I can feel my chin quivering. I thought if I just ignored this and hid all his mail that this might not happen. That this would just all go away. “What is this?”
“Sweet Pea, sit down.”
“Tell me what it is,” I demand.
“I need to go back to Connecticut for a little while.”
“And you’re just now telling me?” I throw my hands up. “Just like you never told me about wanting to be a real painter and all those paintings in your third bedroom.”
“That’s just some silly hobby.” He smiles like he thinks I’m young and silly, and that only makes me angrier.
“One you never shared with me!”
“You’re right,” he concedes.
“You hid a whole part of yourself from me. I thought we didn’t have any secrets.”
He chuckles a little like I’m being ridiculous. “Sweet Pea, those paintings are just a thing I do to pass the time. Like I said, just a hobby. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you.”
But it feels like he was. Mom had the perfect plan for the perfect identical houses, except Dad’s house had a whole extra room for him to keep his secrets.
“And now you’re leaving me withher. Why can’t I come with you?”
Dad shakes his head. “Sweet Pea, it’s not like that. I’ve got some business to take care of. Things I have to do on my own. Your mother and I have talked about this, and we think it’s best if you stay down here with your friends.”
“I don’t have any friends left! Well, good luck in Connecticut,” I say, practically spitting the words at his feet. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine without me.”
I’m gone, slamming another door, racing down the steps and back down the sidewalk.
I pause for a moment in front of Mom’s gate. And then I start to walk back to Dad. I double back again.
I can’t bear to see either of them right now.
I find myself pacing in front of Miss Flora Mae’s house for a few minutes before I finally give in and walk up her walkway. She’s not on the porch anymore, so I ring her gilded doorbell—something I’ve never done. I don’t know where she got the thing, but if there’s such a thing as a spooky-doorbell store, Miss Flora Mae is probably their best customer.
I ring the bell again.
The door creaks open, and there’s Miss Flora Mae in her black muumuu and a giant pair of slippers that look like clawed wolf paws.
“Can I come in?”
She gives me a quizzical look. “Enter at your own risk.”
Dear Miss Flora Mae,
I’d be in deep trouble if Mom and Dad knew I was spilling their secret. They haven’t even told Grandma or Aunt Cheryl. You probably won’t even read this anyway, so what does it matter?
My mom and dad are getting a divorce. I wish there was a way I could stop it. But I can’t. No one can. Because my dad is gay, and trying to stop the divorce is like asking him to be someone else. At least that’s what my mom said.
I don’t even know what I’m trying to ask. All I know is my world is actually splitting in two and I’m being pulled in every direction. We all love each other, but it’s like on those shows about doctors where they need a certain kind of blood for a patient, but all they have is the wrong kind. This is what that feels like. We have plenty of love. It’s just not the right kind.
Sincerely,
