“Although, what about Meg? Shouldn’t she be here instead?”
I should call her, I know. It’s just that she’ll try to fix this somehow. She’s one of those intensely optimistic people. Exhaustingly so, at times.
“Meg and I are just friends,” I assure her, even though she didn’t ask.Not friends like this.
I go through the open doorway into the kitchen and get two wineglasses and one of the bottles of cabernet sauvignon Mum had been saving for a “special occasion.” The irony of this being that event …
I wave it in Evie’s direction, and she nods.
“Yes, I think we need alcohol to discuss how you’reOliver’s brother.”
“Half brother, technically. Born ten months apart.”
“Drew … Oliver has absolutely no idea about this, or he’d have said. He’ll hit the roof.”
Of course he doesn’t, and yes, he will. Why would our father destroy the perfection of Oliver’s world just to include me in it?
“Can you imagine? Oliver has always had it in for me,” I say.
“Because of me,” she explains, cautiously.
I look at her, wondering what she means. It’s not like there was ever anything for him to be jealous about here; it was very much the other way around.
“Will you confront him about it? Anderson, I mean.” She shivers, and I wonder what she’s witnessed in the Roche household over the years. “Presumably he has no idea you found out?”
There’s no way I’m going to confront him. I don’t need someone in my life who values me so little. I pass her the wine and sit on the floor beside her, then reach for Mum’s laptop on the coffee table in front of us. I need to start thinking about how to tell people.
“He controlled Mum the entire way through that relationship. He’s a narcissist. He always knew exactly where she was—he tracked her.”
“Tracked her? With what technology?”
“Private investigator. I think he was terrified she’d undo him.”
Evie’s mouth falls open. She lifts the glass to her lips and takes a large sip.
I open Mum’s email account. It’s full of spam and unread newsletters. “He had access to her bank accounts, long after he abandoned us. He wouldn’t go near me as a father, but he sent her rules for raising his son.”
Goose bumps rise on her arms.
“She met someone when I was about six. He was this wonderful man who made her happy. The only man I’ve ever looked at as anything resembling a father figure. Anderson destroyed that too.” I pick up my phone and look at the photo again. “The woman my mum became was nothing like that vibrant young nurse. She was anxious. Depressed. Paranoid.”
Evie has all but drained her glass during my monologue and holds it out to me. I splash in a large serving of wine and top mine off too.
She picks up her phone and fumbles through the settings, getting frustrated.
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Don’t worry.”
I do worry. A lot. I’ve tried not to go there—thinking the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but there have been signs all along. “Are your calendars still synced?” I ask.
She looks at me like she’s stunned I remember that. Or that I’d raise the trigger for our first fight, all those years ago. “I don’t want to un-sync them,” she admits, and my heart plunges. “I don’t want to provoke him.”
Provoke him to do what?
Anger stampedes up and surpasses my state of shock,blistering through the denial. The idea that Evie is willing to stay tethered to Oliver after a breakup to avoid antagonizing him makes me furious.
“I can create a second calendar and use that,” she suggests, stifling tears. Trying to put on a brave face. “Sorry, tonight is meant to be about you.”
