Chapter 10
Gail
T he engine of my car sputters to a stop as I pull into the familiar driveway, the crunch of gravel under tires like a nostalgic whisper. The mid-afternoon setting sun bathes the old Victorian house in golden hues, a beacon of memories and simpler times. My childhood home stands unchanged, an inanimate witness to traditions, including our monthly family gathering.
I’m late for what Mom calls ‘linner’. A term she came up with for a meal that’s served too late for lunch, but too early for dinner. Extracting myself from the driver’s seat, I double-check the wig, ensuring not a strand of my Cruella de Vil inspired hair peeks out.
The door swings open before I even reach the porch, and there’s Mom, apron-clad and beaming. “Gail!” she exclaims, her voice carrying the warmth of the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom.” I wrap her up in an embrace; her scent of rosemary and lemon is comfort incarnate.
Dad’s bear hug nearly lifts me off my feet next, his chuckle vibrating through me. “There’s my girl.”
“Careful, Dad, or you’ll squeeze the life out of her,” Jamie teases, sauntering over with that mischievous glint in his eyes. He reaches for my hair, probably intending to pull it or ruffle it.
“Ah-ah, hands off,” I warn him, playfully swatting his hand away, laughter bubbling up despite the panic. The last thing I need is for my brother to accidentally pull the wig off me so they all see the streaks of black and white.
“Huh?” Jamie cocks an eyebrow, but he backs off, respecting the boundary I’ve hastily erected.
“Let’s eat before everything gets cold,” Mom ushers us toward the dining room, her voice a soothing melody against the tension knotting my shoulders.
As we settle around the table, glasses clinking and silverware clattering, I’m encased in the cocoon of family. My brother’s animated stories fill the spaces between mouthfuls, and Dad’s hearty laughter punctuates the air.
But beneath the surface, guilt gnaws at me with sharp teeth. Only months ago, my parents knew everything there was to know about me. Now, you could write pages about all the things my family doesn’t know. It makes me feel like an imposter in my childhood home, cloaked in the familiarity of a life I’m doing my best to escape.
“Pass the potatoes, will you, Gail?” Dad’s request yanks me back to the present, and I comply, the weight of the dish somehow grounding. “Thanks.” He smiles widely, oblivious to the storm within me.
“Gail, have you heard your brother might be up for a promotion?” Mom asks, passing the gravy boat.
“Oh, really?” I ask, beaming. “The department must be desperate if they’re going to give Jamie a promotion.” I wink at my brother.
“Right?” he snickers. “I told them that as well. But what can ya do when you’re as awesome as me? It’s a curse, really.”
I sputter my protests, and we quickly get into easy sibling banter. We don’t stop until Dad’s gruff voice slices through the air, squashing the fun. “At least he’s moving up in the world. What about you, my girl? Don’t you want a promotion?”
Dad’s words sound harsh, but I know it’s because he wants the best for me. I just wish he would start believing I’m—or was—happy teaching. I never thirsted for a more glamorous job, I was beyond fine doing what I… well, did.
“It just seems like you’re wasting your life away.”
My head snaps in my dad’s direction. “Can you repeat that?” I ask, sure I didn’t hear him right.
Clearing his throat, he rests his elbows on the table. “You’re almost thirty, Gail. When are you going to get serious about your life?”
I blink in confusion, not understanding where this is coming from. “What makes you think I’m not serious?” I snap. “I have a steady job that makes me happy.”
“Dad,” Jamie barks, sending our father a glare. “Gail’s happy doing what she’s doing. Stop harassing her.”
Our dad grumbles something, but Mom quickly starts talking about her grand plans for the garden this year. “I was thinking of maybe mixing the flowers a bit instead of keeping the colors separate.”
And this is exactly what I mean when I say my family is loving but safe. In my parents’ world, mixing the colors of the flowers is rebellious, imagine if they knew what I do at Cupid’s Court. Or that I’m knocked up by someone whose face I’ve never even seen.
“Sounds like you’ve been busy, though,” I say to Mom, hoping to steer the conversation away from any dangerous shorelines.
“Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” Dad relents. “But will you have enough time to help Lucia with EduSync and also stay on top of your teaching job?”
The day after agreeing to join Luce on this business venture, I called my parents and filled them in on the entire thing… well, the gist of it, anyway. With the small lie that made it sound like a side gig rather than a full-time job. They both like Lucia, so they were excited. But they also wanted to make sure I didn’t quit my day job before EduSync is up and running.
Predictable. Safe.
“It’s coming along nicely,” I answer, offering a smile that feels more like a grimace. “The website is almost done. We’ve worked out most of the packages, and even added a few surprises. But there’s still a lot to do.”
“Baby steps, honey. You’ll get there,” Mom reassures, her faith in me a balm to my frayed nerves.
“Any clients lined up?” Jamie’s question is innocent, but it hits like a sledgehammer.
“Umm, Luce has a few leads,” I manage to say without choking on the lie.
Coming here was clearly a bad idea, and I have no one but myself to thank for it. I should have canceled like I did a couple of weeks ago. I knew Dad would grill me, and that I’m putting my brother in the shitty position of having to lie to cover my unemployed ass.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, pushing back my chair. “I need some fresh air.”
I know I’m drawing everyone’s gaze as I abruptly leave, but with the way my stomach is churning I need to get out of here.
Before going for the fresh air I need, I walk into the bathroom and lean against the cool wall, my breath shaky. I pull the wig off, allowing the streaks of black and white to snake through my fingers. It’s a small defiance, but it’s mine, and right now, I feel like I need a reminder that I’m allowed to do what I want.
“Get it together, Gail,” I whisper to my reflection in the mirror. Squaring my shoulders, I slip the wig back on and leave the bathroom.
Instead of rejoining my family right away, I grab my coat and sneak outside. The cool air bites at my skin as I look up at the stars, glittering pinpricks in the vast expanse above. They seem so fixed, so certain of their place in the universe, and I envy them that assurance.
Now that I’m no longer surrounded by the heavy scents of the food, and the weight of my dad’s expectations, I feel better. I’m just about to turn around and head back inside when Jamie makes his presence known.
“What’s going on, Gail?” he asks, using his big-brother tone. The one that tells me that he knows I’m keeping secrets. “Are you okay? Did you and Lucia have another fight?”
I go to tell him that I’m okay, but when I open my mouth a sob breaks free. He immediately wraps his arms around me, pulling me in for a tight hug.
“Talk to me, Gail. You need to tell me what’s going on so I can help you,” he implores.
“I-I’m not okay,” I hiccup. “I think I’ve really fucked up this time, Jamie.” At my admission, I hold him tighter, using his embrace to ground myself while I feel like a ship being tossed carelessly around by the waves of my stupid actions and decisions.
“Whatever it is, I bet it’s not as bad as you think,” he says while he rubs his hand up and down my back.
I take a deep, shuddering breath, preparing myself to tell him. “I-I’m pregnant,” I admit weakly. “A-and I d-don’t know who the d-dad is.” My tears are coming fast now, making my vision blurry and my throat burns as I try to swallow through the ball of emotions lodged in my throat.
Jamie slides his hands up to my shoulders and takes a step back. “I’m going to be an uncle?” When I look up at him, he beams down at me.
“Y-you’re not angry? Or disappointed in me?” I ask.
He shakes his head and pulls me back into his embrace. “Gail,” he sighs. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. Why would you making me an uncle upset me?”
I shake my head against his chest. “I don’t know who the dad is,” I whisper, too scared to speak at a normal volume. It’s irrational since I’ve already admitted it once, but there’s nothing rational about the way my brain works right now.
“Was it consensual?” Jamie asks, using his police tone. I nod. “Then why would that be any of my business? Look, I can’t say I revel in talking about your sex life, sis. But you do you.”
The way he says it makes it sound like he knows more than he’s letting on, and instead of relaxing me, it puts me on edge. “What do you mean?” I ask, needing to hear him say whatever it is he thinks he knows.
Jamie sighs and lets go of me, then he pulls me over to the old swing set we used to play on as kids. I wordlessly sit down on the swing and let him push me like he used to do when we were younger, and, honestly, have done many times since.
“When you lived with me I was really worried about you,” Jamie says as he keeps pushing me. “So I monitored your internet usage.”
“You what?” I squeak, feeling anger building in my stomach. “You had no right.”
He scoffs. “Had no right? Gail, come on. Some days you wouldn’t even get out of bed. You wouldn’t talk to our parents, Lucia, or even go see your doctor. I had every fucking right.”
I deflate as I listen to him explain things from his side, something I should probably have considered already. It’s hard to hear how worried he was, and my brain immediately wants me to feel bad as it tells me I failed him.
But for the first time, maybe ever, I refuse to berate myself. It was a hard time, one I couldn’t have gotten through without my brother, and I acknowledge that. I refuse to feel bad for feeling bad, though.
“You’re right,” I finally say after a lengthy silence. “Maybe you did have some right.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, waiting for what I know has to come next. Because if he really did look at my browser history, he’ll know about Cupid’s Court. Jamie stops pushing me, and I use my legs, kicking into the air, to keep the momentum we’ve built.
When I was a little girl, I used to reach out with one hand, thinking I was close enough to grab a star and pull it back down with me. Feeling nostalgic, I let go with one hand and reach into the nothingness, and just like all those years ago, I come up empty-handed.
“I know how you’re making money,” Jamie says, his voice gruff. “And before you ask, yes, I had some of my colleagues look into the place. It’s… reputable.” Judging by his tone, those words were hard for him to say.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay,” he repeats. Then he wordlessly starts pushing me again.
This is one of the things I love the most about Jamie; we don’t need words to have a conversation or reach an understanding. My ‘okay’ was me asking if he got everything he wanted off his chest. His ‘okay’ was his way of letting me know we’re cool, and that he’ll never bring it up again.
We stay out in the garden until Mom calls us back inside, and as we make our way back to the house, Jamie assures me he’ll never tell them anything I don’t want them to know. I know my big brother will take my secrets to the grave, but I also know there’s at least one that’ll come out, eventually.
Fet won’t remain a secret forever.