Page 2 of Under My Skin
He sighs. “They’re getting a divorce. Mom said you knew.”
A divorce?The word is hard to comprehend in this context. I’m twenty-four years old. I know what a divorce is, but applying it to my parents—applying it tothem?It makes no sense.
All my memories growing up flash before my eyes. All the holidays, birthday parties, school plays, and kitchen dance offs. They were there for all of it—together. They were happy.Wewere happy. They were the parents who always saidI love youbefore leaving the house. They were solid. They were a team.
“Lucy? Did you hear me?”
“I . . .” My voice trails, and I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Uh . . . they’re breaking up?”
I scoff and get up from my desk chair. “I know what divorce means, asshole. But why? How?” My eyes narrow even though he can’t see me. “Are you messing with me?”
There’s a low chuckle on the other end of the phone. How is he laughing? How can he find this funny? “You know, for once, I’m not.” He takes a deep breath. “They said they just don’t have much in common anymore.”
I balk, stopping in my tracks. I hadn’t even realized I’d been pacing. “Things in common? They have over thirty yearsin common.What the hell is wrong with them?”
“If it helps, they seem happy about the decision.”
“That definitely does not help! What do they have to be so happy about? They’re destroying our family.”
“Maybe this is why Mom hasn’t told you . . .”
How can he be so cool about this? How can he not be freaking out that our entire childhood must have been cracked and flawed, but we couldn’t see it? That we didn’t have the happy parents we thought?
“Wait a minute,” I say, standing up straighter. “How long have you known?”
The beat of silence that passes is deafening.
“How long have you known, Simon?”
“Not that long.”
“And how long is that?”
He hesitates, and I swear I could choke him. “Maybe a month?”
“Amonth?” I get it. He still lives in Copper Ridge, Vermont, while I’m the one who moved away. But to goa monthwithout my parents telling me? I talk to them at least once a week!
“Yup. Went and filed together, listed the house, and now they need our help going through everything. Do you know if there’s anything you want to keep?”
As far as I know, my room is still exactly as I left it. Who knows what kind of stuff I’d find in there? When Simon and I moved out, we told them to use one of our rooms as Mom’s art studio, but they both looked horrified at the thought. Mom went into this big spiel about how we’ll always have a home with them if we need it, and Dad practically teared up at the thought of throwing out my old stuffed animals.
I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate universe, and I hate it here.
Jasmine yells something through the wall, but I barely register it. Having an obnoxious, constantly-gaming roommate is the least of my concerns now.
“So . . . do you know what you want to keep?”
Everything in me deflates at his follow-up question, and I take a hard seat on my bed. This is really happening? My parents are getting divorced and selling the only home I’ve ever known?
My eyes burn, so I quickly wipe them even though no tears have fallen. “I can’t think of anything,” I say quietly. I can’t cry in front of Simon. Even if it’s just over the phone. He’d probably get uncomfortable and find an excuse to hang up.
“All right. I’ll tell them.”
I snap back to the present. “That doesn’t mean throw all mystuff away. I just can’t think of anything specific. I’d have to see what they have.”
“So, you’re coming?” When I don’t answer right away, he adds, “I think you should.”
