10. Chapter 10 Pretend Perfection
Jenna: October
Moonlight glows over the guests as they linger outside, smiling and waving to each other.
I sit in the front seat of the car, watching through the window.
Jacob’s exchanging drawn-out goodbyes with his friends and family.
In the rearview mirror, I smile at the girls, sound asleep, worn out from cake and dancing.
Then take out my phone and start scrolling through photos from today.
One catches my eye. Our family, frozen in time with matching-colored shirts, perfectly combed hair, and forced smiles.
I want to jump inside the photo and mess up Jacob’s hair, smear chocolate on Lily’s cheek, and slap an ugly, vomit-colored shirt on Ava.
Anything to make it look more fucking real.
I swipe up and read Dylan’s message again.
Dylan: Still avoiding my question, huh? You do that a lot….
I pause, looking back outside at Jacob, then start typing a reply.
Me: I’m not avoiding anything. Just busy having soooo much fun at my party. But if you must know, I hate big crowds. And I hate fake small talk with people I’ve known forever who are more like strangers.
He responds quickly.
Dylan: I get that. I’d choose intimate conversations with people I care about over a big party too. But maybe, if you let people in more, they wouldn’t all feel like strangers.
I can’t help but smile at his persistence.
Me: Look at you, Mr. Hayes, getting all deep with me. A stranger?
Dylan: I’m not sure we’re strangers anymore. I mean, I have seen your oranges, we’re swapping dinner recipes, and I know about your classified parking ‘skills.’ I’d say we’re friends.
I bite my lip, debating my reply. How the hell did he manage to crawl so deep under my skin?
Me: You’re persistent. I’ll give you that, my persistent, annoying new friend.
I could use a friend. I love Izzy, but I can’t talk to her about certain things, especially about her brother.
Dylan: Aww, I’ve been upgraded to ‘annoying friend’? I’ll take it. That means you can tell me the real reason you hate surprise parties.
Me: Remember how my dad’s an asshole? He missed most of my birthdays — probably too busy drinking. Then, when I was thirteen, he finally showed up at my surprise party… only to walk out for good later that night. I haven’t seen him since. Good enough reason to hate them, don’t you think?
Dots come on the screen and then stop. For a moment, I think the conversation is over. Then—
Dylan: Next year, I’m sending you to a rage room where you can drink wine and smash things. I’ll even put a picture of your dad and that damn parking lot pole on stuff to smash for the full experience.
He adds a hammer and wine glass emoji. I laugh, a strange, warm rush filling me—something only he seems to bring.
Me: That's exactly what I needed today. Tell me something about your ‘asshole’ dad.
There’s no stopping myself. I’m too far in now, drawn by something I can’t even explain.
His response takes longer this time.
Dylan: What’s there to say? He made me who I am. Strong. Hard-working. And nothing like him.
That’s not much of an answer.
Me: Seems like you hold some things back too.
A beat passes.
Dylan: Not me. I’m mostly an open book with people I care about. Blame my sisters for that. But there’s one chapter I choose to keep closed. My dad he was... He is an alcoholic. Maybe you’re lucky yours wasn’t around. At least you didn’t have to watch him self-destruct.
Lucky? If that’s luck, I don’t want it.
Me: Doesn’t always feel so lucky. And most of my chapters are burned, broken, or buried… tucked away on a dusty shelf while I pretend to read someone else’s story.
Jacob’s still laughing outside with guests, easy and carefree. A sharp contrast to the hollow ache in my chest.
Another text buzzes.
Dylan: You’re not broken, even if it feels that way. You’re pretty fucking badass. Stop living someone else’s life—it’ll vanish in the blink of an eye. Tell me… what do you want? What do you dream about when everything’s quiet?
His words pierce straight into my heart, digging deeper with every breath. No one’s asked me that. I don’t even have an answer. But right now, I want to find one.
I glance back at my girls, curled up, safe, and still fast asleep. Their peaceful faces are the exact opposite of my spinning thoughts. What kind of life do I want for them, for myself? This life was created when I was shattered, barely surviving, from trauma. What do I want now?
Jacob and my mom finally make it to the car. She slides into the middle of the girls, and Jacob starts the engine. I turn up the radio, hoping it’ll drown out my mom going on and on about how great the party was and how perfect my husband and life are.
As we drive, my body tenses. Familiar landmarks blur past us. Then I see my old school. The past slams into me, raw and relentless. Ryan’s fingers tightening around my arm. Me, sobbing on my mom’s outdated green bathroom floor. His empty promises. His twisted words.
Get back in the car, it’s dangerous out there. But he was the danger. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, he’d say. You’re only good for one thing. I love you. No one else will ever want you.
And that party… that hazy night. Too much alcohol. Jacob’s hand on my back. Ryan’s voice slicing through us, I’ll fucking kill you. The room spun. Then silence. Then everything’s fuzzy. Always fuzzy.
Shame floods in, then confusion. Why did I keep going back? Why did you let that happen to me, God? Where were You? Were You watching when I begged You to make it stop? When I prayed every night for help. I had no idea. So I stopped asking.
“Jenna.” Jacob’s annoyed voice yanks me back to the present. “Did you hear me? I’m going golfing on Saturday with Allen and Gerald.”
“I’m working Saturday,” I murmur, forcing my voice steady. “Can you drop the girls at my mom’s?” I glance at my mom, who nods in agreement.
Jacob exhales. “I can’t believe you’re still wasting your time at that place. I make more than enough to support us.”
“You know why,” I say, frustrated. “I need more experience if I ever want to go on my own. I can’t quit and be like—”
“Like who?” My mom cuts in, her eyes flicking to Jacob with a small, approving smile. “Being taken care of is a blessing, Jinxy. Even if you can do it all yourself. You should be grateful for the support you have.”
I bite my tongue, holding back the urge to scream. They don’t understand. I need this independence. I need to breathe.
My phone vibrates. I take a quick peek.
Dylan: What if one day you woke up and decided to start living? You can start tomorrow. No pressure, but the offer’s on the table if you want to take a ride with me.
I want to say yes so badly it aches. But instead, I shove my phone into my purse, leaving the question unanswered.