Hooking Up With My Dad's Best Friend

“Oh, hey,” she says. “Come here.”

I sit down next to her and let her hug me, just crying into her shirt. It only makes it worse that as comforting as my mother’s hug is, it’s not who I want to be holding me right now. “You’re all right,” she says, trying to soothe me.

“I’m not. I’m really not.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, just lets me cry, and I do. I pour everything out in one long stream, the pain and tears rising up from places inside that I didn’t remember existed. I cry until I feel empty, which is honestly preferable at this point.

“Come on,” my mother says when I’ve settled a little bit. “I think you need some tea.”

“Maybe something stronger.”

Mom shakes her head. “There aren’t any problems that a cup of tea and conversation can’t fix, and you don’t need alcohol to cover up your problems.”

“Not cover them up, just let me not think about them for a little while.”

She gives me a look. “And that’s how you end up in tears like this.” I sit down at the kitchen table while she fills the kettle and turns it on to boil. “Now tell me what is going on.”

“I fucked up, Mom. Badly. I don’t think it’s something that a cup of tea can fix.”

“Katti, you have a great life and people who love you. Whatever it is, I don’t think it can be that bad.”

I laugh, but there’s no actual humor behind it. “It’s beyond bad, Mom. I’m pretty sure that Dad hates me now. I’ll be lucky if he ever speaks to me again or even wants me in his house. So if I have to leave tomorrow, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Katti. Your father doesn’t hate you.” She gets up to turn off the electric kettle and pour the water into mugs.

“I’m not so sure about that.” My voice is soft.

Mom clears her throat. “I’m assuming that this has something to do with you and Bryce?” For the third time this evening I feel like I’m dropping through the floor with shock. She turns around and laughs when she sees my face. “Honestly, I am your mother. You shouldn’t be that surprised that I figured it out.”

I swallow as she hands me a mug of steeping tea. “The graduation party?”

“Well, yes, but I’d figured it out before then. I didn’t think anything would come of it, though. But it seems like it has. I’m going to need you to tell me what actually happened if you want me to help.” I shake my head, but she reaches out and places her hand on mine. “I’m not going to spend the whole story telling you that you’re wrong. I just want to know.”

So I start at the beginning, telling her how long I had wanted him, and that he was the reason I moved away. I tell her how wanting him never went away and how I kept looking for him even when he wasn’t there—though I leave out the bits about British porn stars because honestly, my mother doesn’t need to know that about me.

I leave out the bit about the vibrator too, but I tell her about the app and how we met. I do admit to her that I went in looking for a one-night-stand, because I don’t think there’s another way to tell that story. We didn’t romance each other. It was rough and immediate.

Working my way through our week together, I end up at the baby shower and what Marcy said. And why I walked away. And tonight, when dad caught us. I hate my mother’s sneaky smile when I say that there was nothing amiss when Dad found us—she has a mother’s intuition and definitely knows that we had sex in that alley.

And then the aftermath. To now. “I ruined everything,” I say. “I just wanted to make sure that everyone was okay, and that Dad and Bryce didn’t get hurt. But it happened anyway. I’m so…mortified and embarrassed, and I wish I could go back in time and make none of it happen.”

“Oh, sweetie. Nothing is ruined.”

“Mom, it is.”

She levels an even stare at me. “It’s only ruined if you’re not happy, which clearly you’re not.”

“I can’t be happy!” I exclaim, getting up from my chair and pacing across the kitchen. “Not when Dad is miserable and hurt like this. Not when I took away his best friend.”

Mom lifts an eyebrow, and says, “Based on what you’ve told me, you’ve already been told this. But I’m going to try again, because it’s not sinking in. Your father’s happiness is not your responsibility.”

“But—”

“Hold on,” she says. “I’m not finished. You’ve done this your whole life. You live for other people, and think that them being happy is the same as you being happy. That’s not the case. Bryce is a good man. Of all the people in the world that I know is going to take care of my daughter, he is one of them. So is something really ruined if you do something for yourself? If you let yourself be happy for just you?”