Page 47 of Everything We Thought Was True
For a while, Teresa had sensed that her daughter knew what was going on but hoped she didn’t know the extent of it. Teresa wanted to protect her. So she’d lied to Lena about Frank’s late nights and absences over the years, providing cover for his indiscretions. Now the harsh reality dawned on her: she’d been teaching Lena how to lie as well. To be a liar. And here was her thirteen-year-old daughter, telling her she knew exactly what was going on, and all Teresa could think wasWho in the world did we think we were fooling?
Teresa felt heavy with the weight of lies. There were so many layers.
When they got home, Lena went straight upstairs to her room, and Teresa knew what she was doing. She was writing in that diary of hers. Teresa often wondered what she put in there. She was the one to give Lena her first journal. She’d wanted Lena to have a place to write out her emotions, the way Teresa had with her journals over the years. She realized that the thing to do at the moment was to give Lena the space to let her thoughts flow. This was one way she saw herself in her daughter—the place they felt most comfortable telling the truth was to a blank page. They both held so much in and didn’t share with others... and then it spilled out on paper.
With their dog, Libby, in her arms, Teresa shuffled upstairs to her bedroom. She gingerly opened her nightstand andpulled out her journal, knowing she would find the entry in blue ink with the words she’d written on the night her mother died. She reached for those words now, grasping at the truth.
This wasn't all in her head. It wasn't just a bad dream she could wake up from. It was a reality. And she’d finally come to terms with it. And that meant she had to let Frank go. Teresa was already lonely with Frank. Now she needed to learn how to be alone without him.
She flipped through the pages with shaking hands until she saw the entry. There it was, taunting her, reminding her she was making the right decision even though it was killing her inside.
That night, when she’d arrived home from the hospital, she’d come to a conclusion that became the turning point of her marriage and life. She’d known about her husband years before, but until she wrote it down with her own hand, it hadn’t seemed real. Now as she stared at those words, it was all too real. For there they were, calling her out, no longer letting her stay in denial—the words she’d never fully spoken out loud.
My husband is gay.
Afew nights later, Teresa was busy making one of her mother’s favorite meals for dinner,pasta e piselli. It was the kids’ last day of school, and she always made this for them to start the summer. She didn’t want to disappoint them. Plus, she was a ball of nerves, and cooking usually calmed her down. But not that night.
Frank was late getting home for dinner—again. And this time, she didn’t have to wonder where he was. She knew. She now had a picture in her mind of what Frank’s lies looked like. Frank was with the guy she’d seen in his car in the parking lot of the hospital. His boyfriend. She’d been such a fool. Well, she was done being a fool. No more.
Tonight would change everything—her marriage, her family, her kids, and her life. She was going to ask Frank to leave. No, not ask. Demand. It was time. She’d had enough.
Frank sauntered in a half hour later and washed up at the sink. He looked so at ease, unperturbed that he’d made them all wait. Teresa called Anthony and Lena to the table as she brought over the serving bowl heaped with pasta.
“Kids, time to eat—c’mon.”
Anthony scurried to the table and plopped down in a chair. “It’s about time. I’m starving.”
She turned to Frank. “Yes, itisabout time. Why are you late? I told you we were eating at six tonight.”
Teresa knew the answer but wanted him to have the courage to say it—to say anything other than the crap he’d been feeding her for years. He’d say nothing close to the truth—she knew that. But it didn’t stop her from chiding him. She was fed up. Their marriage had been nothing but lies. Years of them.
“I was at the boatyard. I told you that,” he replied.
Lame excuses, like always. And the kids sat there listening to them and watching her accept them. She couldn’t take it anymore. Her pulse throbbed in her temples, and she felt like her head was going to explode. All the years of pent-up frustration and disappointment threatened to break the surface.
“No, you most certainly did not.”
“Well, I thought I did. Either way, I was at the boatyard. That’s it.”
She fumed at his dismissive tone. “That’s not it, Frank, and we both know it. There’s a lot more going on, isn’t there?”
He stared at her, a frightened look in his eyes. “Teresa, what are you doing? Stop with the theatrics.”
She was tired of being made a fool, like she was insane for imagining what was really going on. Something inside Teresa brokeloose. She grabbed her plate of spaghetti and peas and hurled it in Frank’s direction. He crouched down, hands over his head to protect himself, and it hit the wall with so much force it surprised her it didn’t break through. She saw the incredulous look on his face, like he was dealing with a madwoman and didn’t recognize her.
“Theatrics? Oh, that’s a good one. These are your theatrics, Frank.”
He stood, gripping the sides of the table. “Don’t be hysterical, Teresa. Nothing’s going on.”
There was a time when she would have bought it—when she’d wanted nothing more than to accept his excuses, to keep loving him, to not lose him for good. But that time had long passed. Memories flooded Teresa’s mind: Frank's late nights, her emotional overeating, his flirting with Henry, seeing him with his lover in the car right after losing her mother. All that was bad enough. And then on top of it, to find out Lena had suspected for years and kept it hidden. What a burden that must have been.
“Why don’t we talk about the real subject, Frank? The one we keep avoiding.”
She hadn’t planned to say anything in front of the kids. She’d envisioned confronting Frank in private later, after dinner—just the two of them having it out. But she’d be damned if she would let him continue to paint the picture of her as the crazed wife with a wild imagination, when they both knew that was a complete farce.
Frank’s lips quivered, and he glanced nervously around the room, like an animal backed into a corner. “Teresa, please, that’s enough.” His eyes softened, pleading with her silently to stop, to keep his secrets, to continue buying his lies.
No more.I’m done.
