I snicker. My best friend is rarely at a loss for words.
"Rhys and I need to go...somewhere, and our parents can’t find out." I almost saidhisparents. Before she’s able to interject, I add quickly, "I swear I’ll tell you everything when we’re back, but I’m not ready. I need you to trust me. Please," I all but plead.
Den thinks it over. And thinks some more. I’m holding my breath until my lungs start to burn. The wait is excruciating, even though the wall clock above the neighboring table shows that it’s less than two minutes before she speaks.
"Does this have to do with why you’ve been acting like a paranoid zombie on coke for the last few weeks?"
Well, if she put it like that.
I nod.
"It’s something serious, isn’t it?"
Another nod. I’m unable to form a response without blurting outthe secret.
"Are you going to be safe? With Rhys, I mean? He’s not going to leave you stranded somewhere, right?"
A smile tugs at my lips at her protectiveness. "Yes, things have changed." I look at her with what hopefully constitutes as a serious but convincing face.
Or I could just appear constipated.
The silence drags out another minute and a half before Denielle sighs, almost resigned. "Okay, but I want to know what’s going on with you when you get back. You’re freaking me out."
I reach across the table to hug her. "Thank you!"
"Anything for you, babe."
I’m sittingat the dinner table, peeking at Heather and Tristen through my lashes. It’s the first time I’ve been in the same room with them for more than five minutes since Friday. Heather made salmon with roasted asparagus, which I usually love, but today it’s like chewing paper. We’re eating in silence, and once again, I am sorting through the emotions in my head.
They’re my parents. They’re all I remember. But I can’t bring myself to call them Mom and Dad. The hurt was written all over Rhys’s face when I started calling them Heather and Tristen, but he didn’t say anything to correct me.
I sneak glances when they’re not paying attention to me. How can they just pretend day in and day out? Or has this farce gone on for so long that they believe it themselves?
Rubbing my palms against my pants, I fight the urge to shout at them. Why am I here? Why did you take me in? Why have you been lying to me for ten years? WHY?
My breathing increases, and my eyes gloss over. A feeling of being manipulated is taking over my senses, and I focus down at my plate, inwardly counting backward from thirteen. Don’t ask me why thirteen. It’s a technique Spence taught us early on in our training to focus. I’ve been using it ever since.
Once I’m back in control, I unclench my fists under the table. I wonder if I’ll be able to forgive them one day. Probably? I don’t know—maybe? As long as my emotions go haywire when we’re in the same room, I am not ready. For now, I need to figure out what really happened.
I push the same piece of salmon around on my plate for the fourth time, and Heather examines me with a quizzical yet knowing look. She can see that something is going on, but wants me to tell her what it is. She has used this technique many times over the years, and usually, it works for her.
Sitting down for dinner, I was prepared to have a hard time controlling myself. I’m nowhere near as good as Rhys in putting on a show for everyone, but I decide to use it to my advantage. While Heather still tries to figure out what’s wrong with me, I blurt out, "Denielle asked me to come with her on the ski trip over the New Year."
It’s a gamble, and I wait for them to call me out on the real reason. Subconsciously, children always think that their parents have built-in bullshit detectors, right?
But they are not your parents, the voice reminds me.
I hold my breath.
Heather’s hand has stopped halfway to her glass of white wine, and her gaze ping-pongs between Tristen and me. Tristen is the first to react. "The ski trip Rhys is going on? After Christmas?"
Why does he immediately bring Rhys up?
I shrug. "No idea. I’m not sure who all is going?" I phrase it more like a question and hope I come across like I don’t care one bit. Plus, technically, I wouldn’t know since Rhys and I don’t talk or run in the same circle.
Heather wears her typical frown when she is debating something. "I don’t know." Looking at Tristen, she asks, "What do you think?"
Their internal struggle is apparent. They don’t want me to go, and logically, I get it. They are scared and want me safe but can’t give away why.