Nausea stirred in my stomach. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?”
His mouth stretched into a grim line. “It came from Ian.”
“Who’s Ian?” Lulu asked.
“A college friend,” Nasser answered.
“No!” I said at the same time. “How?”
“His sister lives with a guy whose cousin’s wife writes for the website,” Nasser told us. “It looks like Ian told his sister, who told the boyfriend, who told his cousin, who told his wife, who then wrote about it online.”
“That’s one hell of a game of telephone,” Lulu remarked.
Tears filled my eyes. “I’m such a big mouth. Now I’ve gone and ruined everything for the kids. As if they weren’t already traumatized enough.” The worst part was that I had no idea how to comfort them. I was barely able to keep it together myself, much less help the kids navigate this catastrophe.
“Playing the blame game doesn’t serve anyone,” Nasser said. “We have to focus on damage control.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked miserably. “The only people I care about protecting already know the truth.”
“I expect to hear from Lizzie’s attorney,” he said. “She’ll want you to pay for violating the NDA.”
“Whatever.” I sighed. The world seemed to be closing in. “That’s the least of my problems.”
Later, I forced the kids to come out of their rooms so we could eat dinner together.
“It’s the stupid way we get married,” Adam said. “That’s why Dad had a girlfriend.”
I stared at my son. “Excuse me?” Was he making allowances for his father’s behavior?
Ayla stared down at her full plate, which remained virtually untouched. “Why do we have to marry someone who’s Arab and Muslim? It’s dumb. What’s the purpose of that? It’s not like we’re religious. Adam and I can’t even speak Arabic.”
“You’re culturally Arab American and Muslim,” I countered. “There are nuances to Palestinian culture and ethnicity that most non-Arabs can’t understand. It’s easier to marry someone who is like you.”
“All I know is that Dad dated that woman way back in college,” she said. “And twenty years later, she’s still in the picture? Obviously, he never got over her.”
Her words, uttered so matter-of-factly, were a punch in the stomach. I knew her father’s death had hit my daughter hard. But it was difficult to reconcile this bitter, skeptical version of Ayla with the complete daddy’s girl she’d been just a few months earlier.
“He was probably into her this whole time,” Ayla continued, resentment in her voice, “while he lied to us and pretended we were this perfect family.”
“What if that Lizzie woman was the love of Dad’s life?” Adam asked.
My children’s complete lack of sensitivity took my breath away. Did all kids believe their parents were emotionally invincible? I took a shaky breath. “Why don’t you two just take turns stabbing me in the heart with a kitchen knife?”
Ayla’s expression hardened. “But, Mom, we’re talking about you too. If Dad had been allowed to marry the love of his life, then you could have found the love of your life too.”
“Oh, Ayla. Don’t you get it?” Sorrow jetted through my body. “Your dadwasthe love of my life.”
“Lizzie’s attorney contacted me this morning,” Nasser said over the phone a couple of days after the kids went back to school. “They want you to pay the fine for violating the NDA.”
“This isn’t exactly a surprise.” Still, the thought of writing Lizzie Martins a check irritated me. “How am I supposed to pay her? Do I wire the money?”
“Slow down,” he advised. “We’re not just going to hand the money over.”
“We’re not? Why not? I obviously violated the agreement.”
“We’re going to make them prove it first. If Lizzie and her lawyer want fifty thousand dollars from you, they need to show proof that you actually violated the agreement.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard. All they have to do is talk to the people who were at Sara’s dinner party.”
