“You can still have fun, Olive. But if you want this to work in a way that doesn’t negatively impact you, then you need to find a happy balance. Your scale is so much more sensitive than everyone else’s.”
“Can we talk about something different?”
“Anything.” I prop the phone on my shoulder as I down half my bottle.
“Mom told me she hasn’t talked to you since classes started.”
My steps slow as she says it. I force myself to the safety of my room even if it isn’t going to save me from this conversation. “My schedule has been jam-packed.”
“She misses you.”
My chin dips to my chest, and I slump against the back of my door when I close it. Talking to Mom has been hard since walking in on my dad and his secretary going at it like rabbits. The thought sickens me, and I try to wipe the image free from my mind.
Truth is, the more I talk to Mom, the more I worry I’ll slip.
“I don’t know what to say,” I tell her honestly.
“She tells me you haven’t talked to Daddy, either.” Her voice grows more serious. “Is something going on, Violet? You can tell me if there is.”
I wish I could.
I truly wish it was possible for me to confide in her. I’ve considered her my best friend since the day she grabbed hold of my hand as a toddler and requested I play dolls with her.
If I tell her what dad has done, it’ll ruin her. I can’t see the look on her face when she finds out that the man she’s looked up to her entire life is a fraud. It’s the same reason why I haven’t told our mom. Keeping his secret is the last thing I want, but seeing the heartbreak in their eyes? I want that even less.
Still, his infidelity weighs on me heavier than anything else I’ve been through. Every morning, I wake up with the boulder of it on my chest. Outing his unfaithfulness is the only way to make it disappear, but I’ll let my own heart suffer before I rip out the hearts of the two people I care about most.
“I have my job at the daycare on top of my class schedule,” I tell her. “And it’s been more draining than I thought.”
“That’s right. I forgot about that.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I’ll talk to them soon.”
“You promise?”
“As long as you promise to cut back on the partying.”
“It’s a deal. Spit in your palm.”
I laugh, remembering the way we always made deals as kids. “You’re not here. I’m not spitting in my palm.”
I hear something through the speaker. “Are you seriously spitting right now?”
“You have to.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes,you do,” she says. “This is our thing, and you know it. Now spit.”
I roll my eyes. “And who’s hand am I supposed to shake if you’re not here?”
“Pretend you feel my hand in yours and shake on it.”
“Fine,” I relent.
“Are you spitting and shaking?”
“Yes,” I tell her.
