Page 99 of Told You So
Dropping my clothes on the bed, I turn to face him fully.
“I’ve made a lot of assumptions about a lot of things, when I shouldn’t have. I should’ve been more curious and listened to you. I shouldn’t have assumed you were like—”
“Mom?” I ask, understanding for the first time what a father’s fear might be, knowing his wife betrayed him and fearing his daughter might be headed down the same path. Though the betrayal I felt with Mike is nothing compared to that of a husband and wife, I feel strangely closer to my dad, having had a glimpse of what he must’ve felt the day he found out and how it has haunted him every day since.
“Mom told me,” I say without thought.
When his eyes meet mine again, he looks confused.
“About Jesse.” I nod down the hall, and it takes him a minute to understand what I’m saying. Then, realization deepens the creases around his eyes.
When he can’t seem to take the silence anymore, his eyes shift around the room, landing on my half-packed boxes. “I met Nick,” he says. His gaze shifts to me. “He’s got a good handshake.”
“Does he?” I smile. Even if he doesn’t say it, I know my dad will try to change, at least as much as he can.
He nods, like it’s his way of approving of Nick, before the silence grows too heavy and he straightens. “I’ll let you get back to packing.”
He retreats from the doorway almost instantly, but I continue to stare at it. I hadn’t expected him to come up here, let alone apologize, but apparently, I needed it. The heaviness that remained around my heart lifts a little bit more.
Peering around my bedroom, I think about how much time we’ve all wasted, locked in a constant state of resentment. All it took was a couple difficult exchanges—a handful of words—and everything feels lighter. Better. Promising. When my eyes land on my journal again, I smile.
Fifty-Three
Bethany’s Journal
April 25th
Today is a good day. There’s a hum in the house, instead of a heaviness. It’s relief, I think. I can feel it all around me, and I’m grateful. While I don’t know what’s going to happen between my parents now that I know the truth, or with grad school, it feels like everything will be okay, like we might still have a chance to become an actual family. All the crap that’s led to this moment suddenly seems worth it. - B
Fifty-Four
Bethany
Peering up at the exposed beams, freshly stained cherrywood, I admire Nick’s work. Having seen the before photos and watching him add in the final touches, I wonder if he doesn’t still hold a small place in his heart for architecture and design, no matter how much his dad has tainted it for him.
The barn is beautiful, a perfect representation of all that’s happened in the past month. Relationships, broken and ignored, that only needed a little elbow grease and attention. Now, Sam has this amazing place to call her own, and Nick and I have by far the best project in class. It only took tears and heartache to make it happen.
I unwrap the final indigo embroidered lampshade and screw it into place. It’s all come together so nicely, I almost hate to call my work finished. Almost.
A shadow descends over me in the sunlight, and I peer down at the open slider.
“Oh my God, it’s amazing!” Mac gasps in the doorway as she and Sam step inside, Sam’s boots and Mac’s wedges clomping in unison on the cement. “Sam told me it was almost finished, but I never imagined...” Mac glances from me to Sam. “This wasthe barn,” she says, in complete amazement.
“Yeah, good job, Mac,” Sam drawls and they walk further inside. Sam runs her fingers over the reclaimed wood surface of the counter. “I think my favorite part of all of this is the chalkboard wall. We’ve needed a central message board for so long.”
“Now, if you could only reach it,” Mac murmurs, and I stifle a laugh.
I haven’t talked to Sam or Mac much since the beach, I’ve been too busy, and I think Sam, in particular, has been giving me my space.
Crumpling up my discarded packing materials, I head down the loft steps to my garbage pile on the floor. “You’ll have a rolling ladder for the chalkboard soon,” I say, glancing at Sam. “Nick put it together out back. He’s going to finish installing it tomorrow, once he gets the rails in.”
I survey the brushed metals and warm woods that fill the space—industrial and contemporary with a rustic flare, exactly the way I’d envisioned it when I first started the project. There’s exposed shelving, soon to be filled with informational books and purchasable horse products, large, drop-down hanging fans to help with the summer heat, and the old barn doors that serve as a conference table.
Everything is functional. Everything is chic. Everything is perfect, and I can’t remember a time in life that I’ve been so proud of myself. “Everything should be finished by tomorrow,” I tell her. “A day ahead of schedule.”
Sam laughs and plops down on one of the wood benches at the conference table. “You could’ve finished after graduation, for all I care.”
“Well, I’m an overachiever,” I admit. “And, mostly, I wanted to shove this project in my professor’s face.”
