Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute(81)

I know she’s trying to make me laugh so I attempt to drum up a smile. “No. It was before Christmas. His…” Say it. Stop keeping things inside to protect yourself and start sharing them to do right by other people. “His firm is one of the BEP sponsors. He was in a meeting with Katharine and we bumped into each other. He’ll probably be at the ball. I’m sorry…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want to stress you out.” But that’s not the whole truth. Sighing, I add, “I didn’t want to tell you because my original plan was to torture him at the Explorers’ Ball with my success, and I thought you might find that plan slightly deranged and be disappointed with me.” My voice gets smaller and smaller as the sentence goes on, but the point is, I get it out. The world doesn’t explode, I don’t shrink into a hole of embarrassment, and Mum doesn’t disavow me just because I’m a fool.

Another chain link of anxiety loosens a bit.

She blows out a soft breath, then reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry. That must be the first time you’ve seen him in…”

“Years,” I finish.

“What did he say?”

It’s embarrassing to admit, even to Mum, that he said pretty much nothing. That, even when faced with his own child, he still wasn’t moved enough to apologize or attempt to make amends. That he didn’t try to get in contact afterward, that he scurried away as soon as he could and didn’t look back. Again.

My throat feels tight.

“Ah,” Mum murmurs.

“Aren’t you angry with me? For…for hiding it?”

She turns to look at me for so long I become mildly concerned we might run a red light. After a moment, she says, “I did you girls a disservice when I chose your father. I should’ve chosen a man who would always do his duty. You shouldn’t know what this feels like.”

Protest rises without a second thought. “No. It’s not your fault, Mum. His behavior is his choice. You can’t control other people.”

She smiles as she checks the rearview mirror. “Mmm. That’s hard to remember sometimes.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Yeah, it is.” Because even as I said the words, I knew how much of a hypocrite I am. I know my dad disappearing so completely has nothing to do with me as a person, but the hurt’s still there.

“How you feel about your father,” Mum begins, “and how you choose to deal with it—I cannot dictate that. It isn’t happening to me. Not in the same way. So I’m sad you didn’t tell me then, Celine, and I’m sad you’ve been alone with this, but I’m grateful you’re telling me now.”

My chest is tight because the truth is, I wasn’t alone. I had Brad and he wouldn’t leave me alone for a second, but I still tried to leave him first. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes?”

“What do you think about, like…counseling and stuff? For me, I mean? I did some research,” I add quickly, “and it doesn’t have to be expensive.” It’s amazing what a quick Google search at the back of a bus will teach you. There’s all kinds of options, and one of them’s got to help, because I am sick of being like this—anxious and afraid.

“If that’s what you want,” Mum says slowly, “it might be a good idea. And believe it or not, Celine,” she adds dryly, “we have money for important things. We are not utterly destitute.”

I flush. “I know.”

“Or even slightly destitute.”

“I know—”

“Good. Maria suggested counseling to me years ago, for you girls.” She chews on her lip. “I didn’t think it was necessary. You seemed…fine. Your sister was angry, yes, but I assumed that was normal. I suppose that was unwise of me. What is normal? What is fine? I don’t know.” She sighs, shrugs. “We’ll sort something out, baby. If that’s what you want. We will.”

I take a breath, and as my lungs expand my shoulders rise, looser than I thought they could be. “Thanks, Mum.”

She pats my knee and shifts gears. “You said your father’s supposed to be at this ball?”

“Maybe. He could be. I’m sorry.” My voice peters out. I have never felt so monumentally selfish in my life. “I don’t want you to have to be in the same room as him.”

Mum snorts. “I would happily share a room with him to support you. But I doubt he’ll be there.”

I look up sharply. “Really?”

“Do you know why your father doesn’t see you girls?”

I shake my head.

“It’s because he’s ashamed of himself. He carries this pile of guilt around, caused by nothing but his own choices. And every day he doesn’t parent you, doesn’t treat you the way he should, that guilt gets heavier, and when he sees you, is reminded of you, it becomes unbearable. What he doesn’t realize is the difference between short-term and long-term pain. If he put up with his discomfort years ago in order to do right by you—if he had taken responsibility for his actions and tried to make it up to you—that guilt of his might have gone away. Instead, he’s doomed himself to slowly die beneath it.” Mum shrugs like she hasn’t just blown my mind and dragged my father to filth. “George has always been good with his books, but he never was too bright. While I enjoy the fruits of my labor with two delightful daughters, I imagine his poor family is trapped in a Stepford Wives fan fiction that exists to protect his damaged ego.” She slides me a sly look of amusement. “I mean. That is only a theory. I’m sure he’s very, very happy.”