The Best Possible Answer(39)

“Viviana?”

I hold my breath.

“Let me in, please.”

No. Go away.

“Your mother and I have to tell you something, before tomorrow. Before Mila wakes up.”

Leave me alone.

“We need to talk. An honest talk.”

He hooks me. I want an honest talk.

I let out my breath and open the door.

“Are you okay?”

“Would you please stop asking me that? I think the answer’s pretty obvious.”

“Fair enough,” he says. He pushes his glasses up on his face and looks away from me.

I’m making him nervous.

Good.

“Come in the living room for a few minutes?”

I follow him. My mom’s sitting on the couch, a pillow held against her chest. My dad sits down next to her, and she places her head against his shoulder.

“So you guys are back together now? No divorce?”

My mom lifts her head. “Please, Viviana, lower your voice. Mila—”

My father pats the couch next to him. “Please come sit down here.”

I ignore his request and lean on the armrest of the recliner instead.

“What’s going on?”

He puts his arms around my mom, but instead of softening into him, she stiffens. “We are trying to work things out,” he says.

“Why couldn’t we have had this conversation with Mila?”

“Because we figured you might have questions,” my mom says. “Questions about what’s happened that maybe we couldn’t answer in front of Mila.”

I do have questions. So many questions. He said we were going to have an honest talk, and now’s my chance to lay all my cards on the table.

But I don’t know where to start.

“So that means you’re here now?” I sputter out. “For good?”

“No,” he says. “Only for a few weeks. And then I’m back to Singapore. But only for a month this time.”

“I thought you were trying to work things out.”

“I still have a job.”

“And we still have bills to pay,” my mom says.

“Does Mila know that?”

“Not yet.”

“But she thinks you’re here for good.”

My father nods. “We’ll tell her first thing tomorrow morning.”

I want to ask all my questions. They run through my head. Do you know about her, Mama? Are you done sleeping around, Dad? Who is this Paige, this other woman in your life? Why are we everything to you now? Why weren’t we everything to you before? How am I supposed to trust you?

My questions are on the tip of my tongue.

I could tell them what I heard—what I know.

He inches toward me and reaches for my arm. “I’ve come to realize that you three matter to me more than anything.”

His words to Paige echo: more than anything.

The room spins.

I could tell her now. I should tell her now.

My mom looks at my father. “We are trying to save twenty years of our lives together.”

I want to cry, to scream, to yell, to wake up Mila, to wake up the entire building, to shout the truth about his horrible, cruel lie to anyone who will listen. I want my mother to know that she’s been tricked—we all have.

I look at her. She whispers, through her tears, “We love you both so very much.”

I can’t do it. I can’t hurt her, and I can’t hurt Mila. If they find out, their entire lives will be destroyed.

I stand up, and my father stands up, too, thinking he’s going to be able to give me another awkward hug. But I don’t let him. Instead, I run to my room.

I lock the door and collapse on my bed.

I hear my parents’ whispers in the hallway, my name, Mila’s name—they hover by my door, and then they walk away.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

Slowly, slowly, the darkness settles me. I listen to my parents’ night noises and finally I am calmed by the silence of a sleeping apartment. I lie on my back and take control of my breath. With each inhale, I see it all: my father for what he is, my mother for how she tries, Mila for everything she wants from us.

I’ve already learned what it means to hurt someone I love.

I will never do it again.





Habits of an Effective Test Taker #5

Trust your first impressions. The first answer that comes to mind is often the correct one.


I can’t fall asleep. It’s 4:00 A.M. I’ve tried reading, staring out the window, writing five texts to Sammie that I ended up not sending, and looking up Evan’s Instagram account because when you’re on the verge of a full-blown Episode in the middle of the night, all rational thoughts are meaningless, and even guilt isn’t enough to stop you from doing stupid things.

I can’t toss and turn anymore, so I finally get out of bed. I head to the kitchen to make myself some toast. I figure I’ll watch TV on mute to see if that will help me fall asleep. And if I don’t fall asleep, I’ll just suck it up and be tired at work later. I’ve gone days without sleeping before. I’ll just make sure not to get on any bicycles.

I’m about to spread jam on my toast when I see it.