Page 29 of Mine to Love

Now I have a huge wet stain across my right boob. It isn’t that big a deal. I can work the drive-up window and not be seen as much. When I come out from the back room, Brandi cringes.

“Oh god. What happened to you?”

I glance down at my blouse. “Spilled some coffee.”

“Yikes.” Brandi scrunches her nose. “Go home and change. Amanda and I can cover the nonexistent customers.”

I scan the empty lobby again. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.”

I unlock my purse from below my station and hurry out to my car. Thankfully I live close. A few minutes later, I pull into my driveway and park next to Mariah’s car.

Odd. Dad didn’t say anything about extra therapy today.

Normally I take care of all the scheduling and canceling of appointments. Mariah already comes on Mondays and Wednesdays, and really, I don’t think my father needs as much speech therapy as he’s getting. He only stumbles over a few words now.

I turn off my car and head up the walk to the front door. I call out to my father as I open the door, and don’t even have my second foot inside before I hear a curse.

“Shit.”

My head pops up, and then my eyes bug out of her head. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.” I cover my face and turn my back on my father.

My naked father and his naked therapist doing the nasty on the couch.

“What are you doing home?”

“Please don’t talk to me while you’re... Holy shit. I need to change.” I run upstairs and fall to my bed face first.

This is something a daughter can never unsee. Ever. I hear rustling and murmuring downstairs. They better be getting dressed and not finishing what they started. Suddenly, I imagine what a parent walking in on her kid must feel like. Anger, embarrassment, mortification, confusion all set in.

It’s all too much. I close my eyes and take a few calming breaths. That doesn’t work. Closing my eyes only makes the image burn into my brain. I huff out a breath of air and whip open my closet, grabbing the first top I can find. I need to get out of here and back at work.

Distractions will be the only way to erase my memory. As I open my bedroom door, I hear the front door open then close, then an engine start. I don’t have time to have a heart to heart with my father.

Facing the inevitable, I make my way down the stairs and find my father sitting—clothed—on the couch. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sit on the couch again.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. That wasn’t the way I wanted to tell you.”

“To tell me?” I so did not want to hear about his sex life. That my father has a sex life is already too much to process.

“We’ve been talking about the right time to tell you.”

“It didn’t look like much talking was going on.”

“We were waiting until after Emerson’s wedding.”

“Wait.” I cross my arms and dip my chin. “How long has this been going on? It’s probably unethical for your therapist to be...” I can’t finish my thought.

“We never mixed therapy with our personal lives. That’s why she comes over on the other days in between her work.”

“How long?” It doesn’t matter, only it does. How long have I been clueless about my father’s love life? I feel like a fool.

“Since last fall.”

“The fall? Holy shit, dad. Why the secrecy? Why didn’t you tell me?”

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