Page 5 of The Secrets We Keep

I merely nodded.

“You seem to be a better secret keeper than the rest of us then.”

“Well, their fatal flaw was including you in on it.”

“Hey!” he said. “Okay, you’re probably right. I’ve been in a perpetual state of dread since your sister called me. Why does your family insist on these things?”

“’Cause my dad loves them. But he seems to forget that after one, it’s a little redundant.”

“Well, it is sweet. Stressful, but sweet. And they do love you.”

“I know they do. But this is the fourth surprise party we’ve had. I’d be more surprised if we didn’t have one.”

“Well, try and act like you don’t know; otherwise, they’re going to blame me. Your dad might not be able to throw any punches anymore, but your mom?”

“Yeah, she’s a beast.”

* * *

“Surprise!” the crowd shouted as everyone popped up from their various hiding places around my apartment.

I’d had no idea this many people could fit in here.

I’d played my part well, sauntering in with a slow gait, doing my best to ignore the subtle movements as everyone shifted in the dark. And even though I had known it was coming, I actually had jumped a little.

I scanned the apartment, seeing my parents and siblings. My best friend and her boyfriend were sitting on the couch, although they were sitting so far apart, you could practically fit the entire state of Texas between them.

Things between them had been a little rocky. I made a mental note to check on her later.

A few of my coworkers huddled in a tight group in a corner, like they were all glued together for moral support.

Honestly, I didn’t blame them.

My family could be a little overwhelming.

“Happy birthday,liebling,” my mother greeted me. My parents had affectionately called me theirlieblingordarlingso often, it was a wonder my friends didn’t confuse it for my actual name. Even after decades in the States, my mother’s German accent was still just as strong as I remembered it as a child.

Curtis took that as his cue and wandered off to grab a drink.

“Thanks, Mama,” I replied, giving her a warm hug. The subtle smell of her perfume reminded me of my childhood. “I had no idea.”

She pulled back, giving me a stern look, to which I rolled my eyes. I could never lie to that woman. It had made my teen years incredibly frustrating.

“Okay, fine. But why couldn’t we, for once, try going out to dinner, like normal people? We did this three months ago for Margo.”

“Your father insisted,” she said in a sort of exasperated tone. “You know how much he loves a party.”

She patted me on the back and went to go grab a glass of red wine, and as much as I wanted to follow her, I knew I had about a dozen or more people to greet. Searching the room, I found my very uncomfortable boyfriend, trying to make small talk with a few of my coworkers. His eyes met mine, and he gave a half-hearted wave.

We’d met in an elevator over two years ago. He worked as an accountant on the third floor. I worked as a graphic artist on the sixth.

For weeks, we’d step onto that elevator in the morning, and he’d give me a shy smile and then bury his head in his phone.

For weeks, I’d say hello, and he’d say nothing.

Finally, when I was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with me, I’d heard a timid voice behind me ask, “Do you like sushi?”

It had been three years since my husband had died, and up until that moment, I hadn’t even thought about the idea of another man.

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