1
PROLOGUE
KAT
Iheard the shouting from the other room. It wasn’t new. Mom and her boyfriend had done nothing but argue for weeks. I never caught the full gist of the arguments, but from the pieces I’d put together by eavesdropping, he wanted children—Mom didn’t. He wanted a prenup—she didn’t. And he accused her of being out for his money, and even having an affair.
Mom of course denied all of that, simply stating that at her age it was inconceivable that she would have another child. Her biggest rationalization for not wanting children was that I was already 15 years old, and she didn’t want to start over in motherhood. I understood that, but Victor didn’t.
I flipped through my latest edition of Thrasher and tried to tune out the bickering, but it was difficult. It was like they shook the whole house with the pent-up rage they had. When I heard my name get thrown in the mix—likely as a means to bolster Mom’s argument—my ears perked up. I folded the magazine shut and slipped silently off the couch, padding toward the kitchen where they were oblivious to everything else in the house.
Mom was yelling at Victor about her emotional needs, but Victor had calmed. His voice was lower, as if he had decided she wasn’t worth the energy anymore. The rumbling baritone notes vibrated my chest, and I pressed my ear against the swinging door, hoping to make out what he was saying. I could tell he was still angry, but when his tone changed like this, the argument was almost always over.
“Jillian, this isn’t working out. We are too different.” His words cut my heart deep. Was he breaking up with her? But why?
My hands trembled as I pushed the door open only the tiniest crack so I could see what was happening. Mom’s face was stained with tear streaks which she scrubbed away with a kitchen towel. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. I swallowed the lump in my throat, anxious that they’d see me and turn their frustration on me for listening in.
“Well, if that’s the way you feel, then I suppose you should leave. I have no interest in defiling my figure just to pop out children for someone who couldn’t care less about my feelings.”
Victor shook his head, his thumb and pointer finger pinching the bridge of his nose. When he scrubbed his hand over his face, his eyes locked on mine. I knew he saw me. When he looked at me, I usually got a flutter of nerves in my gut—the kind you get when you have a massive crush on a boy, but he doesn’t know it. Yeah, it was like that. Victor had a way of making my chest squeeze and my breath catch.
He spoke but his eyes stayed fixed on me there, my face squeezed into the crack of the ajar door. “I am sorry it didn’t work out, but I just don’t think we’re a good fit.” His words resonated with my heart. It felt like he was speaking directly to me, like I was the one he was breaking up with. “Tell Kitty I’m sorry I won’t make it to her volleyball game. Tell her how much it hurts my heart to do this, but I won’t be back.”
Mom didn’t even blink. She stood there with a blank expression for a moment. I didn’t know if she saw me or not, her back was facing Victor, so he couldn’t see the minute inflections of her eyebrows or the way her face calmed. She dabbed the towel under her eyes and squared her shoulders, as if proving to him she was stronger than she looked. She kept her back to him as she spoke.
“The gifts are mine to keep.” I noticed the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist that she fiddled with as she said the words, and I scowled at her for being so greedy.
Victor rolled his eyes. He probably felt the same way I did. Mom didn’t even appear to care about losing him as a person. It was as if she was only angry he would take away his bounty, the way he showered her with affection in the form of luxury gifts, trips away, and catered meals.
“I won’t ask for anything back.”
The coldness in his tone shocked me. I had never heard Victor so brash and unforgiving. It dawned on me what was actually happening. She didn’t even care if he stayed. How could she not care if he left us? Didn’t she love him the way I did?
I wanted to burst into the room and wrap my arms around him and beg him not to leave. I had no real relationship with my own father; Victor was all I had.
When I was 10 and Mom brought him home, I had hated him. But he had grown on me, and now I couldn’t imagine him not being there smiling at me over dinner, sitting around the living room talking about his work travels in the evenings. Or the way he brought me flowers to my games, to show his support.
Gripping the doorjamb tightly so I could control my urge to run to him, I watched on as he headed toward the back door which led to the garage out back where he usually parked. When his hand hit the doorknob, he turned and looked back at Mom. “I’ll send for my things.”
And with that he was gone. Tears spilled over my eyelids, streaming down my cheeks in hot, searing pain. I covered my mouth to choke back the sobs. He wasn’t supposed to leave us. He was supposed to stay here, to take care of me. To love me. I needed him. How many nights had I dreamt that he held me to sleep? And he was just leaving without a goodbye?
“You may as well come in.” Mom’s eyes flicked my direction and then she turned and threw the towel onto the countertop. It was streaked black by her washed-off mascara, but its vibrant yellow shade was still beautiful against the white marble—both gifts from Victor at a time we desperately needed a leaky sink fixed. He had gone and had the entire kitchen remodeled to the most up-to-date appliances and fashion.
I hadn’t realized Mom knew I was there, and it startled me, but I pushed open the door and struggled into the kitchen. She looked more frustrated than hurt, and I couldn’t tell why. She told him she loved him every night at dinner; it was like a ritual, one that I was now beginning to think was just a farce.
“Why did you let him just leave? Why didn’t you beg him to stay?” I slumped into the high-back barstool situated next to the island and dragged my sleeve over my damp face. “I thought you loved him.”
“Love is a word, Katherine.”
I didn’t know if it was the ice in her tone or the way she scowled as she said the words that hurt me more. Love was not just a word. Love was a deep, compelling emotion that gripped you and changed your life. Love was what I felt for Victor.
“It isn’t!” I protested, but Mom waved her hand at me and carefully removed the tennis bracelet from her wrist, laying it on the island. I knew better than to say anything else. I didn’t want a backhand across my face, so I held my tongue as she took off the drop necklace Victor had given her and laid it next to the bracelet.
I couldn’t believe all she was thinking about at a time like this was her jewelry. Likely, she was sizing it up to see how much she could pawn it for. Anger started to bubble in my gut, and there was nothing I could do about it.
“I suppose we will make another fresh start.” She sighed as she peeled off her earrings and placed them with the other pieces, then forced a smile on her face, smudged makeup and all. Her blonde hair was still pristine, the inverted bob cut to frame her face perfectly. It didn’t match her disheveled mess of a face. Nothing in this room did.
Victor had taken what was a rundown mid-century fixer-upper and turned it into the nicest house on the block. New siding, new roof, new landscaping, a gardening crew that took care of our lawn—he’d even had the entire downstairs gutted and re-done. None of this matched my mother or her infuriating personality, or even the way I felt inside. I wanted to burn it down. I never wanted to look at a single thing Victor had given us again.