36. Chapter 36
Chapter 36
I ’ve always loved this house. The shaggy carpet I used to play with my dolls on when I was a kid, the salmon-colored paint on the bathroom walls Dad let me choose at ten years old, the cozy wood stove in the basement, the chipped kitchen countertop from all our afternoons spent baking… It’s part of the reason why I got married, after all. I couldn’t find it in me to get rid of it.
But for the first time in my life, I think I might despise this place.
It’s been a week since I told Carter to give me some space; since I learned the entire fantasy I’d created in my head was built on lies. And ever since I came home from the hospital, I’ve felt lonelier than I have before. It’s as if the house is taunting me, making me notice everything I’ve lost at every corner. It’s one thing to know you could possibly, in an alternate universe, have a partner by your side, but it’s an entirely different one to have lived it and then to lose it. I look at the basement door and see Carter walking out of it, with bed-mussed hair and his scowl that lessens when he notices me. I look at the couch and focus on the two indents in it from the last time we sat there, watching the 2005 version of Pride & Prejudice , which Carter had picked because it apparently had one of the best soundtracks of all time. I even open the cupboard door to get the flour for my stress-baking session and see Carter replacing the doors so I could have a modernized kitchen. He’s everywhere, and it feels suffocating to just exist in here.
I stop mixing the dry ingredients for my banana bread as a wave of exhaustion crests over me. Even this isn’t helping. Nothing is helping. I’ve been avoiding my online job because every time I log in, I see all the messages and questions about my husband, and even though it’s always been fake, now it feels more real than ever.
I let my head hang between my shoulders as I catch my breath. My body feels so freaking heavy. Even when Ethan texted me earlier today to let me know that Crash & Burn had been nominated for some big award for their first album and would be celebrating by hosting a show at The Sparrow in a few weeks, I couldn’t get myself to be excited. It was all for this, and yet I feel like I’ve lost more than I’ve won.
I push the mixing bowl away. I won’t even eat the bread anyway, and I’ve got no one to share it with.
Pressure builds in my chest once more, and I fight it off like I’ve been doing all week. I can’t keep feeling sorry for myself. It won’t lead me anywhere.
It’s the middle of the day right now, so all my friends are probably working, but I know someone who’s always free to see me.
I pick my phone up from the counter and dial her number. “Hey, Nan. Would you mind if I came over?”
“My darling girl,” Nan says as she answers the door, her voice bringing me the comfort I’ve been craving since leaving the hospital. She pulls me in for a hug, and even though I’m short, I have to bend in order to rest my arms around her back. “I was so happy you called. Come in. I made that soup you like.”
I follow her inside, the smell of Italian wedding soup wafting around me. I’m not actually a fan, but it makes her happy thinking I love her food, so I’ll bring that secret to my grave.
With her stilted walk, she makes her way toward the kitchen area of her condo. “I was just coming back from playing shuffleboard—people there were dull as bricks.” She pours me a bowl, and when I go to take it from her, she pulls it away and gives me a face like no way am I not serving my granddaughter . I let her bring the bowl to the table, her arm shaking as she lowers it.
I thank her, then pick up my spoon. My stomach grumbles, loud enough that Nan chuckles. I don’t remember when I ate last.
“Where’s that handsome man of yours? There’s enough for him too.”
And just like that, my newfound appetite is gone.
I didn’t want to talk about Carter today, but then again, I should’ve expected it by coming here. Nan’s a hound dog. She would’ve found it regardless.
I put my spoon down, and as much as I try, this time, I fail to keep a blank face.
“Oh, darling,” she says, her pained expression probably mirroring mine. She lowers herself to the chair next to mine, then takes my hand in her warm, dry palms and squeezes. “Tell me everything.”
When Finn came to the hospital last week, I was barely able to string two words together. Even so, I never would’ve been able to tell the entire story. I kept it brief, only telling him Carter and I were probably over before we’d even had the time to figure out what it was between us, but I couldn’t go into details. The pain was too much.
But today, it pours out of me like a perforated water balloon.
I tell Nan everything, from my fake marriage to my real feelings and to the betrayal that Carter was actually my donor. I skip over the part where Dad was his AA sponsor, only mentioning that Carter knew Dad and felt like he owed him after Dad helped him through a rough patch. Anyway, I still don’t know the whole story, and I’m not sure I ever will. I want to know the full truth, like Carter offered, but I don’t know if I can stomach it. I want to bury myself away from those feelings, not dive into them.
“I don’t know what to do, Nan,” I say once I’m done, voice raw, the bowl of soup now cold and forgotten.
My grandmother gives me a pitying look before scooching her chair closer to me. “And why do you think he lied to you about it?”
I shrug. A question I’ve been asking myself for days.
“Do you think…” Nan’s lip twitches, and then she looks away as if searching for her next words. I’ve never seen her looking for something to say. “Do you think he might have known things about Francesco he didn’t want you to know? ”
I narrow my eyes, and only after a long moment does it click. “You know? You knew ?”
“It’s been a long time,” she simply answers.
“But…how? He told you?”
She smiles, but it’s nowhere near her honest, warm one. “He may have been your daddy, but he was my son first. He didn’t need to tell me.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
“You were so young when it began. It was hard for him after your mama left. He struggled, fell into some bad habits. I’d babysit you more often, and I knew he didn’t look well. He might’ve thought I was some old bat, but I could see it all.” She coughs in a tissue she’s pulled out of God knows where. “I got worried. Talked to him about it. At first, he denied it all, but eventually, I got to him. It took years, but I finally had him realize he had a problem. And then I went with him to get the help he needed.”
My nana, so strong, so level-headed, releases a shaky breath. “It was hard, but he got better for you. So you wouldn’t see him this way growing up. So he could be the daddy you deserved.”
And he was. God, he was. I wipe a tear with the meat of my palm as I continue listening with bated breath, finally getting the answers I craved, as difficult as they are to hear.
“There were relapses, and there were moments I worried he wouldn’t make it through, but if there’s one thing Francesco was, it was a man of his word. And when he promised me he’d succeed in quitting, I believed in him.”
My poor father, who struggled for so long in silence .
“I wish he’d told me,” I say, voice sounding like broken glass. “I could’ve helped too.”
“Darling, that’s the last thing he would’ve wanted. I’m sure if he were here, he’d be crying tears of joy that you never noticed his struggle.” She smiles. “That’d mean he did right by you.”
That sounds like the kind of thought process he’d have had. Even when we were struggling financially, he never let me know, never let me share the burden of worrying with him. He allowed me to have a childhood that was as carefree as possible.
More tears fall, and this time, I don’t bother wiping them away.
“I’m not surprised he helped others after he recovered,” Nan says with a sniffle. “That was all Francesco.”
“You’re right.” Now that I know, it makes so much sense that he used his own troubles to help others get through theirs. I can’t fault him for the times he left me alone in order to get to his meetings. And as angry and heartbroken as I am at Carter and his lies, I’m so freaking glad Dad was there to help him with his recovery.
Nan gets to her feet and grabs the untouched bowl from the table. I stand too and swipe it from her hands. “I got it.” This time, she lets me.
“You two are so similar,” she says. Nostalgia is drawn all across her features.
I hum, and once I’ve poured the soup down the drain, I turn to her, hip leaned against the counter. “It’s hard for me to reconcile the man I knew with these new parts of his story.”
“Then don’t. It doesn’t matter in the end.” Nan shuffles my way. “Your daddy might have had his struggles, but he was so much more than that, just like you’ve always been more than your struggles.” She pats my cheek. “The only thing that ever really mattered is how much he loved you. His precious girl.”
I feel her words to my core, like a stab wound she’s tried to heal but that’s only started bleeding harder. A sob escapes my throat, and I wrap myself around Nan so we can share some of our pain.
“I miss him so much,” I say against her hair that smells like the drugstore perfume she’s worn all her life, lilacs and peaches. It’s a small beacon in this flood of newness and revelations.
“Oh, darling, I miss him too. Every single day.” One of her own tears touches my shoulder, gliding down my arm.
She pulls back, her grip firm on my arms. Her plump cheeks are glistening under the weight of her grief. “But that just speaks to how lucky we are to have had our time with him. It was worth it, you see?”
I’m not sure when the ache of not having him around anymore will lessen. Maybe the answer to that is never. Even so, I wouldn’t exchange my memories to have it go away.
“Yes.” I blink the wetness away from my eyes as I grab her hand in mine. “Yes, it was all worth it.”