“He’s taking her to Hawaii!” She’s so loud that even Gaston can hear her, judging by his surprised expression.
“Who’s taking who to Hawaii?” I ask, confused.
“Who do you think?” she yells once again, and an uncomfortable knot starts to tighten within my chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Your father . . . he’s . . . he’s taking her to Hawaii.”
“Mom,” I whisper tightly, pulling my eyes from Gaston’s questioning gaze. “Calm down.”
“How can I calm down? Do you know how many times I asked, begged, and pleaded for him to go away with me? Do you know how many times I told him that I wanted to go to Hawaii specifically,” she sobs, barely able to continue, “and told him how good it would be for the two of us to get away?”
Pain slashes through me. I love my father, but I can’t deny I’m angry with him. Not only for what he did to my mom but to our whole family. I’m old enough to understand that no relationship is ever perfect, but just like my mom, I didn’t see my father’s betrayal coming. He never let on that he wasn’t happy; it was like he one day just decided to turn out the lights and then expected us to be able to navigate through the dark without him.
“Mom, please don’t cry,” I beg, feeling uncomfortable talking about this with Gaston so close. I get off the couch to put some space between him and me.
“I know I should be okay by now,” she whispers, her voice filled with pain. “But every time I think I’m making progress, something else happens and I . . . I remember what I thought we had.”
“Mommy,” I whisper back, resting my forehead against the sliding door.
“I hate that I still love him.” Oh God. Tears fill my eyes, and I attempt to blink them away while looking out at the ocean through my hazy reflection in the glass. “I wish I could hate him. I wish he didn’t pretend for years like everything was okay, like we were okay, when we weren’t. I wish I knew what was happening so I could’ve prepared for it.”
“You can’t turn love off and on, but with time things will get easier and the pain will lessen,” I say, even though I’m not sure if what I’m saying is true. It’s been a year, and my mom is still stuck in the same place emotionally. She’s still heartbroken and feeling betrayed.
“Promise me you won’t ever trust a man the way I did. Promise me, honey, because I never want to imagine you ever going through something like this.”
“Mom—”
“Please, promise me,” she pleads, her voice cracking.
“I promise,” I say, seeing Gaston’s reflection as he gets off the couch and brings my glass and his beer bottle to the kitchen.
“Shit,” Mom hisses in my ear.
“What?”
“I didn’t realize how late it is. I shouldn’t have called you about this tonight.” She pauses. “Really, I shouldn’t have called you about this at all. I just—”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I say, cutting her off. “You know I’m here anytime you want to talk.”
“It’s not okay. I don’t want my stupid emotions messing up your relationship with your father. I’ll try to do better.”
I don’t tell her that there isn’t a relationship to mess up. Just like he did to my mom, he’s pretty much cut me and my brother out of his life. I don’t know if it’s guilt causing him to keep his distance or if he’s trying to erase anything having to do with his old life before he remarried. Whatever it is, it hurts, which is why I try not to think about it at all, and I definitely don’t talk to my mom about it. She’s emotional enough, and she doesn’t need anything else to stress or worry about.
“Get some sleep, honey. I’m sure you’re exhausted. We’ll talk tomorrow. We can meet for dinner, and you can show me Leah’s wedding pictures.”
“I’d really like that,” I agree, then whisper, “I love you, Mom. Always.”
“I love you too, baby, and I promise I’ll keep it together from now on. Sleep well.”
“You too.” I hang up and inhale deeply before I turn around. When my eyes catch Gaston’s, which are filled with concern, the promise I made to my mom about never trusting a man feels like a thousand-pound weight on my shoulders.
“Everything okay?”
I want to say no and tell him everything—every sad detail about my parents and their marriage. I want to tell him about my dad and how close we used to be, about how I don’t even hear from him anymore. As much as I want to tell him all of that, we’re not at a point where I would feel comfortable unloading that kind of baggage on him, and honestly, I’m still not sure he’s who he seems to be.