Page 73 of Hate To Love You

Guinevere

There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground, and the cold November air burns my cheeks as I make my way out of Mallory Center and toward Café Grind.

A few students sit at the small tables against the windows. I find an open table in the corner and when I take a seat, I immediately look at my phone, noticing a text from my mother.

Mom <3

Mom

Guinevere, please call me!

Mom never texts. In fact, she hates it. She says it’s less personal and you can misconstrue what people are saying since you can’t actually hear them. I guess she’s not wrong, but it’s so much more convenient than calling, especially when you don’t love talking to people in general.

I stare at mom’s contact name for a few moments before taking a deep breath and pressing the call button. It only rings once before my mother’s panicked voice fills my ear.

“Gwen? Honey, finally. I’ve been calling you. Where have you been?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

“I’m at school, mom. I was in a meeting with my professor,” I take a breath before asking, “What’s wrong?”

I can usually tell how my mom’s feeling by her tone. She has very specific tones for each mood she’s in. When she’s angry, her voice goes down at least two octaves. When she’s happy, her voice goes up to an annoyingly high pitch. When she’s sad, she speaks slower and it’s a pitch higher than when she’s angry, but lower than when she’s happy.

But right now, I can’t tell if she’s pissed off or devastated, and that’s slightly concerning.

Mom lets out a shaky breath. “It’s your father.”

My heart sinks. My father? Did something happen to him in Germany? Is he okay? How would I feel if he were gone?

“Is… is he okay?” I ask as nervousness takes over my entire body. My mom laughs sardonically.

“Oh, he’s fantastic. He married his twenty-seven-year-old assistant in Germany. Oh, and somehow we completely missed the fact that they had a child two years ago.”

Her tone is bitter and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she sounds jealous. But that’s not possible because they really haven’t spoken much in years. So why does she sound so upset about it?

My blood runs cold at the memory of the phone call I had with my dad on my birthday. How he’d spoken to someone named Viv, and then he had told her to tell ‘him” he’d be there in a minute.

He must have been talking about their son. My brother. A brother I didn’t even know existed until just moments ago.

I guess I knew there was a chance of my parents moving on and one day marrying someone new. But what I didn’t expect was not being invited to my own father’s wedding and not knowing he had a freaking kid.

“I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone,” my voice is barely a whisper as I digest the news I’ve just received.

I shouldn’t even be surprised, but a small part of me really thought that even though he’s practically been absent since I was nineteen, that he’d at least tell me, his only daughter, that he was getting married.

My father married a woman only a few years older than me. Bile rises in my throat just thinking about it. I never pictured my dad being that kind of guy. I think that’s the biggest shock of all.

“Neither did I. I knew he had a new assistant, but I had no idea they were actually together. I wanted you to hear it from me before you heard it from the news outlets,” she explains, her voice soft.

“Are you okay?” I wonder. My mom is strong, but this is some next level shit.

I hear a deep sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I’m okay. I just can’t believe he didn’t say anything. I can’t believe he didn’t even mention it to you. I’m so sorry, honey. I… I don’t even know who he is anymore,” she sounds like she’s on the verge of tears, her voice wavering.

I hate when my mom’s upset. She’s always been my rock and to see her breaking, it fucking hurts. I would do anything to take the pain away from her. She doesn’t deserve this.

“You’re still coming home in a few weeks, right?” she asks, hope clear in her gentle voice. I’ve already told her I’d be coming home, but she always needs reassurance. Thanksgiving break is coming up, and then there’s only a week and a half left of classes when we come back.

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yes, mom. I’ll be home.”

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