Page 67 of Strictly Against Policy

I suddenly felt the way I did when I was six. Whenever a rush of excitement and happiness surged, the thread of grief over losing my dad stitched its way through the moment, reminding me of my loss. Like I wasn’t allowed to feel happy because he had died. Like I wasn’t allowed to be ecstatic for my mom getting to live a life outside of my sister and me.

My brain whispered how she had now abandoned me, the way my dad abandoned us when he died. My dad, the man I will never grow old to know . . . the same man whose voice I could no longer remember, but whose warm love I could still feel through the memories of those who remembered him best.

My dad passed away twenty-two years ago, and I couldn’t remember him without a picture anymore. Somehow, I was the only one who still clung to the pain of losing him, even when my family had moved on, as is their right. My sister was now married and will soon have a family of her own. My mom, who held onto his memory for all these years, was discovering and living life again.

But me?

I was still there—in the same place when I was six—scared of change, and the loss of life and love.

Love.

Lina flashed across my mind as I tore my eyes away from my mom. She smiled at her partner on the other side of the street with the brightest expression I had ever seen in over twenty years. The stoplight turned green. I pressed on the gas, stiffly, knowing full well how much of an asshole I was for feeling the way I did.

CHAPTER 29

Jonathan

My breath shook as I waited for the door to unbolt. Each lock opened slower than the next as I stood there impatiently. Then, light and warmth finally poured out from the house and into the cold darkness where I stood. A calming voice spoke up. “Jonathan?”

I blinked through my cloudy vision to see my brother-in-law at the door. “Is my sister still awake?” I asked, voice cracking.

With her pregnancy, I knew she went to bed much earlier than usual now. After making sure to drop off dinner for Lina, I came straight here. I told her I had to talk to Julie. She didn’t press, but she knew something wasn’t right because of my furrowed brows and frown.

Andy’s face withered. “Yeah,” he quickly replied, stepping aside to let me in. “Yeah, she’s just showering right now. Is everything alright?”

“I—Yeah—” I managed to breathe.

His brows crumpled and the line of his mouth flattened. “Are you hungry? Julie and I just finished dinner, but we have leftovers⁠—”

“No. I’m not hungry.” I took a seat at the edge of their deep sectional couch and sighed.

Andy took his seat there as well. Some basketball game I couldn’t focus on was playing on their television. “What’s wrong, Jonathan?” he asked in his older-brother voice, concerned and earnest. He turned off the game and silence filled the living room. “You don’t look or sound well.”

I heard a door creak open, and my sister stepped down the stairs in a large men’s shirt and a pair of sweats. She bundled herself up in a thick robe and a pair of fuzzy socks. She looked comfy. Her hair was still damp from her shower.

“Jonathan?” she blinked, quickly walking over. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like that? Did something happen?”

I became misty-eyed as I glanced between Andy and Julie—the older siblings I grew up with. My throat bobbed with heavy emotions as I asked, “Did you two know?”

“Know what?” asked Andy, brows still creased together.

I looked at Julie. “That Mom’s dating.”

Her lips parted as she sucked in a sharp breath. She blinked. “H-how did you find out?”

I frowned, feeling anger ignite in my chest. Once again, I wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t upset or frustrated. “You both knew?”

“Yes. Mom told us about her partner last month. She said she’d get around to breaking it to you. I’m guessing you two talked?” Andy answered for my sister.

I looked between them with wide eyes. “A month ago? You guys knew for a whole month and never thought to tell me?” I asked. “And, to answer your question, no. Mom didn’t talk to me. I found out because I saw her on the street holding a man’s hand.”

The two of them looked at me with various emotions on their faces: from surprise to regret. Julie’s eyes began to bud, with fat tears as her bottom lip trembled.

“Jonathan, I’m sorry. Mom insisted on telling you last because you’re the youngest and⁠—”

“I’m not a child anymore, though. Yes, I’m upset. Yes, I’m frustrated. Yes, I feel some sense of abandonment,” I interrupted her. “But even though seeing her date someone who isn’t Dad makes me feel like I’ve lost her somehow, that doesn’t mean I should’ve been kept in the dark. That wasn’t fair.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I insisted on her including you in that conversation, but she wanted to wait,” she rasped, tears dripping down her cheeks. “I felt the same when she told me.