“I was a little disappointed because it was my birthday, and this was the first time he’d canceled on me. He showed up every year prior, which might sound weird since I just said he works a lot but he was always mindful. I ordered something small, then got an order for him to go. I was going to drop it off for him at his office, so he had something to eat after his meeting.”
I wanted him to know it was okay he had to work. While I wasn’t used to him canceling on my birthday, I was used to him being a workaholic, often coming home late for dinner while we grew up. But see, even then he made up for it in different ways. Taking the occasional Saturday off to spend the day park hopping with Olive and I. Taking the entire week off between Christmas and New Years so he could spend those days playing with all our toys with us.
“I trekked across town with his food, but when I got to his office…”
I try to swallow down the disgust that comes whenever I think about this part of that day, how awful it felt leading up to the moment that I’ve been carrying around for months.
“His secretary wasn’t at her desk. I didn’t find it unusual since he was in a meeting. I thought he needed her to be there as well. His office door is right behind her desk. I didn’t think there’d be any harm in dropping it off in there.”
Dad’s office didn’t look the part of a successful businessman. There were areas that were sharp and pristine, like his desk that was always organized and his windows that never had a speck of dirt on them. But he had neurotic knick-knacks on his shelves, little things Olive and I gave him over the years. Frames Mom put pictures of us in to border our gifts. And then there was his blue leather couch. He claimed it helped ease those who came in for his help. Took the stress off their shoulders and made them talk about what they needed help with without feeling guilty about their poor business practices. He insisted on it over armchairs in front of his desk, claiming those were too stuffy and uptight.
“He has this couch in front of his desk.”
“Oh, fuck.”
I lick my lips and force myself to finish. Despite how embarrassing of a story this is to share with someone out loud—a daughter walking in on her dad while his secretary…
It’s freeing to get it off my chest.
To not have to bear the weight of it on my own. Not only doIhave to carry it, but Colson will have a tiny part of it now, too.
“I could only see the back of his head,” I clarify.
I don’t know what I’d have done if I saw more. Probably burned my eyes out while my heart shattered to pieces.
“I saw her topless front. It took her a minute to realize I was standing there before she covered herself.”
I wanted so badly to squeeze my eyes shut and open them to different surroundings. The bag of food dropped to the ground and I took off.
“I didn’t stick around. I ran out of his office building and spent four hours walking around before I made it back to my parent’s house.”
Later that evening, I told Mom I wasn’t feeling good and skipped out on the birthday dinner she had planned.
“Fucking hell, that sounds as awful as my ribs feel.”
“It was.”
“No one knows,” I add. “Not my mom or sister. They’d be devastated if they ever found out, and I…”
“You can’t be the one to tell them.”
“Exactly. Why should I have to break it to them? I wasn’t the one who cheated on my spouse and kept it from the entire family.”
He lets out a sigh then reaches over for my hand, which has been propped on my stomach all this time. Twining his fingers through mine, he rubs his thumb over my skin. My stomach bursts with the light flapping of a butterfly's wings. He does it so effortlessly, like it’s nothing for two people who’ve known each other for a short amount of time to hold hands and share our deepest wounds. “Sounds like both of us have a little bit of fucked-up happening in our lives.”
Considering he doesn’t want to tell me about what happened to him tonight, he’s the only one who can say that. Judging by the bruising on his chest and his split lip, he’s probably not wrong.
His large hand warms mine for another few seconds, then he slips it free. It’s gone too soon, but it’s enough to silence my heart for the hug it desperately needed.
I turn my head, seeing his gaze already on me. My eyes move to his lips, the corner still puffy and swollen. It’s redder than it was earlier too. “Did the medicine kick in yet?”
“A little.”
I look up into his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
“Positive.”
“You’re pretty beat up. They’d be able to tell you if your ribs really are bruised. Maybe scan them to make sure they’re not broken.”
