Truth of the Matter

by Beck, Jamie

  My mother would hate it. I do, too, although it is all fine art. I’ll have to inspect it more closely later. For a second, an image of Tomás breaks through my mood. His photography is good, so I can see him producing something like the cool black-and-white close-up of the Guggenheim’s exterior hanging on the wall.

  When we reach the kitchen—which is crowded with lacquered white cabinets capped by concrete counters—Lauren and her kids are seated at the round kitchen table with four seats.

  Crap, I’ve been so busy dreading seeing Lauren I forgot I’d be meeting her spawn for the first time.

  “Kids, this is Katy!” Her voice might sound bubbly, but I know the truth. I wonder if she told Dad that she called my mom. “Katy, this is Zoe and Brody.”

  Zoe is almost six; Brody is four. Both are blissfully clueless about the layers of subtext taking place. I can’t blame them for being here or loving their mother. She’s probably really nice to them, and if I saw her on the street, I’d think she was pretty in a classy Princess Kate way. My mom isn’t sleek and stylish, but she’s got an interesting face and charm, like Emilia Clarke in Me Before You. She’s smart and passionate and ten times a better person than Lauren.

  I wipe my scowl away before one of the kids notices, although I’m pretty sure Lauren already caught my vibe, because she’s watching me without blinking.

  Again my mom’s voice is in my head, encouraging me to act like a big sister, but I don’t feel anything for these kids other than envy that they have my dad now. Come to think of it, I wonder where their real dad is and if he’s pissed off like I am. “Hi, guys.”

  “Hi!” Zoe exclaims brightly before shoving a Cheeto in her mouth. She must look like her dad, because she’s a brunette with hazel eyes, unlike Lauren’s blonde hair and blue eyes.

  Brody’s intently glued to an iPad, so he barely registers my arrival. He’s got sandy-colored, pin-straight hair, a wide mouth, and the skinniest arms I’ve ever seen.

  My dad drops my bag on an island that might be bigger than Mom’s and my new kitchen, and pulls a stool over to the table. “I’ll take this one. You sit there between Zoe and Brody.”

  I force a grin even though it’s clear that my presence was not factored into anything about this house. Four chairs? Six would’ve been smarter, even if only so they had room for Zoe’s and Brody’s friends.

  Lauren tries again. “We’re glad you came, Katy. Welcome to our home.”

  “Our home,” as if I need a reminder that I’m more guest than member of this family. And just because she doesn’t know I overheard her call to my mom doesn’t mean I can pretend to be happy to see her. I raise my brows and nod—it’s the best I can do. Meanwhile, did she actually wear that fancy jumpsuit to a kids’ soccer game?

  “Do you want some Cheetos?” Zoe thrusts one at me. She’s still in her emerald-green team shirt, although she must’ve kicked off her cleats somewhere.

  “No thanks.” I can tell she’s disappointed. Her offer was sweet, unlike many kids I babysit who don’t share. Maybe I’d like her if I were just the babysitter. But I’m not. All I can think about is how my dad made her youth soccer game a priority when he rarely had with mine. Still, I try. “Did you win your game?”

  “Nope.” She swings her feet beneath her seat, unapologetic and unfazed.

  “Bummer.” I pour myself some lemonade from the pitcher on the table. “Maybe next time.”

  She shrugs.

  My dad is carrying the tray of grilled meat inside when Lauren brushes some of Zoe’s curls from her face, saying, “It’s not important who wins. It’s about having fun and trying your best.”

  I snort. “That’s not what I was told.”

  Zoe frowns, her lower lip sticking out like she’s confused. Lauren exchanges a look with my dad.

  He sets the platter on the table and ignores my remark, making me as confused as Zoe, because winning is pretty much his life mantra. When he settles on his stool, he’s towering over us all. Meanwhile, Brody’s chin wouldn’t clear the table without his booster seat, and he’s not interested in eating.

  “So, the drive up here wasn’t too bad?” Dad piles tomato and lettuce on his burger, then overloads it with mustard while rolling his neck around. My stomach twists from the discomfort of being here.

  “Not bad, so it’ll be easy for you to come to me, too. There’s a trail along the bay where we could run.” I miss our Sunday-morning routine—the one time each week I could count on private time with him. Dad would wake me at six to run the Custis Trail together, and then we’d pick up bagels and coffee to bring home. Mom would always have some egg concoction warming in the oven.

  “Sounds great.” Dad briefly makes eye contact with Lauren. “Maybe soon.”

  In the back of my mind, I know it would be kind to compliment the new house, be friendly toward my soon-to-be stepsiblings. Yes, that would make me more likable and please my father, but it would also make me a phony. I don’t care what else happens, but this divorce won’t turn me into a phony.

  I load my hot dog with onion, mustard, and ketchup, and eat it without saying much. It’s awkward as anything, but it’s all I can do not to break out in a flop sweat. I wish I weren’t so worked up, but all the friction is firing through me like electricity.

  “Is there any plan for the day?” I ask once I’ve swallowed my food. “I mean, there doesn’t need to be, but I don’t know. This is like . . . strange. Right?”

  My dad reaches out for my hand. “It won’t always be strange.”

  I withdraw. He’s not sorry about any of it. Is sex with Lauren really worth blowing up our family? For a wild second, I almost blurt my question. Luckily, I don’t. But I see him—too well. He wants me to make this easy for him, but all I want is to go back to the time when it was Mom and Dad and me.

  Brody giggles at something on the screen. My mom never allows devices at the table.

  Before Dad takes another bite of his burger, he asks, “Did you bring a bathing suit? Maybe we can relax by the pool for a while. You can tell me about the new school and your classes.”

  Zoe dances in her seat. “Mommy, can Megan come over to swim?”

  “Not today, honey. We’re having a family day.” Lauren smiles at my dad and then me.

  I can’t believe I don’t combust on the spot. It’s bad enough when my mom pretends that everything is fine, but Lauren is a phony bitch and I seriously want to smoosh her face.

  “Mommy, please,” Zoe whines. “You promised I could have a sleepover this week but you keep saying no.”

  “Zoe, stop. We talked about this already.” Lauren makes a “serious mom” face.

  Zoe persists, and, I admit, I like her moxie. She points at me. “She won’t care if I have a friend here.”

  “That’s true. I don’t care.” I really don’t. In fact, it might take some of the pressure off me.

  “See!” Zoe’s face brightens as she claps vigorously. “Please, Mommy.”

  I keep waiting for my dad to jump in like the hammer he always is, but he shrugs, leaving the decision to Lauren. Wait till my mom hears this. Actually, I won’t tell. It’d only upset her.

  “Let’s clean up lunch and swim for a while, and we can talk about it later,” Lauren concedes.

  Zoe looks self-satisfied, so I bet she knows her mom will give in. I stand to help clear the table and put things away, which doesn’t take more than five minutes. When we finish, I grab my bag. “So where am I sleeping?”

  “I’ll show you your room.” Dad steers me around the island and back to the stairwell in the front of the house. “You have your own bathroom, so you don’t have to share with the kids.”

  “Thanks.” That’s a bonus.

  We get to “my” room, which is pretty bland. One narrow floor-to-ceiling window gives me a partial view of the backyard and pool. The walls are—wait for it—gray, but the bedding is a mix of creams, grays, and lavender. Tasteful, but no personality. Neither Lauren nor Dad ever asked me what I migh
t like. A clear signal that this is “the guest room,” not my bedroom.

  “Meet you at the pool?” Dad asks.

  I nod. “I’ll be down once I change.”

  He gives me another hug and musses my hair. “I’m glad you’re here, Katy.”

  He waves as he closes the door behind him.

  I can’t escape the gigantic mirror as I unzip my bag. Staring at it, I think about something my dad told me in one of his zillion lectures about success and getting what you want. “Katy, when it comes to people, the key to every successful negotiation is knowing what the other person needs, and what they fear. Don’t assume that if you give someone what they need, they’ll go along. To clinch it, you show them that if they don’t do as you suggest, then they will end up with what they fear.”

  I want my dad to leave Lauren and come home. But does my dad fear anything, and can I use that? It’s manipulative, but he’s the one who taught me to think that way, so he can’t exactly get mad if I turn it on him. For now, I’ll spend the day looking for ways to remind Dad what he’s missing by choosing this family over ours. I’ll even play in the pool with Zoe and Brody so I can’t be accused of sabotaging anything. Eventually I’ll find a crack to exploit.

  Energized by my plan, I pull gym shorts over my bikini bottoms and leave my bag on the bed to unpack later.

  My dad is the only one at the pool. He’s finishing a lap, and when he stands in the shallow end, water sluices down his shoulders.

  “Where’s everybody?”

  Dad climbs out of the pool and dries himself with a towel before sitting on one of the patio chairs. “Lauren’s getting the kids’ suits on.”

  “Oh.” I sit at the edge of the pool and dangle my legs in the cool water. It’s a great big pool—almost black-looking water, with an infinity edge that overlooks the sloping backyard.

  “Now talk to me. Aside from the nonsense with the pot smoking, how are you?” Dad pulls a foot up over his knee and crosses his arms. Down to business.

  “Fine.” I kick the water.

  “Katy . . .” He waits for me to look up. “I’m serious. How are you handling the move, the new team, the new school?”

  The fire ignites in my gut. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Why? Are you keeping something from me?” His foot hits the ground, and he leans forward in his chair.

  “No, but I know you want to hear that everything is awesome so you don’t have to feel bad about being happy here.” I snap my mouth shut, having said too much already. I look away, blinking back stupid tears.

  “Do you honestly think I’m moving on with no regrets?” His voice is deceptively calm.

  “Looks like it to me,” I mumble, still averting my eyes. And to Mom, I bet, but I don’t say it.

  “Is that what your mother is feeding you?” His tone sharpens.

  “No!” That sucks, so I scowl at him. “Except for the time in the car, Mom never talks about you or Lauren with me. She tells me only that I have to be nice to and get along with Lauren. She said that even after Lauren called her to complain about me.”

  “Lauren called your mother?” His brows go up.

  Ooh. There’s a crack! “Yes. She was worried I’d bring ‘drugs’ to the house.”

  “And your mother told you this because . . . ?”

  “I walked in on it. Mom was yelling, so I heard the tail end of the conversation.”

  Dad glances toward the house but says nothing. “When you’re older, you’ll understand all this better. For now, just know that I’m very sorry that you’re paying for the mistakes your mom and I made in our marriage.”

  “Just not sorry enough to change your mind.” I pout. I shouldn’t but I can’t help it. I don’t know what mistakes my mom made—other than getting pregnant and choosing to keep me. They’ve always said that was a mutual decision and that they wanted to get married, but I’m not an idiot. Anyway, Mom didn’t cheat. He did.

  He looks at the ground. “It’s not that simple, Katy. I love Lauren. And if you give her a chance, I think you’ll come to like her.”

  I slip into the pool and under the water. The quiet helps. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, so I focus on how the water glides over my skin, and on the little bubbles tickling me as I slither into a somersault before bursting through the surface for air.

  Dad’s still there, and Lauren and her kids haven’t come back yet. “Tell me about your classes. How do they stack up against Prep?”

  “I thought it’d be a lot easier, but it’s not. It’s about the same. There are just more kids in my classes.”

  “So your grades are good?”

  “It’s only been two weeks, but I got a one hundred on my AP Gov PowerPoint. Wanna see it?” At least in this he’ll be proud.

  His eyes gleam as his expression relaxes. “Sure.”

  “It’s on my laptop.” I push myself out of the water and towel off. “Be right back.”

  After wrapping the towel around me like a dress, I head back inside and up to the guest room. The door is partway closed, but when I push it open, Lauren is by my bed, going through my bag.

  “What are you doing?” I snatch it from her hands.

  Her cheeks turn red. “I’m sorry, Katy, but I was checking for drugs.”

  I. Can’t. Even.

  “You have no right to go through my things,” I shriek.

  “Please lower your voice.” Lauren walks over to close the door. “I shouldn’t have sneaked behind your back. That was wrong, but this is my house and I will not allow drugs where my kids could stumble upon them.”

  “My mom already told you there wouldn’t be any drugs.”

  “I couldn’t take her word for it.” Her arms are straight at her sides. She’s unnaturally calm, unlike my parents.

  “You think she’d lie and put your kids at risk?” I fight the urge to push her. “She’s not the liar. You’re the one who can’t be trusted.”

  Lauren holds up one hand, speaking quietly. “I’m not going to argue with you about things you don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand just fine. You want to pretend you didn’t get with my dad while he was married, but what you did was selfish and low. At least admit that much.” I’m screaming so loud, spittle flies from my mouth.

  My dad barrels through the door. “What the hell is going on? Zoe is downstairs crying.”

  “I caught Lauren snooping through my bags.” I throw my bag back at her chest. “Here. Finish the job. Sorry to disappoint you, but you won’t find any drugs.”

  As if I’d risk that after her call to Mom and my coach’s warning.

  “Katy, calm down.” My dad grabs my shoulders, but I shrug away.

  “Why should I calm down? She’s the one who violated my privacy. Is that supposed to make me feel welcome?” I stare at him, my jaw clamped tight.

  “Of course you’re welcome here, Katy.” My dad turns his back to Lauren after giving her a hard look. His pinched brow reveals his conflict, and his voice is dangerously even. “Lauren’s being overprotective. She’s worried for her kids’ safety. It’s not personal.”

  Lauren looks upset that my dad isn’t happy. She drops my bag back on the bed without completing her search. “I’ve already apologized. I should’ve spoken with you directly, not gone through your things. That was disrespectful. And this is your dad’s house, so you’re always welcome here, Katy.”

  I glance from her to my dad and back, then shake my head. “You know what, that’s bull. This room doesn’t reflect anything about me—there’s not even a photograph of me in here or anywhere. I’ve never even been given a key, so don’t pretend this is my house or room. I’m a guest here, like anyone else. Coming was a huge mistake.” I start throwing my things back in my bag. “I’m going home.”

  “Katy, stop. Please. We have to work through rough patches,” my dad says.

  “Like you did with Mom?” I spit out.

  Calmness lights Lauren’s face—proof tha
t I just threw away my upper hand with that insult—but I don’t even care. My chest hurts as if a thousand elephants are stampeding across it. I jerk the zipper shut. “If you want to spend time with me, come to me.”

  I storm across the room, hoping to brush past my dad, but he catches me. “Katy, slow down. Don’t go . . . . You can’t drive like this.”

  For a few seconds I’m dazed. He’s not hugging me and apologizing. He’s not insisting I stay. And he sure isn’t yelling at Lauren. He’s letting me go, just like I’ve feared all along. Razors of pain shred my lungs as hot tears tumble down my cheeks. I don’t look at him, don’t say a word, just jerk free and pound down the stupid floating staircase without looking back.

  I throw my bag in the passenger seat and with shaky hands fire up the ignition, screeching backward out of the driveway. I don’t remember the drive home because all I do is think about how I’ve ruined everything.

  I’m so stupid. I didn’t listen to my mom, and now my dad is probably relieved I took off. He calls twice, but I don’t answer. What would I even say? “Sorry I’m the big mistake you’re stuck with for the rest of your life”? Meanwhile, Lauren probably spent the last hour or whatever convincing him that I’m the problem. I’m too much trouble. But she caused this. She’s pushing me right out of the picture with everything she does, and he doesn’t even care.

  I run into the house, grateful that my mom’s car isn’t there. Once I’m in my room, I thrash around, pounding on my furniture and then my thigh, trying to make the pain go away. On my desk lies the pocketknife my parents gave me last summer for my Outward Bound trip in Colorado.

  Collapsing onto the chair, I then flick the little blades and scissors open and shut, remembering how good it felt when I dug my nails into my arm earlier this week. Sunlight glints off the blade, like it had off the water in my dad’s pool where he and his new family are enjoying the afternoon. My phone vibrates, but I ignore it. Probably him again.

  A fat tear slides down my cheek. My heart is beating so hard it might crack a rib. I could do it. It wouldn’t hurt that much. But if I do, I can’t undo it. I’ll have a scar. A reminder. Someone else might see it and judge me.