Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Tate: I wish I was in bed with you right now.
Me: Me too. Will I see you tomorrow?
Tate: Yeah. Gil and Shirley return on Sunday so I gotta head back and clean the house from top to bottom.
I can’t believe the summer’s over. I leave for Boston on Monday. And my relationship with Tate still hangs in the balance, unresolved. Except, now I realize there might never be a resolution. Whether we keep seeing each other or not, our families are now intrinsically intertwined. Forever.
But we’re not our parents, I remind myself. We’re not. I would never judge Tate for his father’s actions, and I know he wouldn’t judge me for what my mother’s done. I’m hoping this doesn’t change us. If it does, I can’t be certain my heart will survive.
Tate: I’ll call you in the morning. Night, Cass.
Me: Night.
I set the phone on the nightstand and crawl under the covers, but sleep eludes me. It simply won’t come. My thoughts are running and running around in my head in an unceasing loop.
Mom got pregnant by Tate’s dad.
And my father knew it wasn’t his baby, which raises so many more questions. Did Dad know it was Gavin Bartlett’s or think it was some anonymous man? And does it matter? Either way, Dad knew she was having an affair. He knew what kind of shitty person she was. And he still let me go live with her. He let me be alone with her from the age of ten to eighteen. Eight years of her attention solely focused on me. Her verbal punching bag. How could he do that?
I’m suddenly hit by a gust of anger. Sleep is all but forgotten. It all spills out, all the things I want to say to him, all the questions plaguing my mind, and it pushes me out of bed, because you know what? I’m done. I’m done bottling it up. Done not voicing my feelings. Vocalizing my needs, as Tate likes to say. I’m fucking done.
I don’t bother changing, just head downstairs in my plaid shorts and gray T-shirt. As quietly as I can, I walk to the front hall and stick my feet in a pair of Grandma’s gardening Crocs. Then I grab her keys and go out to the car.
It’s 12:10 when I pull into the driveway of my childhood home. I stare at it through the Rover’s windshield, my throat closing up. I love this house. I grew up here. My dad was here. And although I know the affair wasn’t the sole reason for the divorce—they were already discussing separation by then—my mother was still the cause. The way she treated people, the way she treated him, that’s what ended their marriage. But it didn’t have to end my relationship with him. He didn’t have to passively stand by and let her take me.
He could have fought for me.
I fling open the car door and jump out, heart pounding as I march toward the porch and then—
And then nothing. I halt, suddenly furious again. At myself. Because what the hell am I doing? There are two sleeping six-year-olds in there. It’s midnight. If I storm in and start making demands on my dad right now, I’m no better than my mother causing a scene at the Beacon Hotel’s grand reopening. Making it all about herself.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slowly turn and walk back to the Rover. I’ll come back in the morning. It’s what I should have done in the first place.
When I reach the car, I hear a soft voice say my name.
“Cassandra?”
It’s Nia.
My stomach drops. Fucking hell. No. Not her. I can’t do this right now. I just can’t.
But she’s already striding toward me, wearing white slippers and a red robe, the sash tied haphazardly around her midsection. Her tight curls are loose around her face, and there’s no mistaking the concern that fills her dark eyes when she notices my tear-streaked face.
“Are you all right?” Nia frets, and for some reason the question unleashes a fresh onslaught of tears.
“No,” I moan and then I throw myself into her arms.
They weren’t outstretched, weren’t inviting me in, but the moment I’m there she wraps them around me, hugging me without hesitation. I shudder in her arms, crying uncontrollably. Gasping for air and feeling like my entire world has just crumbled around me, like I’m ten years old again and my parents are getting divorced and Daddy is telling me I can’t live with him anymore but don’t worry I’ll see you all the time, Cass.
“He lied,” I choke out, as the tears continue to fall. “He didn’t see me all the time.”
“What?” Nia says in confusion.
“He let her have me. After the divorce. He promised nothing would change and everything changed.” If I had the ability to think coherent thoughts right now, I know I would be mortified. But I’m too distraught, sobbing in her arms as we stand there in the driveway. As Nia, the stepmother who doesn’t even like me, provides me with the comfort that neither of my parents have been capable of giving me my entire life.