Page 95 of Filthy Little Secret

“We’re going to get through this. Together. That’s how we’ve always done things, and it’s how we’ll keep doing them. We need to get the video pulled and then craft a statement about everything that happened. We’ll blame him. We’ll tell them that this guy took advantage of you. People will understand that.”

I pull away from her, and I can’t hide how horrified I am by her words.

She seems surprised by the expression I’m making.

“People will understand?” I ask. “I don’t need people to understand. I need my mother to understand.”

“Mark, I am understanding. You know I’m here to help.”

“It is how you feel, though. You and your fucking PR. You don’t care that I’m fucking wrecked inside. You just care about how this affects your life? Mom, I’m in pain.”

“I know.”

“Then why can’t you be here for me right now?”

“I am here for you, but we have to think about how to handle this publicly.”

“Like when I came out?” I say as a jab.

“Oh, come on, Mark. A lot of parents have problems with that. It took me off guard. I’m fine—”

“Fine now that you realize it won’t hurt your career.”

“Do you think that’s what that was about?” she asks.

“It’s always about your career.”

I rise to my feet, my breath quickening as rage swells within me.

I don’t want to be sitting next to her right now.

“That’s not true, and you know that. I’m trying to think of a way—”

“To keep me from getting in your way and hurting your precious career. Like you did with Becky? Like the way you fucking kept her a fucking secret from the world. Your daughter. Your filthy little secret. Do you remember how she used to smile whenever we went out for milkshakes at Dairy Queen? Or when she would ask you to read her a story again, and you couldn’t say no because she just had those bright blue eyes and all that love on her face? I didn’t even play with half my toys because if she wanted it, it was hers from then on. Because she was the most beautiful thing in the world. And as soon as she was hurt…when she needed you the most, you hid her away from the world because you didn’t want to deal with it publicly.”

“How dare you?” Mom says, pushing to her feet.

“I’m not finished. You did all that. You hid her away. Kept her this secret, and then you had the fucking audacity to parade her around after she was gone, when her death turned into a good PR strategy. And you hauled around her memory, walked all over her grave as soon as it benefited you and this career that you worked so hard to craft…because everything’s always about how everything benefits your career.”

Her face is rigid, her jaw tense, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t give a fuck that she’s mad at me. I’m not backing down. I’ve held on to this for too long. And after the heartless thing she said to me about something that’s killing me, I won’t let her get away with it.

Not anymore.

“You took one of the hardest and most painful moments in my life and turned it into a fucking carnival show,” I say.

“You know I loved her. I was there, and you saw that every fucking day.”

Now she’s tearing up.

“I know you were there, and that’s why I can’t understand how you were able to go out there every day while she was fucking dying and act like nothing was wrong. And then later, to use her for your own personal gain!”

“That is not what I did!”

“Yes, it is, Mom. I was there in the beginning, and I’ve seen how it’s all played out.”

Now the tears are rolling down her face. Real tears. I know the real tears because I saw them back then when she wept over Becky’s death. I saw them in moments when I’d catch her off guard, away from anyone else. When she was really hurting. Not putting on a show for everyone.

“I’ve done the best I can to keep this family together,” she says, “and you might think I don’t care about these causes, but you’re wrong. Because the only reason I am out there, is because of her.”

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