Page 226 of Mad Girl

“What did she wear?”

“This short, silky chemise thing. The top part was made entirely of lace, and even from down the hall, I could see her nipples. She was wearing lingerie—in your dad’s room. No robe to cover herself or anything.”

I stared at Bree, wide-eyed and speechless. Eventually, I managed to whisper, “What the fuck.”

“Yeah,” Bree said. “So later that morning, I talked to my dad, because I couldn’t let my mom cheat on him and get away with it. I told him what I saw, and this is the really messed-up part. It didn’t faze my dad. He didn’t look shocked or upset at all. He just…brushed it off. Told me not to worry about it. He said they’d known each other a long time, that they were much closer than most friends. Then he went back to his book, totally not caring that his wife had just spent the night with his best friend.”

Again, I gaped at Bree. And, again, I whispered, “What the fuck.”

“I know,” Bree said. “Since then, I’ve been watching them closely, and I’m starting to notice all this stuff that never seemed weird before, but seems totally obvious now. Stuff that should’ve been obvious the whole time.”

“Like what?”

“Like how your dad’s the only one who calls my mom Lib, and how I can never tell which one of our dads my mom’s talking to on the phone, because she talks to them both exactly the same way. And then there’s how she touches Nic when he’s over at my house after school.”

“After school?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“When I get home from school, he’s usually there—hanging out with my parents.”

“My dad?” This didn’t compute. Since when did my dad hang out at the Harrises’ during the middle of his workday?

Even more bewildering to me? That I had just now learned about it.

“Just for a little while,” Bree said. “When I walk in, he’s getting ready to leave and head back to work. My mom smooths his jacket and tie, and he kisses her goodbye on the cheek, and I mean, they’ve always done that stuff, haven’t they? Only I never read into it before—but I definitely am now.”

Bree was right. Nic and Libby had always been super affectionate with each other—kisses on the cheek, hand squeezes, long hugs—but I figured they did that stuff because they were best friends. The same way Michael and I were.

Before we started hooking up, that is.

Bree added, “And my dad—he also touches your dad a lot. Have you ever noticed that?”

I stopped to think. “Your dad touches everyone. He’s a touchy-feely guy. My dad is, too, actually.”

Bree winced. “Are they, though? Or just with each other?”

I gave a nervous little laugh. “They’re best friends.”

“I don’t know,” Bree said. “I think there’s more to them than that.”

“Why?” I asked, drawing the word out.

“Because I’ve”—Bree shifted uncomfortably beside me—“seen some stuff recently. Now that I’ve been paying attention.”

“What stuff?”

“Well, like, one day after school? When Nic was over at the house? He seemed pretty upset about something. My dad and Nic were sitting close on the couch in his study, facing each other, talking quietly. Then Nic looked away at one point, and my dad, like, touched Nic’s face and pulled it back to his. Your dad put his hand over my dad’s hand, and they leaned in really close until their foreheads were almost touching. Nic grabbed the back of my dad’s neck and⁠—”

“Oh, God,” I cried, springing up from the bed. “I can’t listen anymore. This is so messed up. Oh my God.” I sounded hysterical. “Have you told Michael all this?”

Bree nodded. “He’s disturbed by it, too. He’s been worried about telling you—worried you might overreact—but I felt you should know.”

“Do you think this is why my dad doesn’t date? Hasn’t dated my whole life? Because he’s in some secret relationship with your parents?”

The huge grimace on Bree’s face probably matched the one on mine. “Maybe.”

My skin crawled. I shivered, thoroughly disgusted and repulsed. My dad, part of a threesome. Or throuple. Or triad. Or whatever the hell you called a married couple with a boyfriend.

This was a lot to process on a Sunday afternoon.