Page 19 of Close Match
Looking at how pale Bristol is, I take a wild guess. “And Dad’s?”
She hesitates but then grabs hold of my hands tightly before admitting, “My dad’s.”
The world spins crazily as the implications of what she’s saying starts to sink in.
“Dear God.”
* * *
“I can’t believeI’m not your sister,” I whisper to Bristol as I clutch my mother’s letters against my chest.
She shoves me. “Wearesisters. I never want to hear you say that again.” The tears that flood her eyes drown my already broken heart.
Quickly, I rephrase. “I never imagined I wasn’t Dad’s.”
“It never crossed my mind either,” she admits. But then her brow furrows. “Do you remember when we were still in school and they separated for a bit?”
Understanding sweeps through me. “It was after that he became so cold toward me. You think he found all of this?”
“We found out about his cancer, and he moved back in.” Biting her lip, Bristol turns her head to face the expansive view of Central Park I paid a huge chunk of change for. Simon carried the box out of my mother’s place the minute he was confident we were both okay. Right now, he’s getting us some cheesecake before we tackle the rest of the box back in the comfort of my home.
“So, we’ll never know if they resolved their issues or if he just came home to die,” I conclude. Or if he did accept me as his own. Patrick Todd, world-class financier, raised me from the time I was born. Doesn’t that count for something? In more ways than the blood running through my veins, wasn’t I his?
If not, who do I belong to?
Jumping up from my couch, I head over to the freezer. I pull it open and immediately find what I’m looking for. I snag the pint of ice cream and slam the door. Grabbing two of my coffee spoons that sit in a container next to my coffeepot, I stomp back into the living room and drop on the sofa next to Bristol. Handing her a spoon, I peel back the top and dive in
She doesn’t hesitate, though she offers up a logical “Didn’t we ask Simon to go get cheesecake?”
I mutter, “I have a feeling we’re going to need both.”
Leaning her head on my shoulder, she whispers, “You might be right.”
And that’s how Simon finds us when he gets back, jabbing elongated spoons into a melty tub of Triple Chocolate Brownie. Just being.
And trying to figure out who exactly we are in light of the mess scattered across my coffee table.
* * *
Bless her organized heart.Bristol has made a list of all the possible things we might need to do, including hiring a psychic to try to converse with our mother on the other side. “I don’t think that one’s going to work out so well, Bris,” I chortle. Laughing is something I never expected to do in this situation. Then again, I never expected to be in this situation to begin with.
“It’s better than randomly asking men on the productions she worked on if Mom slept with them.” But she’s giggling too. She strikes a line through both suggestions before pausing. “Do you really want to know who your father is, Linnie?”
I open my mouth and shut it. In the span of seven hours, I feel like my entire life has changed. I’ve gone from knowing who I am with a confidence that borderlines arrogance to being so lost I don’t even know where to start to be found. I try to explain.
“It isn’t just Mom’s lie, Bris. How many people knew—people I work with day in and day out? How many of them kept this from me? I don’t trust anyone but the people in this room. Is this how I’m supposed to feel the rest of my life?”
“No,” she whispers. I reach for her hand and squeeze it hard.
“Maybe he knew and didn’t want me. Back then, a single mother still wasn’t readily accepted,” I admit. I also give my mother credit, knowing she would have raised me come hell or high water. “But once your father knew, she should have figured out a way to tell me. There have been twenty years I could have had with her knowing that after the shock wore off, she was still my mother and I loved her.”
Simon, who has remained quiet for most of the night, says, “Knowing Brielle, I bet she was petrified of your reaction, Linnie. You’re so much like her.” I absorb that quietly before nodding. “But your mother was also like you in another way. She would have confided in her closest friend.”
Veronica.
My eyes fly to the clock. It’s not quite six. I can still catch her at the studio. Jumping up, I slide into my mules. “I have to go. I need to see Veronica.”
Simon pulls Bristol from her seat. “Not without us you don’t.”
