Page 193 of Mad Girl

“I found the paternity test in your office right after you told Casey, and he explained everything. I’ve known for almost a year now.”

Nic threw his head back. “Goddammit.”

“I guess occasionally something does slip past you,” I pointed out.

Nic cast me a disgruntled look.

“I thought he was my brother. I freaked out.”

“What right did you have to go through my office?”

“What right do you have to keep this gigantic secret from John? Casey’s his, but you act like Casey’s your son.”

“Listen,” Nic said, one hand flung out. “This secret is eating me alive, Elliot. But I have to respect Casey’s wishes. And in the meantime, yes, I feel obligated to be what Casey needs right now: a reliable father figure.”

“Obligated? You acted like his father long before you knew about John.”

“You’re right. Obligated isn’t the right word. I want to fulfill that role for Casey. I want to be someone he can rely on.”

“You wanted him to be yours. That’s why you waited so long after he moved in to do the paternity test.”

Nic held my gaze. “I wanted him to be mine. That’s true. Yes.”

Finally, I thought. Finally, he admitted it. Nic had wanted you to be his, and for some reason, that bothered me.

“Because you always wanted a son.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not that. It’s hard to explain. There’s just something about Casey, you know? He’s⁠—”

“A good person.”

“He is a good person,” Nic said, and there it was. What bothered me most. Had Nic ever called me good? Ever in my life? “But that isn’t what⁠—”

“Yeah. He’s good, and I’m not. He came along and you thought, Oh, wow, this one wasn’t born wrong. This one I can be proud of. This one will be easy to love.”

“Elliot, no.”

“I won’t have to send this one to a psychiatric hospital for self-harm.”

“Stop it⁠—”

“I bet finding out Casey didn’t belong to you was hard, right? John has three good kids, and all you have is me. All I do is hurt you. All I do is rip your heart out.”

“Stop. I regret saying that to you.”

I wanted to hurt Nic for not believing me, but I also wanted to hurt him for wanting you. Why couldn’t he be content with what he had? Why wasn’t I ever good enough?

“Why?” I demanded. “You wouldn’t have said it unless it was true. You wanted him, because he’s everything I’m not. Because he makes you happier than I ever have.”

“That’s bullshit, Elliot. I wanted him for us. And you don’t make me happy? I tried to be happy when you got into Harvard, and you wouldn’t allow it. Tried being happy the day of your graduation, and you wouldn’t allow that, either. Every year on your birthday, I tell you how much you mean to me, because that’s the only way I get to celebrate the day you were born. I just spent weeks taking you to all the places we used to go together, because I like spending time with you. Because this is the last summer it feels like you’re still a kid, and that fucking destroys me. It physically”—he grasped his heart—“it kills me. I hoped we’d have a good time together this summer. That you’d be happy to spend time with me, too. That you’d talk to me and laugh with me and give me something to hold onto when you go off to college, and I have to face the devastating reality that it’s gone. That’s it for us. Your childhood’s officially over. Technically, it’s over, anyway. You’re a grown woman now, and that floors me. It doesn’t seem possible that I first held you in my arms nineteen years ago.”

He threw his hands out, as if to mimic holding a little baby. Holding me.

“No one on this planet makes me happier than you do,” he said thickly, “yet anytime I want to express how happy you make me, you take that happiness and you stomp it into the ground.” He ripped his gaze from mine, turning back to the horizon. “Like missing your graduation. That just…”

He swallowed hard, unable to finish.

“Ripped your heart out?” I asked.