Page 80 of The Trust We Broke
In the parking lot of the hospital, I do my best to pull myself together. I run a wide-tooth comb through my hair that makes little difference to the frizz that has settled on my curls after being thoroughly fucked by Zach.
Before I broke our hearts all over again.
I waited for two hours for Zach to return. He didn’t tell me where he was going, what he was doing, or when he would be back.
I’d like to think I left in a composed way, but the truth is, I ran.
Running, in hindsight, is utterly foolish and, apparently, something I’ve become good at over the years. I ran from the courthouse. I ran from telling Zach the truth. I ran from my father. I ran from Henry. And I just ran from Zach.
Again.
At some point in my life story, running has to stop being my default.
And perhaps, now is the moment.
I rummage around in my purse and manage to find some basics. A rogue tube of mascara and a blush stick that I can alsouse on my lips. It’s not much, but it’s enough of a face that I feel braver in it.
My reflection in the rearview mirror is better than I could have anticipated.
I take a deep breath. Then, another.
I should be in boots, given the snow starting to stick to the ground. My sneakers aren’t much of a match for the conditions. But I hadn’t time to properly consider my feet when I got Zach’s call for help.
I’d actually prefer to be in heels. I wear them to court all the time to feel powerful.
They give the illusion of a woman in control.
Which is the complete opposite of how I feel.
But as of right this minute, I no longer run away. I confront the things that make life hard.
And that starts with my father.
When I make it to his private room, my mother is sitting by the side of the bed.
“Lucy,” she says, meeting me at the door with a squeeze of my hands and an air kiss to both cheeks. “I’m so glad you came.” She looks over to Dad. “I was just talking about your high school prom. How lovely you looked in that red dress.”
The truth telling starts now, and I can’t decide if it’s ironic or not that a lawyer is having an existential crisis about honesty.
“The dress was lovely. But the condition you laid down, that you wouldn’t pay for college if I went with Zach, was not. And I was so gullible that I believed you. So, Zach, being the good man he is, told me there would be many nights we could dance together, and not to sweat prom if it left me with a six-figure debt.”
My mom’s mouth opens slightly in shock. It’s the first time I’ve spoken to her like this. It’s the first time I’ve mentioned Zach’s name to Mom since I left for Harvard.
She closes it quickly and releases my hand. “Well, I thought it was a lovely night.”
“It was boring, and I missed having my then boyfriend, soon-to-be-husband, by my side.” I look to my father. “After all, he was the only man who ever protected me.”
“What has gotten into you?” Mom asks. “Why are you being so…aggressive?”
“No…no.” It’s all my father manages to say.
“I need to speak to Dad about some of his clients, for a moment. Could you give us some privacy?”
Mom sighs. “Of course. And I’ll go get some coffee and a snack. Perhaps your attitude will be a little different if you have some food in your stomach.”
I wait until I hear the sharp clip of her heels disappear into the distance, and then I take my seat in her chair.
My father’s eyes are narrowed as he looks down his nose at me. Then, he scribbles something on paper that makes no sense, and groans in frustration.
