Page 10 of Hat Trick Holidate

“Well maybe a change is just what we all needed,” I say with a slight uptick in my tone.

“I just can’t believe Penelope cheated on Roman.” Mom expels a deep breath.

“Don’t forget she cheated on me too. Throwing away a friendship and her marriage to Roman, all for that piece of crap Grant.”

Penelope was my best friend, and there was hardly a day we weren’t together. She showered me with comfort for the last seven years, but it turns out, she started sleeping with Grant a few years after she married my brother. She works for a bottled water company that sponsors many of Grant’s athletes, so her job took her to the places with Grant while he was courting a new athlete or signing a contract.

Roman didn’t like it, and the more he asked her not to go, the farther he pushed her away.

You think you know someone, but you only see what others allow you to see.

Roman and I found out about their affair through TMZ last year. A simple act of Penelope and Grant getting out of a car at a fancy Italian restaurant was all it took to blow up my brother’s world. Grant squeezed her ass and kissed her on the neck, and I felt the bile crawling up my throat.

The two people we loved most in the world betrayed us. It makes me never want a relationship again. And my brother is devastated, thinking he would never get divorced. Penelope swore she didn’t mean for it to happen, citing they had been friends since she started dating my brother, and it just grew. I guess they both forgot she was married.

“I should come and help you get settled.”

“Mom, I promise to call you if I need you. You and Dad should enjoy your cruise.”

“Sweetie, I love you, and I know you both will find someone worthy of you.” Mom’s breath feathers against the phone’s microphone. “It’s just heartbreaking. I just don’t understand. The both of you are too trusting.”

She’s right. Roman and I expected our partners in life to be faithful. Never again.

“Love you. I need to get home so I can unpack boxes.”

After she apologizes again, we hang up and head to my new, old house that needs a little more than tender loving care. It needs wallpaper removal, paint. The back porch rails need to be replaced, and a security system put in place.

I find my handmade basket with the plastic liner that has dividers for my moving necessities: box cutter, hammer, nails, masking tape and shipping tape. As I scan the room, I locate the box markedMementos andslice the tape down the center and open the cardboard flaps. On top is a photo of my family; underneath is a journal.

I’ve missed this.

This journal is where I write down all my feelings about anything, and I reread my fears about moving.

My brother needs me. He has been there for every one of my failures, to pick me up. But I’m scared that he won’t have as muchtime for me as he did before now that he’s playing hockey in Atlanta. As a professional, he needs to spend time bonding with his teammates, so I’m not sure how much time that will leave for me.

I fear I won’t make any adult friends working for an after-school program to help children that need counseling or just an outlet. Even though this was what I went to school to do, I know I need to make friends, and I don’t want to depend on Roman for my friends like I have in the past. This is scary.

As a counselor myself, I like listing my fears. There’s something about thinking a thought, writing it down, seeing, and reading it that makes it sink in.

What I fear:

Moving to a new city.

Not having a best friend to lean on.

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