Chapter 55
FIFTY-FIVE
Ioffered Trey coffee, tea, water—or even a glass of wine if he needed it for whatever this is we’re about to do—but he declined everything.
Now he’s made himself small on my sofa. He must be twenty-four, maybe twenty-five. He’s nervous, that much is clear.
“Okay,” I say, settling into the armchair across from him. “What are you doing here?”
I want to ask how he even knows where I live, but I don’t want to sound rude. After all, he’s my brother.
“You didn’t answer our calls because… well, you have us blocked.”
He says it like the words are scraping his throat on the way out.
I don’t move. Because he’s right. And up until this moment, I’ve never felt even an ounce of guilt about it. But seeing him here—wearing a surprisingly stylish jacket that pairs well with his black chinos—makes me feel… strange. Maybe even regretful. I don’t know.
Suddenly, he scoots to the edge of the sofa.
“Listen… I’ve always wanted to say this to you. I believe people are shades of gray. No one’s just one thing all the time. But my mother… she was the exception. She was one thing, most of the time—actually, all of the time.”
He pauses, watching me. Reading me. If he could hear my thoughts, he’d hear silence.
I’m confused. I expected him to defend her, to paint her as misunderstood. But that’s not what this is.
“I can count on one hand the number of times my mother didn’t act like a narcissist,” he says quietly. “Did you know she almost drowned me in the tub when I was a baby?”
He’s watching me closely now—like he’s waited years to say this, and even longer to hear my response.
I shake my head slowly. “No. I didn’t know that. I knew you were gone a lot during your first few years. I’d ask, ‘Where’s the baby?’ and Theo would say you were at your grandmother’s house. I thought…”
I close my eyes as a wave of old, buried sadness floods me. I can’t believe I’m about to say this.
“I thought she didn’t want the baby around me… because I would enjoy it too much.” My voice trembles, which annoys me. I don’t want to sound weak.
Trey stares. And I stare back.
It’s wild how much we resemble each other. We both favor Theo more than our mothers. Though I see traces of my mother in me, I see none of Stacy in Trey.
“If you had stuck around—though I completely understand why you left—I think you’d know… our experience with her was different. But not better. Just… different. You know?”
I lean back, stunned. “Wait—she tried to drown you?” Because that revelation has just sunk in deep enough.
His jaw tightens. “Yeah. She said she had postpartum depression. Maybe she did. Maybe she had it her whole life.”
He rubs his eyes. “I don’t mean to speak ill of her. She was my mother. I had to love her. But… she was—”
“Abusive,” I say.
“Abusive,” he echoes.
The room suddenly feels too small, like the air’s been sucked out of it.
“We hated it,” he says. “Me, Linda, Bloom… we all hated it. The way she treated you. I want you to know that. Not everything my mother did was deliberate—she couldn’t help herself. She needed help, but she never got it. And it took Dad a long time to realize that.”
I sigh, feeling heavy all over—mostly inside.
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” I say.
“Because our dad is dying. And he loves you. He misses you. And you can’t let him leave this world carrying that guilt. You just can’t, Zara.”
I drop my head, eyes closed. Little Trey is sitting here with a big ask.
Forgive Theo? For letting his second wife treat me like a second-class citizen in my own home?
“I want to show you something, if you don’t mind,” Trey says gently, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.
I lift my head, glaring now. Thankfully, I’m not crying. I’m too angry for tears.
“What?” I snap.
“I had a conversation with our father before he got worse. It was about you. I recorded it without him knowing. And I want to show it to you.”
It’s later. Trey has gone home with a maybe from me. Maybe I’ll go see him soon—maybe. I have too much going on right now. I need to think about what I’d even say.
My father looked nothing like the man I remembered.
He was thin, small, all skin and bones. Seeing him that way broke my heart.
Because my dad was not mean. He was slow to anger, which was the problem.
He should’ve been angry at Stacy. But at least now I know that he was—and why he never expressed it.
Trey asked him, “Dad, if you knew how my mother was, why did you stay with her? And have two more kids?”
At first I thought my father was so far gone that he didn’t comprehend Trey’s question. But then his lips trembled before he spoke.
“When Wilamina died, it all came crashing down on me. I thought I would be with her for the rest of my life. I wanted to die too. But I had… Zara.”
My dad went silent for a long time. Trey remained patiently still.
“I didn’t think I could do it alone,” my dad said.
“Marrying Stacy was my biggest regret—and the best thing—because I love you kids. I worked a lot. I didn’t pay attention.
I figured, she was like Wila. Soft and beautiful and kind.
But… that was me not facing the truth. I want to tell her I’m sorry. ”
“Who, Dad?” Trey asked.
“Zara. She got the worst of it. She was gone before I finally stood up to her.”
“Yeah, and she left.”
“And then she died,” my dad said.
Their silence loomed, and I thought that was the end until my dad finally added, “I was scared to be a single father, and that’s on me. Zara doesn’t have to forgive me. I haven’t earned her forgiveness.”
And that was the end.
I asked Trey something I hadn’t cared to know—until now. “What happened to him?”
“He caught pneumonia and then while being treated in the hospital, it turned to sepsis.”
That answer, more than any other, is what finally gets me out of bed.
I open my laptop and email Kat.