldn't afford to let my emotions consume me.
"So, I guess this is goodbye then," I uttered, my voice heavy with resignation.
"Don't say that, Dax. You know you can always call me if you need to," Aunt reassured, her eyes filled with concern.
"I'll try to do that," I replied, my voice barely a whisper.
"And I know this may be hard for you and your father, but at least try to be happy for him getting remarried," Aunt said, changing the topic to that wretched man.
"Well, I'm not happy," I stated firmly.
"You should be. Your father needs a woman; you know he's been alone for a long time and really needs your support," Aunt insisted.
"And so do I," I countered, my voice laced with frustration.
"You know you can't compare your little loneliness to the burdens your father bears now," Aunt said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.
"Absolutely not. I can't compare myself to the burdens of infidelity now," I retorted, twisting her words slightly.
"You really want to start that up now, Dax?" Aunt asked, her tone tinged with offense. "He's your father, you know."
"I'm just stating the truth," I said, trying to defend myself. "No harm in that."
"Well, not everyone needs to hear the truth like that," Aunt replied, her voice laced with disappointment.
"His conduct towards Mother elicited my intense loathing!" I proclaimed with palpable indignation.
"Your parents' marriage, Dax, was a tumultuous affair. Little do you know the true reasons behind its drastic conclusion..."
"I believe I do!" I retorted, acutely aware that this conversation would bear no fruit. Aunt Mary, after all, would never utter a negative word about her brother or his family.
Her demeanor, however, hinted at her intimate knowledge of the behind-the-scenes happenings in my parents' marriage. I could see it in her eyes, a spark of something unspoken.
Yet, I knew she wouldn't confide in me; that was her nature—to guard secrets closely. But what did it matter now? The damage had already been done, and the scars upon my soul would remain. My rashness in bringing up this sensitive topic was reckless in hindsight.
Aunt Mary sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping in weariness. "Dax, all I ask is that you be happy for your father. He endures a great deal, and I implore you to support his decision..."
"Support... marrying one of his mistresses is not how I demonstrate support, Aunt!" I exclaimed vehemently, my words catching her off guard. She knew my tendency to speak my mind, regardless of the consequences.
She realized the futility of her persuasion, her hopes of changing my stance dissolving before her eyes. "Dax, you need a motherly figure in your life, and the woman your father intends to marry needs your acceptance..."
"I've heard she's a woman of exceptional talent and charm, and I'm sure you'll adore her once you give her a chance," Aunt Mary affirmed, her gentle voice attempting to soothe my apprehension.
"I don't care," I retorted, feigning indifference despite the roiling emotions churning within me.
"You're making this more difficult than it needs to be, Dax," she chided, her attempt at levity failing to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "Your new mother will have her work cut out for her."
"Stepmother!" I corrected with a sarcastic edge, my mind ricocheting with trepidation.
"Fine, I yield. I'm departing now, Dax. I merely wished to see your face before I left." She paused, her eyes searching mine. "Is there anything else you wish to say to me before I go?"
Aunt Mary's eyes, usually the warmest blue a man could fathom, held a knowing glint. It was like she saw right through the carefully constructed shell I'd built around myself. A hurricane of questions swirled within me – who was this mysterious fiancé, this man stealing her away? Would she vanish across the country, leaving me adrift in this city we'd shared? Would I ever see her again, hear her infectious laugh that chased away the darkest clouds?
But pride, stubborn and sharp, kept my mouth clamped shut. I couldn't let her see me crumble, witness the fear that gnawed at my insides. My worries were a solitary beast, a weight I carried alone.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. I stared at the worn floorboards, unable to meet the flicker of hope in her expectant gaze.
"Very well," she sighed, her voice a whisper of disappointment. "Farewell, for now."
