Don’t get me wrong, I love my family and spending time with them. They are the reason I moved back here in the first place, but sometimes I just want to avoid sharing things with them, especially regarding my marriage. They’ll try to offer their advice, but I don’t want it. Not about this, at least.
I pull up to the black iron gates of the community my parents live and offer a friendly smile to the security guard. “Good evening Mrs. Valentine. I’ll buzz you in,” Mario, the security guard, greets me, offering me a friendly wave once the gates slowly begin to roll open. I wave in return and drive through them.
Before, I never would’ve cringed at the use of my married name, but now it doesn’t feel right. I feel like a fraud, like being called Mrs. along with Declan’s last name is making me an imposter. Technically, I’m still married. I still wear a diamond rock on my finger despite ending things and being home for three days. I’ve worn it for so long, and it feels so normal wearing it that I’m not sure when I’ll take it off.
Ideally, it’ll be soon, especially since I plan to see Dean tomorrow night and share the news with him. It would be nice to share the news without wearing my wedding ring. I make a mental note to take it off when I get home.
My parents live in a small community that consists of wealthy, stuck-up neighbors and over-the-top luxury mini mansions. I grew up here and was once part of my parents’ lavish lifestyle, so it doesn’t shock me when I come to my childhood home for visits. My parents may be wealthy, but they’re not your stereotypical rich bitches.
My mother enjoyed taking care of the house herself. Sure, twice a month, she’d hire a cleaning crew to do a deep clean and even a gardener for special events, but my mother took pride in doing things herself. She made our house a home, something I’ve always admired about her.
I pull into my parents’ driveway and park behind Spencer’s car, letting out a frustrated sigh. I knew she’d be here; hopefully, she hasn’t said anything to our parents and she’s over being angry at me.
It’s been a week since we’ve spoken, but it feels like an eternity. We never go a day without speaking. She’s angry, but I’m unsure how to make it right. She disagrees with my choices, not that I have any right to blame her. My recent decisions have been pretty damn questionable.
Realizing I can’t spend my night sitting in my car, I suck it up like a big girl, hold my head up high, and walk into my childhood home, instantly being assaulted with the delicious aroma of Mom’s homemade lasagna—my favorite.
Taking off my shoes by the door, I hang my coat in the coat closet along with my purse. I'm shoving my keys into my purse when a folded neon orange Post-it note catches my attention. My heart races in my chest, already knowing who the message is from. With shaky fingers, I pull out the note and open it slowly, my heart skipping a beat as I read the words written.
It'll always beyou
Dean's messageis cryptic and leaves an uneasy feeling in me. I make a mental note to ask him about it tomorrow. He must've slid it into my purse while I was cleaning up in his bathroom this afternoon.
Quickly shoving the note back into my purse, I shut the closet and follow the voices into the kitchen, my throat suddenly clogging with emotion when I see Spencer. She’s standing at the island across from our mom, who has her back toward me.
I walk over as she eyes me skeptically, picking up her wine glass to take a long sip of the red contents. Mom turns around, giving me a wide smile before pulling me in for a tight hug. “Hi, sweetheart.”
I return her hug with an effortless smile. “Hi, Mom.” We pull apart. “Hey, Spence.” I stand beside my sister, nudging her shoulder playfully.
“Camille,” she greets me tight-lipped, her attention going back to her glass of wine. She uses my name rather than my nickname. A frown curls on my lips. She rarely ever calls me by my name. She always uses my nickname.
“I’m so happy to have both of my girls here. Where have you been, Camille? I’ve been calling you for a while trying to schedule time for our family dinner.”
“Sorry, Mom. I’ve been swamped lately.”
Spencer scoffs. “Yeah, busy in New York.” She takes her glass and excuses herself into the dining room where I watch with wide eyes as she takes her seat, never once looking back at me.
“New York? Why were you there?” Mom asks, placing the homemade garlic bread onto a serving dish.
“It’s a long story. Is dad home? I want to talk to you both.” It’s either now or never. I have to bite the bullet and tell them about my upcoming change in marital status before they hear it from someone else.
Mom doesn’t have a chance to reply because dad comes walking into the kitchen just then, answering my question with his appearance.
“There she is. There’s my little girl.” Dad hugs me tightly, lifting me off my feet. He sets me down and kisses my head like I’m a child. No matter how old I get, I’ll always be daddy’s little girl.
We help Mom carry the food into the dining room and set it in the middle of the table, all while Spencer remains sitting in her seat, not once looking up at me.
We each fix ourselves a plate of food, sitting and eating in uncomfortable silence. Mom and Dad know something is up because I see how they exchange glances at each other as if they’re each wanting and waiting for the other to break our silence.
Unable to take the awkwardness anymore, I surprise myself by speaking up and breaking our silence. “So, I’ve got some pretty big news to share.”
“What is it, sweetie? You know you can always tell us anything,” Mom says, giving me one of her warm motherly smiles.
“Well, uh…” I trail off, feeling shy for the first time in front of my family. I take a deep breath, reach forward to pick up my glass of water, bring it to my mouth, and take a large gulp. The cold water flows down my throat, hydrating my suddenly dry mouth.
After setting the cup back down, Spencer surprises me by resting her hand on mine, and I look over at her. She nods her head once, urging me to continue, already knowing what it is that I’m about to tell our parents.
Ripping the Band-Aid off, I share my news. “Declan and I are getting a divorce.” Mom gasps. Dad stands from the table abruptly, only to return moments later with a bottle of tequila and four shot glasses.