Too easy to love.
Daph—she was right.
Idoknow how to love. I still have so much to learn, and I’ll still make mistakes, but it’s in me. There’s love in me.
The housekeeper and chef both slip into the room with plates for us, moving silently. My father’s pouring wine. My mother’s fussing with her napkin, like it wasn’t folded properly before deigning to take a spot in her lap.
Now, I tell myself.Do it now.
“Wine?” my father says to me.
“No, thank you. I’m not staying.”
My father nods. “Good, good. Get back to the office. Catch up on the weekend.”
“Or maybe you’re seeing friends?” my mother says. “Friends are so important during major life crises.”
My heart is pounding hard and steady, but there’s no panic.
Only relief at what’s finally about to be over. “I’m not seeing friends. And I’m not going to the office.”
My father grunts. “Think of the example, Margot.”
“I’m quitting.”
He snorts.
My mother looks at me, and for a split second, I think she’s seeing me, but then she laughs her tinkling fake laugh. “Quitting. Oh, Margot, you must have had quite the adventure if you’re making jokes.”
“I submitted my resignation to human resources ten minutes ago,” I say. “My last day with Aurora Gardens was three weeks ago.”
My father finally looks at me too. “You’re not quitting.”
“I am.”
“I don’t know what the hell kind ofvacationyou went on that you’d come home thinking you can?—”
“I wasn’t on vacation. I was meeting my half siblings. The half siblings you all pretend we don’t have. Fascinating people. Surprisingly powerful friends.” I lift a shoulder. “Must be something aboutnaturethere.”
My mother’s going pale.
My father’s going red. “You will stop telling storiesright now.”
I look him square in the eye. “Make me.”
His jaw flaps.
“You are an adulterer and a terrible human being,” I say to him. “I want absolutely nothing to do with you for the rest of your natural life. I’m only here for the satisfaction of telling you that no matter what you do, no matter where you go, no matter who you pretend to be, I willalwaysknow that you’re a wretched human being who has failed to take me down that miserable path with you.”
I rise. “And you,” I say to my mother, “I’d feel sorry for you if you’d ever,ever, justoncein the past four years, reached out to Daphne.Your daughter. Your daughter that you abandoned in the very worst possible way. I don’t care that you’re married to a serial cheater. I don’t care what stories you tell yourself to justify what you’ve done to Daphne. I don’t care that you’re my mother. You don’t deserve the title.”
Saying it doesn’t make me happy.
Only sad.
But saying it—I have to.
For Daphne.
