Page 101 of Secrets and Lies
I’m tempted to let it go to voicemail, but I can’t hide from her forever, so instead of throwing my phone out of my window like I want to, I answer.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to keep the dread out of my voice.
“Hi?” she asks, sounding incredulous. “That’s what I get after over twenty-four hours of radio silence?”
“I’m sorry. It’s been a really rough twenty-four hours.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds. “What happened?” she asks, her tone gentler.
“She cheated,” I say simply.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“McKenna cheated on me. There’s video, and she admitted it,” I add before she can ask me if I’m sure or if there might be some sort of mistake.
“But whathappened?” she repeats. “It’s only been a few months since your engagement. What changed? You two were so happy and excited.”
“She realized she was more in love with the idea of being married than she was with the reality of being married to me, her words,” I say, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “And instead of talking to me or working things out like adults, she cheated on me, then lied about it for our entire spring break, and only admitted it when I told her about the video.”
She falls quiet, and I brace for whatever lecture is most likely coming my way.
“And you’re sure it’s over?” she finally asks. “This isn’t just a rough patch?”
“A rough patch?” I ask, and now I’m the one who sounds incredulous. “Would you have forgiven Dad if he cheated on you three months after you got engaged? Would you ask Greg or Ty that same question if Addison or Cassie cheated on them?”
“No,” she admits after a few beats.
“It doesn’t matter.” My shoulders slump as all the fight leaves me at once. “She doesn’t want me, and I honestly don’t know if she ever did.”
“I’m sure she did,” Mom says, sounding maternal for the first time since I answered her call. “She probably just got overwhelmed with everything, and she made a mistake.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I say, trying not to be too salty about my mom defending my cheating ex instead of comforting me. “But it’s hard to be sympathetic to her being so overwhelmed that she felt the need to publicly cheat on me.”
This isn’t anything new. My mom isn’t the most maternal person, and she looks at every situation from a practical angle and not an emotional one, so she’s definitely not the person to go to for support or when you need a shoulder to cry on.
Sheisthe person to go to if you want something done right, and she has a reputation as a powerhouse who doesn’t take shit from anyone. She’s also organized, tenacious, well-connected, and incredibly smart. And she’s been known to make powerful men cower, even cry, if legend is to be believed, when she lays into them.
Her no-nonsense style of parenting worked for my brothers and pushed them to be the best versions of themselves that they can be, but it doesn’t trigger that same motivation in me, and I always end up feeling worse whenever we’re done talking about something important. And I can already tell I’m going to feel like dog shit when I hang up.
“Are you sure things were okay before this?” she asks, and by the tone of her voice, she’s in problem-solver mode. “Do you think you put too much of the wedding planning on her?”
“The wedding planning I was barely allowed to be a part of unless I was handing over a deposit?” I ask bitterly.
“Or maybe you were pulling away, and she felt neglected,” she continues thoughtfully, like she didn’t even hear me.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “It’s over. She cheated, and I can’t forgive that. End of story.”
“Of course,” she says placatingly. “I was just thinking out loud. Are you okay?”
“No, but yes.” I shrug even though she can’t see me. “I don’t know. Eventually, yes, but not now.”
“I guess I’ll start canceling all the vendors we’ve already paid,” she says absently, and just like that, she’s back in problem-solver mode. “As long as you’re sure this is final, because we won’t be able to rebook anything once we get our deposits back.Ifwe can get our deposits back.”
“I’m sure,” I say flatly.
“Okay, I’ll take care of everything on our end,” she continues, like I’m not even on the phone with her. “And I’ll figure out what we’re going to tell people. At least it’s early in the process and we haven’t sent out save-the-date cards or made any big announcements, so most people will probably forget about this little incident in a few weeks or months.”
“That’s good,” I say, unable to muster up even an ounce of enthusiasm, but she’s so deep in her planning that she doesn’t seem to notice.
