Page 4 of Something like Desire

The brunette woman, who’s apparently still filming, gives me an amused look and I scowl at her. I swipe at my spill with a napkin and lean in toward Mom, trying to keep my composure and ignore the emotion welling up in my gut. “What about Dad? How could you do this to him?” My voice cracks halfway through, and I hate that she can probably hear it.

“It’s complicated, honey,” she says, massaging her temples like she’s stressed and actually gives a shit about her husband of thirty-five years. I can just picture Dad, tears in his usually twinkly blue eyes, hanging his head, devastated.

“There’s nothing complicated about this. You’re being selfish and having a midlife crisis and breaking his heart. How could you do this to him?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Lexi. A lot.”

I can practically hear myself auditioning for the role of self-righteous daughter, but I can’t stop the response from bursting out of my mouth. “I know that you’re delusional at the moment and it... it doesn’t suit you at all.” The words hang there, sharper than I meant them to be. I wish I could pull them back, but the damage is already done.

Mom sighs. Then she stands up, tucks a stand of hair behind her ear, and leans forward, resting her beautifully manicured hands on the table. “I understand that it’ll take you a while to come to terms with this. It’s a big deal, I get it. When you’re ready to meet Nicholas, he’d be happy to meet you. Just let me know. I have to get going.”

“Get going?” I repeat. “After you dropped this bombshell on me? Where are you going?”

“I’m sorry. It just hurts me that you’re so closed off to discussing this and understanding where I’m coming from. I waited so long to be happy. You’re an adult now. You should be able to accept this is what I need and see it from my perspective. It took me a long time to work up the courage to talk to you about this.”

I blink quickly and pinch my thigh under the table because I must be dreaming. How is this real life? Andy thought this was about plastic surgery and I thought, no, that’s very out of character, butthis? This is out of character.

Is this the same woman who renewed her vows with Dad five years ago and cried joyously through the entire celebration? The person who used to always host Sunday dinners, the glue that always held our family together? She’s always been the most supportive, sensitive, and understanding person I know. I don’t want to be selfish, especially when she just said that she’s happy—but telling me something this huge and expecting me to be instantly okay with it? I feel likethat’sselfish. “Mom, please, you need to think this through a little more,” I plead.

Mom rubs my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lexi. I really am. Ihavethought this through. I haven’t been happy for years. But I’m sorry I wasn’t able to share this with you until now.”

I blink back the tears that start to prickle my eyes. “Are you sure?”

Mom nods. “I’m very sure.”

“When are you going to tell Gia?”

Mom chews on her lower lip. “I was hoping maybe... you could? You have a way with her. You’re a human resources pro. You calm her down like no one else can. I was thinking you could figure out the right wording that would... soften the blow.”

Soften the blow? This isn’t like the time she and Dad decided to go somewhere tropical and ditched our traditional family Christmas.

And then it really hits me.

There is no “her and Dad” anymore.

A stream of memories flits around in my head—her and Dad slow dancing at the lake, the way they used to be so competitive with Scrabble, how they both cried happy tears when Mark proposed to Gia at our family’s New Year’s Eve party. I swipe at a tear before it runs down my cheek, and wrap my arms tightly around my body. “This is really... it’s sad.”

“I love you,” Mom says by way of a response, then turns and strides toward the exit, her stiletto heels clicking against the polished hardwood floor, leaving me slouched against the couch, too heartbroken to care about all of the eyes still on me, wondering how a fifteen-minute coffee meetup could completely blow up my life.

THREE

I go home to change and then head to Jayden’s, my heart in my throat.

My hand is shaking as I unlock the door to his apartment. I step inside, close the door behind me, and lean back against it, taking a deep breath. Jayden’s cat, Hairball, hisses at me—something Jayden never believes when I tell him—then saunters over and brushes against my ankles, leaving coarse orange-and-white fur all over my black leggings—probably on purpose to spite me. I pet him awkwardly, trying to stay on his good side. The last thing I need is for him to pee on my stuff. Again. I kick off my sneakers, trudge across the rug, and collapse face-first onto Jayden’s corduroy sofa.

“Lexi,” Jayden calls from another room. “Want to order that linguine again tonight?”

I mumble “No,” into the sofa. There’s no way I could stomach pasta knowing that my poor father’s alone, probably crying, while his wife flits around town with her new boy toy.

“What’d you say?” Jayden calls, his footsteps coming closer, until they grind to a halt. “Whoa. Okay. What happened?”

“The coffee date with my mom was as terrible as it could get,” I say into a pillow.

“Let’s talk about it then.” Jayden gently slips his hands beneath my shoulders and guides me into a sitting position.

I lay back against the couch, and Jayden sits down next to me. He adjusts his glasses and regards me with his warm brown gaze. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“My mom’s having an affair and she’s planning to leave my dad,” I blurt.