“Grocery list.”
“Since when do you hide grocery lists?”
She laughed. “Since I started forgetting what’s on them.”
“What’s that?”
I smiled because I wanted to believe her.
Because Lydia had been my person for almost two decades.
Because the alternative, that something secret was growing in my house, was unbearable.
“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” I asked.
“I’d tell you what you needed to know.”
It wasn’t a yes.
Something secret was growing in my house.
I noticed that, even then.
I climbed the stairs to my old bedroom and lay awake listening to Lydia’s quiet footsteps moving between my father’s room and the kitchen, all hours of the night.
But my comfort morphed into dread when I realized they were hiding something from me.
***
A few days later, my father called me into the kitchen.
He stood near the sink with Lydia at his elbow.
They were hiding something from me.
I knew before either of them opened their mouths.
“Sweetheart, sit down,” my father said. “There’s something we need to tell you.”
“I’d rather stand.”
Lydia gave me that careful, watery smile I used to love.
Now it made my skin crawl.
“Honey,” she began, “your dad and I… we’ve been talking, and—”
“There’s something we need to tell you.”
“Lydia and I are getting married,” my father finished.
My mug slipped from my fingers.
Ceramic exploded across the tile, coffee splashing the cabinets.
Neither of them moved.
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me,” he said quietly.
“Lydia and I are getting married,”
“Mom has been dead for FOUR WEEKS.” My voice climbed somewhere I didn’t recognize. “Four weeks, Dad. Her clothes are still in your closet. Her toothbrush is still in the bathroom.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“Do you? Because it sounds INSANE.”
Lydia stepped forward, palms up like she was approaching a wounded animal.
“Please, just listen to me. We didn’t plan this. We were afraid you’d react this way, but I promise, we are doing this for you.”
“It sounds INSANE.”
I laughed. It came out ugly.
“For me? You’re marrying my father for me?”
“Yes.”
“No,” I said. “You’re doing it for YOURSELF. You waited until she was gone, and now you’re moving into her house and wearing her life like a coat.”
Lydia flinched. “That is not what is happening.”
