Page 8 of Taboo
“Is there a problem?” My eyes return to Jason’s tear-streaked face.
“Jasonisfine. Just a little tantrum over what to wear. We were on our way to lunch,” she says, undeterred, her voice light as she smooths Jason’s hair, her fingers gentle and loving. “As we were passing by, I thought we’d say hi. And maybe… we could all eat together. Burgers and fries at Friedmans?” Her smile doesn’t waver, but there’s an edge to it, a hint of expectation that feels like a trespass.
I stare at her. Normally, I’d nod to keep things civil, but the card’s shadow looms, Amelia’s pain a dark tide pulling me under. Lunch with anyone, let alone Sara with her probing, inquisitive eyes, is something I cannot stomach right now, and I instantly refuse.
“I would’ve joined you both,” I say, my voice tight, the words clipped as I force them out, “but I can’t. I just received some bad news.”
Sara’s eyes go wide, her hand freezing on Jason’s shoulder, worry creasing her perfect face. “Oh my God, what happened?” Her voice is soft, urgent, and searching my expression for something I’m not ready to give.
“My father died.” The words are like stones in my mouth. They come out sounding flat and empty. It is a fact that means nothing to me. John Fitzwilliam was never a father, just a man who claimed me to control me, then shoved a check in my face and sent me packing.
Sara’s eyes widen, and her lips form an O shape. I can see her scrambling for the right response. She knows I’m not close with him. I have mentioned him only once when we first started dating. A brief slip I have never repeated. I didn’t invite himto our wedding. When she pressed gently, I shut the idea down hard. He'd never been anything but a ghost in my life, and I wanted it to stay that way.
“I’m so sorry, Max. That’s… awful,” she says, her tone cautious. She steps closer, and Jason’s small hand is still in hers. My son’s red-rimmed eyes watch me like I’m a stranger.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “I’ll be going to the funeral.”
Sara nods, too fast, her smile softening into something sympathetic. “Yes, yes, I completely understand. You must pay your last respects.” She hesitates, then steps closer, her hand brushing Jason’s hair again. “I could come with you. I’m available, and it might?—”
“No,” I cut her off, sharper than I meant to, my hand slashing through the air. Even the idea of Sara there, in that house, near Amelia, makes my skin crawl. This is mine—my pain, my past, my… whatever Amelia is to me now. I can’t let Sara touch it. I force myself to smile. “Thank you for the support. I appreciate it, but as you know, I was not close to him, and I don’t plan to stay long. You stay with Jason. He needs you more.” My tone is final, an unscalable wall.
Sara blinks, her smile falters, but only for a split second. Then she recovers and nods. “Alright.” Her voice is soft, accommodating, the way it always is. She gives Jason’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as her gaze lingers on me, searching for something I won’t give. “It’s your decision, of course, but it’s wrong to deprive Jason of the right to meet his only aunt and say a final goodbye to his grandfather.”
She turns and guides our son toward the door, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor. The door shuts noiselessly behind them, and I’m alone again, staring at the empty space where they stood.
Chapter
Four
AMELIA
The world fades into a surreal blur as I watch my father’s coffin sink into the earth.
Goodbye Daddy.
The polished mahogany catches the gray light before disappearing beneath the soil. My heart cracks open, and a fresh wave of grief slices through me. He’s gone. He’s really gone.
Mrs. Langley, an old family friend, wraps her arms around me, her perfume so dear and familiar. “It’s alright, dear,” she murmurs.
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, but it’s not alright. I’ll never see him again. No matter how wrong he was to lie to Max and me, he did it out of a misguided sense of loyalty and love. Slowly, the crowd starts thinning, and their murmurs of condolence trail off as people head to their cars. A small lunch waits at the house, a ritual I dread, but can’t escape. I let Mrs. Langley guide me to the car and steady me as I slid into the back seat.
The drive home is quiet, the low drone of the engine a dull backdrop to my thoughts. I press my forehead against the cool window and close my eyes. Dad is at peace now. I shouldn’t begrudge Dad that. I lift my head and stare at the passing trees, their leaves heavy with autumn’s first blush. His pain consumed him these last months, the cancer devouring him from the inside out… and I was trapped in that agony, too. I suffered with him. Sometimes I felt unable to even breathe.
The future stretches before me now, vast and open, but I’m too hollowed out to move toward it, too drained to even imagine a step forward.
Instead, my mind drifts, unbidden, to Max.
When I first saw him, my breath caught, and my heart stumbled at how devastatingly handsome he’s become. The boy I loved is still there—same dark hair that the wind loves to throw over his forehead, same piercing gaze—but he’s a man now, broader, more magnetic. His commanding presence must fill any room he walks in.
His eyes kept finding mine, even across the crowded funeral, a silent pull I couldn’t ignore. He arrived with his wife, Sara, and his son, Jason, a miniature of him, to offer his condolences. It was unbearable to hear his voice murmur those meaningless platitudes and pretend he was my half-brother. Even though I tried my best, I could barely look at his wife, even though she smiled at me warmly and seemed eager to welcome me into her family unit. But I don’t want to get to know her. She cuts through the fog of dull ache of hopeless longing to bring forth the sharp and ugly feelings of envy and jealousy.
For in my mind, Sara has to be the luckiest woman alive. She is sophisticated, classically beautiful, she is married to Max, and she has a gorgeous son.
She has the life I dreamed of.
A bitter spark of anger flares, unfair but unstoppable. It’s not her fault that she has what should’ve been mine, what I lost when my own father tore us apart.
The second I could, I found an excuse and escaped their intolerable presence. I avoided him after that, dodging his gaze and refusing even to acknowledge his presence. He noticed, I'm sure. The flicker of hurt in his blue eyes was unmistakable, but what could I do? It was too much. I can’t face him. Not when every glance stirs a pain even more excruciating than the day he walked out.
