Page 30 of Under My Skin
Shaking my head, I backpedal. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense.” I gesture toward them. “Look at you. You’re practically the poster children for what a healthy marriage should look like. You taught me the importance of being able to listen just as loudly as I’m able to speak. You never go to bed angry. If you’re mad, you talk it out. You two always acted ten times more mature than so many of my friends’ parents. I don’t get it.”
My mother is back to looking at my father again, and this time he has his eyes set on her. They’re having another silent conversation, and it makes me want to scream. I just told them what good communicators they are, and they’restillnot being upfront with me.
Finally, my mom sighs and turns her attention back to me. “I know it’s hard to understand right now, but you’ll see that this is better for all of us.”
I raise an unimpressed brow. “Really?” Looking around at the bare living room, I open my mouth to say something about them purging our memories without bothering to ask if I wanted to hold onto any of them, but instead I blurt, “Are you two going through a mid-life crisis or something?”
“No, not a crisis,” my mother quickly answers.
“Are you bored?” I ask.
My father shakes his head before lifting his glasses to run a hand over his face.
“Did someone cheat?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” My mom laughs, and it isn’t fake. She truly finds the idea of either of them cheating comical.
Because that’s not who they are. But I never thought they’d be the ones getting a divorce at the ripe age of fifty-eight either.
“Lulu, we’d love a little support through this. It’s been a difficult choice for us,” my mom adds.
“At least you had a choice in the matter,” I mutter.
My mother gives me a sympathetic smile, but my dad looks almost wounded by my response.
My phone buzzes, but I can’t bring myself to look at it. If it’s a text from Allison asking me how I’m doing, I might fall apart. But I’m too angry to fall apart in front of my parents right now—and too determined to hold onto that anger.
“How long are you staying?” Dad finally asks, breaking the silence that has fallen between us.
“I haven’t bought my return flight yet, but I was thinking Monday. I brought my stuff with me so I can get some work done while I’m here.”
At the mention of my job, my mom lights up. She loves what I do. I get my artistic abilities from her, after all. “How is work going?”
“Good,” I answer on default. I can’t have a normal conversation with them right now.
My father still looks deep in thought, like he’s not ready to have a normal conversation either. “Would you like to go through your room while you’re here? We haven’t touched anything in there yet.”
Something inside me relaxes, but I’m not sure if it’s the relief of not having to pack up my room right away, or if it’s knowing they haven’t dismantled my childhood. “Yeah, but I probably won’t do it today.”
My dad holds up both hands. “No rush. We’re here when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly before another bout of silence washes over the three of us. I don’t have anything left to say to them, though. They’re not being upfront about things, and I don’t have the energy to force the answers out of them. I want to know why—I want to know what went wrong, but it’s clear I’m not going to get that, and I can’t sit here and fake pleasantries or talk about the weather.
Getting to my feet, I walk the mostly full glass of lemonade to the kitchen counter and set it down by the sink. I don’t want to waste it, but I can’t stomach it either. Maybe one of them will drink it.
“You’re leaving?” Mom asks as she looks over the back of her chair.
“Yeah. I have a few things to do, but I wanted to stop by to clear the air.” It doesn’t feel like the air has cleared, but at least the big reveal is out in the open. Now I just need a little time for the dust to settle before I start digging through the rubble. My father is back to looking wounded, and it breaks my heart. “I’ll be back later. Or tomorrow,” I quickly add.
They get to their feet, and my mom approaches me with open arms. “We’ll be here.” She wraps her arms around me, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my feelings at bay. “I’m glad you stopped by,” she whispers as she squeezes me tightly, and I wonder if it’s true. It’s not like I had an invitation.
As soon as she’s done, it’s my father’s turn. The subtle quirk to his mouth makes his smile hold so much sadness, and I know he’s torn. I’m not sure what battle he’s waging in his own mind, but the evidence of it is plain as day. He wraps his arms around me and gives me a tight squeeze. I know he’s trying to say everything will be okay, but I’m not sure I believe him. It’s easy for him to think it will all work out, but what happens when one of them moves on? Will they really be comfortable getting together for holidays whenone of them has a new partner? Just thinking about it feels like a strange alternate reality, and I’m not sure I want it.
They walk me to the front door, but I’m grateful when they don’t follow me outside.
“Who’s picking you up?” my mother asks as we stand in the entryway that once had one of her favorite paintings on the wall. I’m tempted to ask her where it is now. She painted it while we were on a family vacation at the beach when we were younger. It showed my brother and me holding hands and splashing in the waves. My heart deflates a little at the thought of her throwing it away.
“Everett,” I answer without thinking. “He’ll be here any minute.” Simon probably would have been the more believable answer, but I’m sure my parents have more to say to Simon than they do Everett, and the last thing I need is to extend this visit.
