“Are we going away for Christmas this year?” my sister asks.
Fenna asks this every year, though it’s only happened once.
“I have to work, honey,” Dad reminds her.
“You always have to work,” Ties mutters.
A few times we’ve flown out to a game in a sunny destination, but after that it’s always been me, Mom, Fenna, and Ties on a short holiday while my dad goes on to the next hockey game. It would be easier now that we’re older, but these days I want to spend New Year’s with my friends, and so does Ties.
My dad tugs on his tie. He does this all the time during games if he’s unhappy with the way a play is going.
Mom fiddles with her napkin, and Dad clears his throat.
Alarm bells sound in my head. “What’s going on?”
“We love you all very much,” Mom chokes out.
I’m immediately on alert at the unspokenbut.
Mom looks to Dad, who swallows.
She turns back to us, jaw ticking. “We want you to know how important you are, and that this has nothing to do with you.”
My stomach sinks.
“What has nothing to do with us?” Fenna’s confusion makes my heart hurt.
She’s wildly talented and smart, but she doesn’t always read social cues well, or people’s emotions, and right now the tension at the table is so thick I’m choking on it.
Then Dad swings the axe. “Your mom and I are getting a divorce.”
My heart cleaves in two.
Ties’s phone clatters to the floor.
The furrow on Fenna’s forehead makes me want to reach out and hug her, but she’s not big on spontaneous affection.
Dad looks stoic, and Mom just looks…resigned and sad.
I’m so many things, but shock and anger top the list. “What the fuck?” I look to Mom, betrayal quickly usurping my feelings. She’s clearly been keeping this from me. To have this news dropped on me with no warning makes me question everything.
“Honey, language. We’re in a public place,” Dad chastises.
“Are youfuckingkidding me?” My gaze swings to him. He must have told her not to say anything. “We’re in the middle of a restaurant. Why would you do thishere, where everyone gets a front-row seat to our family falling apart? Why not at home, where everyone can have their feelings and not worry about the server witnessing them?” I fling a hand toward the poor twenty-something guy holding a jug of water. He does an about-face and rushes off.
I want an explanation. I want my universe not to feel like it’s imploding. I’m beyond devastated. I’m hurt, I’m reeling, everything I believe has just shattered.
The resolution on their faces tells me this has been coming for a while. Maybe I missed it because I’ve been at university, living my life for the past three and a half years. But my mom and I message each other daily, even if it’s just one freaking line. We talk on the phone all the time, and not once did she mention being unhappy. Did my dad spring this on her?
“Your father thought it would be better to have this conversation somewhere that wasn’t connected to home for all of us,” Mom explains gently.
So we wouldn’t always walk into the living room and remember how Mom and Dad sat us down and pulled the loose thread of our family, unraveling it. Or sit at the dining room table and recall our devastation over being told everything we ever believed about our parents was a lie.
This isn’t our favorite restaurant. It’s somewhere new, different, and I’ll never return again because it’s the place my world upended.
“But why? Don’t you love each other?” Fenna asks.
“We do, honey,” Mom assures her. “But I’m notin loveanymore.”
