Mom shakes her head. “We did fight. All the time.”
“We didn’t let you see it. We thought we were protecting you.” Dad says.
I exhale. All this lying. Just to protect me. I remember that comment I made to Miles a while ago, that divorce is shocking because you realize all your family memories might be wrong. I take a bite of my salad. It’s, of course, great, but I can’t really enjoy it. It would really suck if this whole conversation ruins Fiona’s for me.
“So does that mean Dad didn’t cheat?” I’m looking at Mom when I ask that. Because… I feel like she’s more likely to tell me the truth. But Dad is the one who answers me.
“We decided to permanently separate before we actually did. Before we told you. It was a mutual decision—neither of us left the other.”
“How long before?” I ask.
“Six months. Give or take,” Mom says. “During that time, I looked for opportunities in the city and eventually bought Morgan Ashton Flowers and the building.”
Six months. While I was reading my teen romances and telling everyone my dreams to be an artist, they were making plans to break up our little family.
I turn to Dad. “And you got with Noureen during those six months.” He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me with the blank expression he had yesterday. It makes sense—Noureen wanted everything he wanted. The suburban house, the respectable businessman husband, and the stability for her own kid. “You guys should have told me,” I say to them both.
“You were so young,” Dad says. “And I’m not sure you would have understood. You’ve always been such an idealist.”
“You’re like your father that way,” Mom says.
I look at her sharply. “I amnotlike Dad. I’m like you, remember?” Two peas in a pod. A couple of vegetarian, hippie-dippie, free-spirited artists.
Mom chuckles. “Youarea lot like me. But… you’re like him, too. You both have an image about what life is supposed to look like, and you reject anything that deviates from that image. Now, mind you, your images are quite different. You want your eclectic and colorful life to stay the same forever, and he wanted two and a half children, a two-car garage, and granite countertops. You’re idealists with very different ideals.”
Dad smiles at that. “She’s right,” he says. “Your mother wanted to do something different every few years. You’re like me. Once you find your happy comfort zone, you want to stay in it.”
I scowl. I know Mom and I aren’t the same, but I’mnotlike my father, either. I’m honest. But… it’s true that neither of us likes change as much as Mom, who repaints her bedroom twice a year while mine looks exactly like it did when I was nine. “If you wanted things to stay as they were, why did you leave Mom?”
Mom turns to look at me. “Because he wasn’t happy. Neither of us was.”
I glare at my father. “So you took away my comfort zone in the search for your own?”
“Sana, you wouldn’t have been happy with unhappy parents,” my mother says.
I blink. Was I happy before their divorce? I’dthoughtmy childhood was fine in that North Toronto house. True, I like Love Street better, but I don’t remember it being miserableat home. But even if I was comfortable, I doubt it would have stayed that way. Not if the two people I was living with were so unhappy. Mom’s right. All this isn’t black-and-white. Relationships have lots and lots of shades of gray.
“Were you ever?” I ask. Both my parents look confused at that question. “Were you ever happy together? Or do you regret getting married?”
Mom shakes her head. “I don’t regret it for a second,” she says. Then she looks at Dad like she has no idea what he will say to my question.
“I don’t either,” Dad says. “We were young and impulsive, and your mother and I have changed a lot since then, but—”
“We were in love,” Mom says. “Truly. And of course, we got you out of it. I fell in love with you even more… more than anyone else in the world. So how could I regret it?”
I don’t say anything for a while. I think that’s the most they’ve ever told me about their relationship. I know Mom loves me that much… but… I look at my father.
“Sana, I really am so glad you came to see me yesterday,” Dad says, eyes soft. “I needed that kick in the pants. I’m so sorry I haven’t made you more of a priority. You’re absolutely right—weshouldsee each other without Noureen and Sarina.” He chuckles sadly. “That’s my idealism—I wanted us all to be a happy family. You, me, Noureen, and Sarina.”
Even if Dad wanted that, Noureen never did.
“I wasn’t pretending when I asked you to move in,” he continues. “I wouldloveto see you more. I know we’re notas close as we used to be, and I thought it would be good for us.”
I take a bite of my sandwich. How could he think that me living with Noureen could ever be good for me? Does he listen to her at all when we’re at brunch?
“After you left yesterday,” he continues, “I thought long and hard about how I can make you more of a priority going forward. I do think I got the best possible deal for your mother in the sale, but I think I can still negotiate a better deal foryou.”
“What? Like, Mom wouldn’t sell?”
