Page 87 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

“Oh, what a puzzle.” She scoffed, grabbing the oat milk from the fridge. “It’s only meddling because you don’t like it.”

“Big shock that your father and I aren’t happy about being lied to by our daughter.”

Dad, who’d been mostly silent, turned on his barstool, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “Your mother and I aren’t keen on being manipulated, Buttercup.”

Oh, that was rich. “Did either of you stop and think that maybe I’m not keen on being kept in the dark? You tell me, out of the blue no less, that you’re separating, and then you act like everything is hunky-fucking-dory each week at brunch. What else was I supposed to do considering you two refuse to talk to each other if it’s not in goddamn Sondheim lyrics?”

“Language,” Mom chastised weakly, one hand held limply against her forehead like she was staving off a headache. A headache that was assuredly Truly’s fault.

“You know what? No.” Truly crossed her arms. “I am twenty-seven years old, I pay my own rent, and I’ll say fuck if the occasion calls for it.”

“Your rah rah, I am an adult, hear me roar manifesto would carry a lot more weight had you not tried to pull a Lindsay Lohan on your mother and me,” Dad said.

“If I pulled something over on you, it’s only because you weren’t paying attention,” she argued. “I invited you both here, but I never lied; not once did I say I was only inviting either one of you. It’s not my fault you didn’t ask questions. That you didn’t talk to one another and compare notes.”

“Duplicitous.” Dad’s mouth was still set in a stern line, but his tone was all fond exasperation. “We raised a hellion, didn’t we, Diane?”

“Our daughter tricked us into a lakeside retreat and you’re treating this like it’s some big joke. Stop clowning around, Stanley.”

The poorly disguised mirth in his eyes flickered and faded. “Clowning around? Gee, Diane, just call me Emmett Kelly because I’m—”

“Would you both cut it out?” Truly shoved her bowl of cereal aside. All this bickering had made her lose what little appetite she’d woken up with. “I overstepped? Fine. My bad. But are you even listening to yourselves? Mom, the words lakeside retreat literally just came out of your mouth. It’s Chelan! We all love Chelan. We used to come here all the time. Do you know how many people would kill to have a lake house to retreat to?”

“That is entirely beside the point, and you know it. The location is far from what your father and I are taking umbrage with. Neither of us appreciate being tricked.”

Truly slumped atop the counter, forehead pillowed against her folded arms. “And I admitted that I overstepped. What else do you want me to say?”

“An apology would be nice, and we have yet to hear one of those.”

Maybe because she wasn’t in the habit of apologizing for things she wasn’t sorry for.

Truly lifted her head and let her gaze drift between Mom and Dad and the ocean of space between them. “Your daughter is standing here begging to spend time together as a family. Most parents would be overjoyed by that prospect.”

“You know we adore you, Pumpkin,” Dad said. “It’s your methods we’re upset about.”

Mom pursed her lips and looked away and for the first time all morning Truly wondered whether she actually had fucked up. If she’d taken this whole plan a bridge too far.

“Is it so bad that I just want you two to talk?” That she just wanted them to care enough to fix this. “I’m just asking that you try.”

Truly bit down on the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t cry. She clutched the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned to white to keep from clasping her hands together and literally begging them to give this a shot.

Dad’s face softened. “Sweetheart—”

“This isn’t about you, Truly.” Mom’s voice rose, a sure sign that she’d reached the end of her rope. “We love you. Always, but this?” She gestured across the room to Dad. “This is not your business.”

“Not my business?” Her laugh came out sharp and wet. “You kind of made it my business when you told me you were separating.”

There was no way they could’ve thought she wouldn’t care. They knew her better than that; they’d raised her to be inquisitive and curious and to never give up, never back down. But yeah, go ahead and sue her for caring about the two most important people in her life.

“Maybe—” Dad coughed into his fist and stared out the window over the sink, looking for all the world like he’d throw himself out it if he could. Dad never handled it well when she and Mom fought, few and far between as their fights were. “Maybe your mother and I made a mistake.”

“What? Are you...?” She couldn’t breathe let alone finish her sentence. It felt like someone had punched through her chest, squeezing her heart in one hand and reaching up with the other to seize her vocal cords in a viselike grip.

Dad rubbed his forehead. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have told you about the trial separation.”

The air left her lungs as if she’d been punched in the gut.

“Because keeping me in the dark would’ve been so much better.” She bit down on the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t cry. “I don’t know what went wrong between you and when it happened because apparently, it’s not my business. But you two claim to love each other and people who love each other? They don’t just give up. They don’t run and they don’t hide.”

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