Chapter 5
Ross
I’ve been listening to Violet explain the vague feeling of something being wrong all evening. “She just wasn’t her usual self,” she says again, as if that explanation makes any more sense this time than it did the other five times she said it.
I trust my wife implicitly. She’s an excellent people-reader, intuitive to what’s going on with them, but if something was wrong with Mom, I’d know it. I’d feel it in the universe.
“Want me to ask Court and Abi if they know anything?”
She gives me a deadly glare. “You think I didn’t already do that?”
Having learned my lessons the hard way, I press my lips together, not answering the obviously rhetorical question.
“I mean, ask them again. You know, maybe they were too busy to respond earlier, or they’d reply to me since we’re talking about our parents, or…
” I trail off, realizing I’m not helping matters.
Violet sighs. “Yes, ask them. I’m worried.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Mom’s probably wanting a project and this struck her fancy.
” Even as I say it, I hear how ridiculous that sounds.
When Mom wants a project, she puts on a charity luncheon, raising funds to benefit whatever non-profit organization has drawn her attention.
She throws a gala that casually turns into the society event of the season.
She doesn’t redecorate.
I actually can’t remember the last time she so much as changed a pillow at the estate. She probably does, it just doesn’t register my attention, nor is it the type of thing she’d inform me about.
I try to imagine her saying, ‘Hey honey, look at my new couch cushion!’ and shake my head. Nope, even if she did, we wouldn’t discuss it.
If pressed, I probably would have said that Karl took care of it all silently, replacing things even before anyone noticed.
Snatching my phone, I open our sibling group chat.
Me: Vi saw Mom today. Says she was acting a little strange. Either of you know anything?
Courtney responds first: No. Dad didn’t say anything at lunch either.
Me: You saw Dad? When?
Courtney: Yesterday. He surprised me at the office.
Me: Why?
Courtney sends back a shrugging emoji, then adds: Said he was feeling nostalgic for our lunches.
I start to type, but then three dots appear so I wait.
Courtney: I didn’t think anything about it, but if Mom’s acting weird, it does shine a new light on Dad’s unexpected visit, don’t you think?
Me: Maybe. But what kind of light?
Courtney: He ate a salad.
I must make a face because Violet leans over my shoulder, demanding, “What’d they say?”
Me: Is that important?
Violet, having apparently read enough to catch the conversational drift, answers my question at the same time as Courtney’s reply comes through, both saying ‘yes’.
Me: Okay… why is that important?
Courtney: I don’t know. What was Mom doing?
Violet answers, and I type her response into the chat. Me: Vi says she seemed not-sad but also not-happy. She wants the guest bedroom downstairs redone asap because she’s ‘using it more often’.
I finish typing and then look at my wife. “Why would she be using the downstairs bedroom? Is company coming?”
She shakes her head. “I asked that same question and she said no.”
I thought there was a chance she was overreacting to this whole thing, but even before I can put puzzle pieces together, I can feel worry starting to take root in my gut.
There’s no reason, other than a guest, for that room to be used.
Mom and Dad’s bedroom is upstairs, Karl’s quarters are out back in the cottage house, our childhood bedrooms are upstairs too, though we haven’t used them in ages at this point.
I don’t even remember the last time I went into my bedroom at home.
There are probably trophies and posters I’ve long since forgotten about.
I could understand the rush if they were converting it to something else, a reading room maybe or a meditation space for Mom, or a speakeasy-style lounge for Dad, but Mom wants to keep it as a bedroom, just updated.
And Dad had a salad.
A text from Abi pops up, all in caps. OH MY GOD! MOM AND DAD ARE GETTING A DIVORCE!
I snort a laugh at the absurdity. Mom and Dad are the last two people on this Earth who’d get divorced. They’re disgustingly in love, always have been, always will be. They’re the type who will die within days of each other, the second one of a broken heart over the loss of the first.
Me: Don’t be ridiculous.
Courtney: I’m listening.
Shaking my head, I glance up at Violet, expecting her to be as confused as I am. But she looks thoughtful, still reading over my shoulder.
Abi: Karl called me. Scared the shit out of me if I’m honest. I thought Dad had a heart attack or something.
Courtney: ABI!
Abi: Sorry, sidetrack. Karl asked if I could do an arrangement to make Mom smile because she’s not.
Me: And? Flowers make everyone smile. That’s not exactly a smoking gun.
Abi: I’m not done.
That message is followed by a middle finger emoji that I wisely choose to ignore in favor of waiting for her to finish her train of thought, no matter how many tracks it takes.
Abi: He said Dad is playing pickleball a lot.
Courtney: He mentioned that. Said he’s playing in the quarter-finals.
Abi: He is. With Eleanor. His pickleball partner.
Courtney: Fuck. He ate a salad.
“Why does she keep saying that?” I ask Violet. “Why does his lunch choice matter? Maybe he wanted a salad?”
She gives me a pitying look. “It’s a piece of the bigger puzzle.
He’s spending time with someone else, eating better, not noticing Kimberly’s mood.
She’s sad, or sad-adjacent, to the point that Karl stepped up, reaching out to Abi for flowers to brighten her day because Morgan didn’t.
She’s having a bedroom redone because she’s quote, ‘using it more’ and wants it to feel cozy. ”
Tears glisten in her eyes, not yet falling, but it seems like she’s come to the same conclusion Abi has.
I refuse to believe it.
Me: No fucking way. There’s got to be a reasonable explanation.
Courtney: Sounds like something a man would say. What’s Vi telling you?
Still reading over my shoulder, Violet places a hand on my shoulder and then kisses my temple.
“I’ll let you three talk.” She steps away and I hear her start the water in our bathtub.
I know what that means. She’s going to sit and sob, it’s her fall-apart routine when stress gets to be too much.
She loves my parents as much as I do. Hell, maybe more because she doesn’t have the colorful history with them that we all do.
Me: Fuck.
Abi: What’re we going to do?
Courtney: Family meeting. Saturday at 7pm. If you have anything on your schedule, cancel it. We’re staging an intervention.
I don’t have to check my calendar. For Mom and Dad, I’d cancel dinner with anyone in the world not named Andrews.