“Good evening, Jewel,” my father says.
“My darling Eric.” She leans in and gives him an air-kiss on one cheek, then the other, like they’re French or something. I wish I were in France right now, I wish I were in Brooklyn, I wish I were at Dr. Insomnia’s. Anywhere but here.
“Hello,” he says, waving to the guests. “Everyone having a good evening?”
The guests nod, but they’re not stupid. They know the ex-husband doesn’t come by often, or at all. They’re all shifting, reaching for bags, grabbing for phones.
“Oh, don’t leave on my account. This could be the best part of the party.”
With that, Noah steps in. “I think we’re all going to get out of here right now,” he says, and that’s all the others need to hear. Within ten seconds, my mom’s entourage is at the door, saying good-bye.
My dad grab’s Noah’s arm. “You can stay.”
Noah glances quickly at me, worry flashing across his eyes. I nod to the door, urging him with my eyes to leave.
“No, really. I insist,” my dad adds.
I look at my dad. “Don’t do this,” I plead softly. “Not this. Not here.”
He breathes hard through his nostrils. He opens the door wider and lets Noah go.
It’s just the three of us now—mother, father, daughter—the remains of a family.
“You sure do know how to clear a room, Eric,” my mother says, then reaches for the bottle of white wine on the coffee table. “Wine? It’s from Spain. Your favorite.” She holds out the bottle and an empty wineglass.
He shakes his head. She pours more in her own glass, then sits down on the arm of her couch. She kicks one leg back and forth, showing off the red-soled leather high heels she’s wearing.
My dad remains standing. I stay near him. Maybe because I’m on his side. Maybe because I’ve always been on his side.
“Do you know why I left you, Jewel?”
She scoffs, so loud and deep you’d think she patented the technique. “Really? You came uptown to rehash the greatest thing that ever happened to me?”
“Because you cheated on me.”
I expect her to be shocked. I expect her jaw to drop.
Instead, she fires right back. “Newsflash. I know.”
“Many times. And then you did it with my business partner.”
“That wasn’t cheating,” she says after a hearty swallow of her wine. “You and I weren’t married then.”
I think my mother might have no soul. How can she be so callous?
“You don’t think it’s just the slightest bit wrong—wrong meaning immoral, inappropriate, slimy—to sleep with my business partner?”
“If I had been married to you at the time, yes, then you’d have me on that one.” She speaks clinically, as if she’s evaluating a business offer. “But seeing as we’re not, I’d have to say the bigger bone to pick lies with Jay.”
“Who’s suing me now,” my dad adds quickly.
“That’s why I say never have a business partner. Those situations can be so messy. Speaking of messy situations, it would seem our darling daughter is involving herself in areas she ought to stay out of,” my mother says, and peers archly over at me.
Forget the detente of the shopping trip. Whatever my mother swept under the rug the other day is being swept right back out. I’ve stepped over a line, and Jewel intends to let me know what happens to people who cross her.
“Perhaps you’d like to tell me why you’ve been mailing letters to certain women I’d rather not hear from again?”
“Like who?” I ask, in a small voice because I don’t know how to play this.
“That Steigler woman for starters. She’s calling me again.” My mom shakes her head. “She’s so annoying. She just can’t leave me alone.”
She’s so annoying?
My insides burn, and with that offhand dismissal, words that underscore how she has no notion at all of the collateral damage she’s caused, no sense of how her choices were a tsunami in other people’s lives because she only saw her own life, I finally know what to say. I straighten my spine. I muster my courage. “You made me lie to Mrs. Steigler. You made me cover up for you. And then she begged me to make you stop.”
My father cocks his head to the side. “You make our daughter lie about your affairs?”
My mother gazes haughtily out the window. “Kennedy has always loved helping me.”
“You are a sick woman,” my father says, his eyes narrowing.
My mother doesn’t respond to him. She turns to me. “Darling, I know all children want their parents to be together. And for that, I am sorry. I know divorce is an awful thing for a child to go through, but to send letters to these random women and sign my name—”
I cut her off, slicing my hand through the air. “This is so not even remotely about you guys getting divorced. Whatever! You’re divorced. Fine. I’m talking about the lies and cover ups and the way you asked me to be part of it all, Mom. Don’t you get that that’s messed up?”
I want to jump and scream. I want to run around like a leprechaun on fire. Maybe then she’d notice the fire, the way it hurts, the way I didn’t want to be lit up like that my whole life.
“I think there are better ways to draw attention to your hurt, Kennedy, than this strange letter act you’re engaging in. Why don’t we just talk about it?” she continues in a schoolteacher tone that inflames me.