Page 102 of Nine Months to Love
Dad’s cup pauses halfway to his mouth. He sets it down carefully on the table between us. “I know,” he says. “Your mother told me.”
“And?” I ask.
“And what?”
“What do you think about it?”
He considers this. “I think it’s your decision. Your life.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“What would you like me to say?”
“I don’t know. Something. Anything.” I lean forward. “Are you happy? Upset? Worried? Do you have any feelings about the fact that you’re going to be a grandfather?”
“I guess I’d say I’m... neutral about it.”
Neutral.
Not happy. Not excited. Not even concerned.
Just neutral.
I sit back in my chair. The metal digs into my spine.
“Why can’t we just talk, Dad?” I say, surprising myself with how ragged and emotional the voice coming out of me is. “Like normal families do? I feel like it’s the reason we’ve never been close. Because we can’t have a conversation without some sort of plan or strategy in place.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he sets his cup down and looks at me. Really looks at me, maybe for the first time tonight.
“I suppose it’s because we’re playing a family instead of just being one,” he admits. “It’s all performative. It’s all for show. Like my marriage to your mother.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“Your mother and I have slept in separate bedrooms now for years, Olivia.” He picks up his cup again but doesn’t drink. Just holds it like he needs the warmth to anchor him. “She has a boyfriend, who in all fairness, is actually a pretty decent guy. And I have someone in my life, too.”
I grip the arms of the chair to steady myself. “Wh…what?”
“We have an arrangement. It works for both of us.”
“You’re... you’re having an affair?”
“It’s not an affair if both parties are aware and consenting.”
I can’t process this. Can’t make sense of it. My parents. The perfect couple. The power duo. The ones who built empires together and hosted dinner parties and presented a united front at every charity gala.
“Then why stay together?” I ask.
“Because we have an image to keep. We have business interests that are tied together. It’s more convenient this way.” He finally takes a sip of his coffee. “Plus, divorce is expensive. Messy. This is cleaner. Cheaper, too.”
“You’ve been lying to everyone—me included—for over a decade because it’scleaner?”
“We’re not lying. We’re just... not sharing certain details.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“Is it?” He looks at me. “You’re living with Stefan. Carrying his child. But you’re not married. You’re not even in a relationship, from what I understand. Is that lying? Or is it just keeping certain details private?”
The comparison stings because he’s right. Sort of.
