Risky Business

“It sounds like you’re close,” Carson says.

I nod, thinking that I need to call my brothers, each and every one of them. We’re scattered about with busy lives, but I’d like to think we’re still close. I know they’d do anything for me and me for them.

“What about your parents?” Carson asks.

Reflexively, I flinch. “They’re good. I mean, great,” I stammer.

“Well, that’s complete bullshit.”

Even in the dark, I can see his frown at my non-answer. He’s asking for more than he knows.

“You know that movie Fight Club?”

“The first rule of fight club is we don’t talk about fight club?” he quotes, his back going rigid and his jaw tight as he comes to a different conclusion than I intended.

“Yeah, that one. But not like that. My parents really are great, but I don’t talk about them. Ever.” It’s my line in the sand. It always has been. With friends, with boyfriends, with anyone. And I hope, now more than ever, that Carson can respect that.

“I get it. I’m not exactly running around talking about my family either. We put the fun in dysfunctional.”

He’s trying to make me feel better and lessen the awkward vibe my declaration created. And selfishly, I let him. “They’re not that bad,” I say, but when he gives me a dubious look, I agree. “Okay, they kinda are. Your dad’s bio reads like a tabloid. At least, it did years ago.”

Carson lets me throw the spotlight back on him, thankfully not digging into my family story any further. “I know. Esmerelda, or Izzy as she prefers . . .” He throws his voice high, imitating who I assume to be his stepmother. “She was a dancer in one of the Americana Land shows. I’m not sure how Dad and her even crossed paths because he doesn’t go into the park very often.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Actually, maybe that’s why he doesn’t go out there? I bet Izzy doesn’t want him to.”

He shakes his head, seeming to let that speculation go. “But they met, fell in love, and she got pregnant. Dad was living two lives, one with us and the other in secret with Izzy and Toni. I guess he had it all under control, and then Mom found out. Understandably, she didn’t take it well, to say the least, even though they’d been unhappy forever and were barely roommates long before Izzy came into the picture. She basically went ballistic, saying she was going to take Dad for every penny, take the park, take Archer and me. I was old enough to understand what she was doing. She didn’t want us, or even the money, really. She wanted to embarrass Dad the way he’d embarrassed her.”

He goes quiet, thoughts swirling behind his eyes in the dark as he stares off into the night. He’s shared way more than he did that first day when he gave me his ‘short version’ of his life, and this feels way more intimate than any Google search results.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything else,” I offer.

His eyes clear when he looks at me, and he shakes his head. “I want to. I want to tell you. Not Jayme Rice, PR consultant, but you, Jayme.”

It’s like he plucked the phrase right from my head. No, from my heart. I lick my lips, wanting more . . . of him, of his story, of his heart. I think he’s going to kiss me, but then he speaks again, softer this time, sounding more broken and less confident than I’ve ever heard him.

“She took the money. In the end, she thought that’s what would hurt Dad the most, so that’s what she took. She left us with him as punishment, for him, and took as much as she could get her hands on and disappeared to live on an island somewhere. I haven’t heard from her in years. Dad barely saved Americana Land, and when he married Izzy, his lawyers demanded that he get a prenup. Izzy was furious, but eventually, she was willing to sign anything that would make Dad hers officially. Dad was all she ever wanted. And Archer and I walked into this ready-made family of three—Dad, Izzy, and Toni—as outsiders. Dad tried his best, I know he did, but I was so mad at him. In my mind, it was all his fault, or sometimes I blamed Izzy. But I get it now. He was lonely, and Mom was . . . who she was, and Dad fell in love. He should’ve handled it better, for sure, but I can’t blame him for doing what he needed to so he could be happy with the person he loves.”

“That’s really . . . mature,” I say, not sure what to call his conclusion. “And very different from what the media portrayed back then.”