25. Emily #2
And there it is, the last knot in my chest coming loose.
Because I drove over here half-braced to find out she was one of them, another smiling face that had known all along, and she’s not.
She’s gutted. She’s finding out in real time, in her own kitchen, with flour on her hands.
Whatever I lost today, I didn’t lose her, and I didn’t lose the one version of family I actually got to keep.
“I thought that you knew about my husband’s affair,” I admit, my voice cracking. “That’s an awful thing to say to you right now, I know it is. I’m sorry I doubted you for even a second.”
“Don’t you dare apologize for that.” She cups my face like she used to when I was small. “After what these people did to you, you’d be a fool to trust anybody on faith. You came and looked me in the eye anyway.”
***
We sit a long time. She cries, asks questions, cries again. I answer everything as gently and completely as I can. And slowly, over the better part of an hour, something in her shifts.
The tears stop. She wipes her face with the dish towel still over her shoulder, sets it on the table, and when she speaks again her voice is steadier than I’ve ever heard it.
“I’m going to divorce him.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to decide anything today, you’ve just...”
“I’ve been a fool my whole marriage.” She says it flat, no self-pity in it.
“Cooking his dinners. Keeping his house nice. Not asking the questions I didn’t want the answers to.
” She presses the heel of her hand to her chest. “My best friend. In my own bed, probably. And then coffee the next morning like nothing.” Her voice goes hard.
“I’m done. I’m not going to sit here and find a way to live with this. ”
I have to admit, a part of me is relieved she decided to do that.
I told myself on the way over that it wasn’t my concern what Ciara decided to do, but the thought of her staying with John.
.. it guts me. “Daphne’s sick, Ciara. The way she talks about the affair, she really believes she’s the victim. She’s not well.”
“Let her be.” There’s a steel in her I’ve never seen, like it was in there the whole time, just buried. “Him too. I’m done caring for them even for one more day.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask. “Today, I mean. You should stay with me if you want to get away. Or I could drive you to a hotel, whatever you want.”
“I want to call a lawyer. Today, before he’s home.” She’s already half out of her chair. “And then I’m going to be sitting right here when he walks in.” Her mouth twists. “I just want to watch his face when I tell him I want a divorce.”
“Do you want me to stay? I can stay.”
“No, sweetheart. This one’s mine to do alone, same as yours was yours.
” A faint, wrecked smile. “Look at us. Both of us finding out our whole lives were a lie in the same week.” Her chin trembles.
“At least I’ve got you. You’re the only good thing that family ever gave me, and you’re not even really mine. ”
I let out a sound that’s half a laugh and half something wetter, because she’s pulled me in, made me one of hers, like she always has, like my own mother never once managed.
“You always did treat me like I was yours,” I say, before I can stop it.
“Because you are my daughter.” She says it plainly, like a fact she’s done apologizing for. “And that’s not going to change just because everything else just blew up. You hear me? Whatever happens with all of them, you and me are fine. We were always the good part.”
I hesitate, because there’s one more thread, and I’m not sure I should pull it.
“What about Carmen?”
Her whole face changes. It’s not the heartbreak from before. This is something else, something closer to disgust, and it’s awful to watch because it’s aimed at her own daughter.
“My daughter had a baby with your husband.” She says it slowly, like she’s making herself hear it.
“And she lied to my face about it. She let me hold that baby thinking...” She can’t finish.
Her hand presses flat to her mouth, then drops.
“I am so ashamed of her, Emily. I don’t even know how to say it. My own child.”
“She’s still your daughter.”
“Don’t.” It comes out sharp. “I know what you’re doing.
You’re already trying to find the version where it’s not so bad.
Stop.” She takes my hand, grips it hard.
“She’s grown. She knew exactly what she was doing to you, and she did it anyway, and smiled.
I’m her mother and I’m telling you she doesn’t get your kindness for this.
She didn’t earn it. You don’t have to concern yourself with her, okay? ”
She’s right, and I feel it land. I’ve spent my whole life being the one who understood, who made room, who found the kind version. It never once protected me. It just taught everyone that hurting me cost them nothing.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
When I stand to leave she walks me to the door. On the porch she pulls me into a hug, fierce and tight, holding on longer than she ever has.
“You’re a good person,” she says into my hair. “Better than any of them deserved. I’m sorry nobody ever gave you what you should’ve had.”
“You did,” I tell her, and I mean it. “More than she ever did. You were the warm house.”
She pulls back, and her eyes are wet again, but she’s almost smiling. “You deserve so much better than what this family handed you.”
“So do you.”
“I know.” And there it is, that new steel, settling into her like it’s been waiting half her life for permission. “And now I’m finally going to go get it.”
I drive home heavy and light at the same time, wrung out from the worst conversation of my life but lighter for having had it. The whole way back I think about the look on her face when she made the decision. Like a woman waking up. Like a door swinging open after a very long time shut.