The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(55)
When I called my dad, he said he must have forgotten and “if there are no open rooms left, you can always go to the Holiday Inn down the road.”
Dear Old Dad at his best.
I don’t expect him to pay my way. I can afford a stay at some random swanky hotel. It’s not the point. It’s the fact my father once again proved I’m not even on his radar. Not even important enough to reserve a room for or to care if I’m nearby for his wedding. I shake my head to get the intrusive thoughts out of there. I learned years ago it doesn’t pay to dwell on them.
With my overnight bag on the bed, I reach in and take out the outfit I chose for the rehearsal dinner. This morning the step-monster-to-be texted me a note saying they must have ‘forgotten’ to invite me, but I was more than welcome to come tonight. Not long after, my dad sent me a text requesting my presence. While it was phrased as an invitation, I know it was meant as an order.
Hopefully, the long sleeve, knee-length dress with a slight dip in the front is good enough since I didn’t have a chance to find any other outfit. The sleeves are a pretty navy lace overlaying the entire form-fitting dress. Paired with a thin gold belt and matte gold heels I brought for tomorrow, it should work. I’m laying out a chunky necklace to go with it before I grab my makeup bag to get ready when warm hands go to my hips from behind, moving up under the loose sweatshirt I’m wearing to rest on the bare skin of my belly. It’s not sexual, not really. I’ve found Luke likes to have his hands touching me in some way if I’m within reach. It still makes a chill go through my body, the same way it always does when he touches me. I don’t have the time or presence of mind for that, though.
“I have to get ready.” The words are low as I continue to dig in the bag like I’m looking for something, but it’s all just a show, a distraction.
“We have two hours.”
“I have to do my hair and makeup.”
“I’ve seen you get ready. It doesn’t take long.” The hand on my belly dips, the fingertips just barely tucking under the waistband of my leggings. “We have tons of time.” His voice is lower, rougher, and because he has utter control of my body, it starts to react, softening, leaning into his touch without my mind’s consent. His lips dip to my neck, exposed by the slick ponytail I put in this morning.
“I need to get ready.”
“You’ll be gorgeous no matter what, whether you take two hours or two minutes.” He means it too. Some part of him truly thinks that. But he doesn’t know the lions’ den we’re headed into, the jackals who will want to rip me apart for any minor indiscretion. Any flaw, any imperfection. And they never fail to find them all.
“I need to get ready, Luke.” His body freezes at my words, at the curtness and the brush-off. With each breath, my anxiety increases—the emotions are too much, too strong. Emotions about having to face my dad, doing it with Luke on my arm. Knowing my mom has been calling me all week having a meltdown over the fact that once again, my dad is remarrying.
And most of all, knowing I won’t feel his warm hand on my skin again after this weekend.
Knowing I won’t have someone telling me I’ll look gorgeous regardless of how long I spend in front of the mirror.
Like always, though I try to hide, try to conceal my fear and anxiety and self-consciousness, he sees it, pushing the ponytail over my shoulder. He opens his mouth to speak, to say something, to argue with me, I’m sure, but my phone rings.
We both glance at it where it’s sitting on the bed. I should have anticipated it—I don’t know why I bothered to expect anything else. But because today isn’t chaotic enough, the name ‘Mom’ flashes.
“Shit,” I say under my breath, knowing what this is. I’m not allowed to have a day stressed out about dealing with my family without my mother also having the same.
I don’t talk to her often, not because I don’t love my mom, but because most conversations we have seem to degrade in the same fashion. It starts out fine—how are you, how’s work—before questions about my father peek in. How is he? What’s new?
And I’ve only had to live through this specific call once before, but the call that comes when she knows he’s found someone new? A different sort of pain.
When my dad left my mother after all those years, waiting until he was just past the cusp for having to pay her child support, my mom lost everything about herself. She’d spent years and years trying to please my dad, to be what he wanted. Being the doting stay-at-home mom, the PTO parent, making sure when he was home there was always a hot meal waiting for him, a sparkling kitchen. She was always on some kind of diet, some kind of insane exercise regimen to tone the curvy body I inherited, to make it more appealing to my father. Her entire self-worth revolved around being a good wife to him. And though we had little, she made it work.
But she proved to me even if you do your best to be everything for a man, there’s just no guarantee he’ll be yours forever.
When he left, she took him to court for alimony, getting the money she never knew existed. She now lives a shambled life of spa days and facelifts and therapy retreats to ‘try and heal her broken heart.’ She sees it as her due, but to any outsider looking in, it’s just sad.
But truth be told, I’ve never questioned her long, drawn-out heartbreak. How would I know what it’s like to be lied to your whole life, to live for a man only to have it all be a falsehood? But recently, I find myself wondering more and more. Because sure, her heart was broken, and my dad was the scum of the earth to her, but looking back, there were signs. Red flags. And maybe that’s the reality—there are always red flags. It’s just the shade of red and the size of the flag that matters. But if you put on rose-colored glasses, the shades of red all mesh together.