Page 74 of Purity

My mom turns to him, and if she notices his look, she doesn’t show it. “Anyway, Allen—” she raises her brows, “—has a whole plan about how we can keep the kids’ trusts completely intact. I didn’t fully understand it, but hopefully, once you hear it, you can break it down for me.”

“I don’t want to hear any of it,” my dad says, and I can’t keep myself from gawking at him. His petulance is strange to watch, like I’m seeing a version of him from decades ago, long before I ever knew him.

He rushes over to the fridge and pulls out a beer. I shoot a wide-eyed look at my mom, but she doesn’t seem surprised.

“Mark, honey, you have the Vons meeting later…”

He ignores her and twists off the lid of his beer with his bare fist. “Don’t call me ‘honey’. You’ve given up that right.”

My mom purses her lips. “Do you need me to text Lily and have her reschedule it for you?”

“I’m perfectly capable of texting her myself.”

She turns to me and claps her hands together once. “Alright” Her voice is chipper. “I’m late for my knitting club, so I need to head out.”

As she walks out of the kitchen, my dad follows her with his gaze. He’s not even trying to hide his desolation.

Jesus, he looks so sad and….

Kind of pathetic.

It’s unsettling, and it makes something soften inside my chest. I’m not affectionate with him anymore. Any affection I show is perfunctory, like a quick hug after coming home from a school break. It’s so strange that I want to reach out and touch his shoulder and ask if he’s doing okay.

I clear my throat. “Divorce is hard, Dad. It’s well known that it’s harder on men.”

He lifts his beer and takes another big gulp. “We’re not getting a divorce.”

I avert my gaze, heat washing over my skin. Good God, this is really getting sad. He’s falling apart. Meanwhile, my mom seems just fine.

“As long as you’re drinking, are you sure you don’t want something stronger?” I ask. “I’ve got a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue at the guesthouse. I was saving it for a rainy day, and I’m probably as miserable as you are.”

He doesn’t hesitate for a moment. “That sounds great.”

A while later, my dad and I sit in my living room. He stares down at the brown liquid in his glass as he swirls it around. Having just run a hand through his hair, one side of it is slightly fluffed out.

Sophia said he was sad after he had sex with her. Maybe this is what she was talking about.

But why? Why would he pine for my mom when he’s brazenly ignored her for years?

“You’ll be okay, Dad. You know that, right?”

His gaze is fixed on his whiskey, and the only hint that he heard me is the slight tick of his jaw.

“You’re a good-looking guy,” I say. “You’ll get married again. I’ve heard women my age say you’re hot.”

And I know for a fact that you’ve fucked women my age. Of course, but there’s no reason to bring up Sophia.

“I don’t want to marry a twenty-two-year-old girl. That’s not a real wife.”

I strain my eyes to keep them from rolling. He’s in too much pain for me to be mean, but I guess a “real wife” is supposed to take care of him and every aspect of his life while he fucks twenty-two-year-old girls behind her back.

“Then you can find a nice forty or… How old are you?”

“I’m forty-eight.” He frowns into his glass. “It’s too much work. I won’t ever get married again.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

He lifts a hand and runs it through the other side of his hair, so now his whole head is disheveled. “Your mom’s going to get remarried right away. Let’s say a year. Do you want the over or under?”

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