Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“You hungry?” I ask, nodding to the box of cereal.
“Lupe was sick,” she explains again in a rush instead of answering my question. “So I walked on home early. It’s just a couple of blocks. I didn’t call because…”
Because she hadn’t expected to come home and find her divorced parents in bed together.
“All right.” I walk farther into the kitchen, the hardwood floor cold beneath my bare feet. “Pancakes?”
Apparently taking her cue from the unnatural calm I found from God knows where, she answers.
“With blueberries?” She puts the cereal back on the shelf and takes out pancake mix instead.
“If we have ’em.” I open the fridge, check the crisper, and spot a container half full of blueberries. “You’re in luck.”
She sets the mix on the counter and reaches up to grab a clear glass bowl. In silence I assemble the ingredients, feeling her eyes on me, but taking time to gather my thoughts while she perches on the stool at the island, setting her elbows on the granite surface.
“I’m sorry you found out this way,” I tell her, glancing up from the ingredients I’m stirring in the bowl. “About your mom and me. We would have told you eventually.”
“When?” she demands, brows snapped together. “And why? Why is this even happening? How long has it been going on? Are you planning to—”
“Let me be very clear about something, Deja Marie.” I push the bowl aside and face her, arms folded across my chest. “Your mother and I don’t owe you explanations, but I’ll answer some of your questions because I love you and want to be as open with you as possible.”
“But, Daddy—”
“This is grown folks’ business. This is our business. We didn’t tell you because we don’t have to.” I pause to let that sink in before going on. “And we know you and your brother have experienced a lot of transition. We didn’t want to confuse you unnecessarily when this between your mom and me is…”
I let the sentence trail off because what is this Yas and I are doing? I think about her constantly. I want to be with her all the time. I think she feels the same way. It’s as good as, no, better than old times, but without the words that sealed everything in emotion. In commitment. I knew, though, as soon as Deja walked in and discovered us that I wasn’t willing to give it up. I won’t give Yasmen up. I’m willing to endure the indignity of having this damn conversation with my fourteen-year-old to keep Yas for as long as this lasts.
“Are you guys getting married again?”
“That’s not what this is.” I can’t risk that.
“I don’t understand.” She shakes her head. “Why would you even want her after what she did? After what she said?”
“What she said?” I key in on the word. “When?”
“I heard her, Daddy.” Fury fires her eyes, so much like Yasmen’s. Her lips thin with youthful disdain. “In Henry’s room she asked for the divorce. She said she couldn’t do it anymore. You begged her not to do it, but she did. She did all of this to us.”
Tears streak her face and rage mottles her clear complexion, pinkening the tip of her nose and tightening her eyes at the corners.
“She doesn’t deserve you! It’s all her fault! Everything is her fault.”
A gasp from the kitchen door draws our attention. Yasmen stands there, devastation all over her face.
Chapter Forty
Yasmen
It’s all her fault.
Every demon I’ve been trying to exorcize screams at me in the voice of my daughter. I’m horrified that she overheard me in one of my weakest moments on one of my worst days. What’s really the use of forgiving myself if the people I love most never will? But looking at my daughter, her face contorted by rage and hurt, I recognize her anger laid out like a rug covering her pain. I used to do that, too, and I know a fight won’t fix that hurt. I want peace for her even more than I want it for myself.
“Deja,” I say, willing my voice not to tremble. “I’m sorry you overheard that. We didn’t intend for you to.”
“No, you wanted everyone to think it was Daddy,” she spits back. “When he still loved you. He wanted to keep our family together. But it was you, Mom.”
“It didn’t matter who initiated it.” Josiah’s words come soft, but firm. “We weren’t working, so we were getting a divorce. That’s all you needed to know.”
“You were protecting her,” she says.
He frowns. “No, I—”
“Yes, he was,” I say, looking at him and letting all the love I still haven’t voiced again flood my eyes. “He didn’t want you to blame me.”
“I didn’t want them to blame you,” Josiah agrees. “But at the time, I blamed you too. Dr. Musa’s helped me see that what I did was really no different. You couldn’t move and I couldn’t stop moving, but neither of us was handling our grief in a healthy way. What went wrong, it was my fault too.”