Page 6 of Reverse

Editor in Chief, Austin Speak

Eyes misting, I catch sight of my father pacing his office, his phone to his ear. A million questions flit through my mind as I resist the urge to go back and probe into his past to quench my growing curiosity.

A few years before I was born, Stella Emerson Crowne left Texas and, from what I’ve gathered thus far, broke my father’s heart in the process. Mere months later, she married a rock star in a very publicized winter wedding, leaving my dad a casualty of her happiness. A casualty who’s been my rock throughout the whole of my life. A man who’s shaped me into the woman and writer I’ve become.

As a journalist himself, Dad not only had to endure reading the headlines but had a duty to report them as well. I have no doubt he assigned someone to cover her wedding day, owing to her association with the paper. Dragging my mouse over the file, I dig through the archives to see that’s the truth of it. A reporter named JJ, who left Speak years ago, covered the fairytale wedding in its entirety.

He had an obligation to his readers to report the stories they wanted, and because Stella held a desk at Speak, it cemented his fate as both spectator and reporter.

“Daddy,” I whisper hoarsely as my heart breaks for him trying to imagine how he was forced to endure that aspect of it.

Is that why he’s kept this hidden?

Was it humiliating for him?

My eyes remained fixed on him as he bends from where he stands and taps a few keys, squinting as he does so. I can’t even muster a smile as he practically presses his nose to the screen in an effort to read the words. Mom’s been on him for years to use his readers and even bought them in bulk and put them within reach in every imaginable space he occupies.

He’s as stubborn as they come, an inherited trait passed down to me.

Annoyed by whatever task he’s working on, Dad collapses into his chair, squeezing his worn stress ball. I scan for any more correspondence between him and Stella after his goodbye email—and I come up empty.

Was that the last time they spoke? Saw each other?

More questions flit through my mind as I grapple with the heaviness circulating through me. How long had they been broken up before she left for Seattle? How long after did he meet Mom? Pulling up my cell phone, I shoot off a text.

When exactly did you and Daddy start dating?

Her reply comes less than a minute later.

Mom: A hundred years ago.

What was the exact date?

Mom: February 2011. We met at a media party, and you know this. Don’t ask me when we got serious. He’s still my longest one-night stand.

They met mere months after Stella and Dad stopped communicating, but how long after they broke up?

I look up Stella’s last article for Austin Speak and see it was printed almost eight months before she left Austin, which indicates she might have quit the paper when they broke up. My phone buzzes again.

Mom: Why? Afraid you’re illegitimate? (tongue emoji)

Not funny.

Mom: What is this about exactly?

Just curious.

Mom: I’m at the store. Can you grill me later? If you come home tonight, I’ll cook.

Feeling oddly displaced, my current headspace won’t allow me to face either parent right now. My curiosity is fueling my need for more answers.

I can’t tonight. Tomorrow ok?

Mom: Sure. Love you. If I’m off the cooking hook, please tell your father to pick up Chinese on the way home.

Will do. X

I message her again as amplifying guilt continues to surround my heart.

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