Matt was there within minutes, flying out of the taxi so fast he left the door open. I had calmed down somewhat, though my parents were still not picking up their phones, and was able to tell him what happened. He wanted to take me home to rest, but I insisted we go straight to my parents’ place. I apologized multiple times on the way there, worried about dragging him away from work, but he held my hand tighter each time, saying, “That’s not important right now.”
Our taxi finally pulled up to my parents’ house and I jumped out, practically running to the front door. I let myself in with my key and left the door open for Matt, who was a few steps behind me.
“Dad? Mom?” I called out, sliding my boots off on the sisal mat by the front door. It was quiet inside, and the sound of Matt shutting the door behind him echoed down the hallway of the foyer.
“Are you sure they’re here?” Matt asked, slipping out of his shoes and unbuttoning his jacket. He put his hands on my shoulders from behind and rubbed gently, and we walked that way into the kitchen.
I saw both their cell phones sitting in the wicker basket on the counter and groaned with frustration—no wonder they hadn’t picked up. The clock over the fridge ticked loudly, but there were no other sounds in the house. I called out again, then heard, “Down here!”
We headed downstairs to the basement rec room, found my parents sitting on the sectional. My dad was marking student essays; my mom had a sketchbook on her lap and colored pencils splayed out on the coffee table. She pushed her glasses on top of her head, nestling them into her silver hair. “Lucy, Matt, hello!” Mom said, smiling as though it was perfectly normal for us to visit in the middle of a workday. “What are you two doing here?” Then her expression darkened and she shifted to the edge of the couch. “Are you okay, honey? Did something happen?”
I stared at her. My concern turned to confusion. “Did something happen?” I asked. I felt Matt rest a hand on my lower back, and I looked between my parents. They both wore a neutral expression, though I could see something lingering behind Dad’s gaze...a little worry he was still harboring. “Mom, I talked with Alex.”
Mom gave a dismissive wave, leaned back into the cushions. “Your sister is always embellishing for dramatic effect. It’s the artist in her.” She said that last part with pride. Mom had always wanted to be a recognized artist, and it brought her great joy to see Alex making her way in the world, one photography award at a time.
“So what happened?” I looked at Dad this time, held eye contact until he looked down at the paper he was grading, clipping his pen to the page and setting it down beside him.
“Your mother had a bit of a spell, but she’s fine,” Dad said. “As you can see. Perfectly fine.”
Mom put her glasses back on her face, smiled brightly. “I was at the St. Lawrence Market with a friend buying some fish for dinner and I got a bit faint. My friend overreacted and called an ambulance. It was incredibly embarrassing. But like Dad said, I’m fine, love. Good as new.”
“What friend?” I asked, frowning. Everyone knew Mom was diabetic, and all her friends knew what to do in case of an emergency.
Mom did look fine, but she also seemed uncomfortable—she wouldn’t look at me straight on. And neither would Dad, I realized. He was fiddling with the stack of essays, running his thumb along the edges and letting them fan out one way, then the other.
“No one you know.” Her tone left little doubt she was no longer interested in this line of questioning. She got up from the couch, came over in front of me. “Darling, please settle down. It isn’t good for you to be so worked up,” she said as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “How about a nice cup of tea? I got a gorgeous oolong at the market. Matt?”
“Sure,” Matt said, taking off his suit coat, realizing we’d be staying for a little while. “That sounds great.”
They all started to move, heading up toward the kitchen, but I was rooted in place.
“Lucy? Are you coming?” Mom said, pausing on the bottom step. Everyone turned to look at me.
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” I said. “Is this about the house? Are you selling it?”
Dad, who was the closest to me, cupped my elbow and spoke gently. “Sweetheart, let’s go have that tea.”
I pulled away, took a step back. I wanted to settle down, to drink tea and be happy Mom was okay, but I was struggling against the anxiety threatening to overtake me. My fuse was shorter since my accident, my ability to stay calm in situations that felt stressful diminished. “I don’t want tea, Dad. I want you all to stop treating me like I might break if you say the wrong thing! Yes, my brain is a bit of a mess, and if I’m being honest, I am, too. But if you think keeping things from me is going to help, it isn’t.”
Dad and Mom exchanged a glance. Matt looked down at his socked feet.
“So. What are you not telling me?” I asked again, hands clutched together to hide the shaking.
Mom pulled her shoulders back, stood as tall as her five-foot frame would allow and glanced briefly at Dad before looking back at me. “Okay, Lucy.” She sighed. “Your father and I are separated.”
All the frustration and anxiety left me like a wave going back out to sea. “Sorry...what?” I swiveled between them, feeling weak-limbed, similar to how I’d felt on the street when Alex had told me Mom was at the hospital. “But...how? When? You had your anniversary, like, six months ago. We had a party!”
“No, we didn’t,” Mom said. Matt now stared at the ceiling, his hands on his hips. Dad watched Mom.
“Yes. We did.” I was sure of it. It was one of the memories I’d managed to retain from the past few years. “It was at that restaurant you and Dad love. What’s the name of it again?” I snapped my fingers impatiently, trying to recall the name. “You know, the one with all those twinkle lights running across the ceiling.” No one said anything. “The food was amazing. Remember the mini Caesar salads in bacon cups?” Now I looked at Matt, held my hand in a cup as though I was holding one of the little salads. “You were there, right? Remember those salad cups? How good they were?”
The corners of Matt’s mouth were downturned, and he watched me worriedly. “I do remember—”
“See! Matt remembers! How can we go from there—” I used my hand to cut through the air in a chopping motion “—to here, in only a few months?”
Matt cleared his throat. “I do remember, Lucy, but, uh...” He glanced at me, then at my parents. They all looked terrible, and a sick feeling settled into my stomach. “That anniversary party was for my parents. In California, last fall. Remember? I showed you the pictures.”
“What? No. No.” I shook my head repeatedly. “It was here, in Toronto, with my parents. It snowed, I remember. I wore that...” I paused, trying to remember back to what I had worn for the party. Came up blank.
Matt cleared his throat again, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. I could see he had a small hole in one of his socks, by his big toe. “You wore a yellow dress. And you’re right, it did snow. But not at the party. At Heavenly Mountain Resort, where we went skiing for a few days later.”
The picture with the yellow dress, the champagne toast with his parents and sister, the ski selfie. I stopped breathing when I realized the truth. My parents were splitting up and I didn’t remember anything about it.
“Lucy Bear, your mom and I told you and Alex about this only a month or so before your...your accident. But when you didn’t remember after you woke up, well...” Dad said, throwing his hands up. “We decided to wait. Hoped you might remember on your own.”
“So that’s it, then? You’re separating?” I asked, stunned and upset by the news and the fact they’d all kept it from me, once again.
“Separated,” Mom said quietly, correcting me.
“Is this why you’ve been meeting with the Realtor?” I asked, my voice breaking. “You’re selling the house because you’ve split up?” I wiped a tear away hastily, frustrated to be so emotional. But while I understood we’d already done this once before—when they told me the first time—I couldn’t help my reaction to the news my parents’ relationship was over.
“We’re looking at our options,” Dad said, sitting down on the stair he was standing on, letting his bent elbows rest on his knees. He looked tired, and sad. “That part is true.”
“Where are you both living now?” I asked them, thinking back to our interactions over the past month. Realizing how little time we’d all spent together, and understanding now the reason why.
“I’m staying here,” Dad said. “Your mom is staying in the west end with a friend.” There was something in the way Dad said “a friend” that gave me pause.
“Is this the same friend you were with at the market today?” I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands over them. The headache was only getting stronger and I wished I could lie down. Pretend like this moment was actually a confabulation—and in reality my parents were as happy together as they’d ever been.
A pause, then, “Yes. His name is Carl. He’s an artist I met at my watercolor class.” Good grief, not only were my parents separated, my mother had a boyfriend.
“Did I know about this Carl? Before my accident?”
Mom nodded, and I had a very clear sense everyone was holding his or her breath as I tried to digest what I’d learned this afternoon.
“We understand this is a lot to accept all of a sudden, but imagine it from our side, pumpkin. We already had this difficult conversation,” Dad said. “We’ve hashed this all out, have been living with it for months now.”
“You have all been living with it for months.”
“Lucy, I’m sorry you had to find out like this, honey. But you have to know we didn’t mean to hurt you, or to keep it from you,” Mom added.
“Of course you meant to keep it from me,” I replied, my voice weary. “Otherwise, why wouldn’t you have told me right away?” I’m sure it was hard enough the first time, certain they thought they were doing the right thing. But it didn’t make this moment any easier.
Heaving a big sigh, I walked over to the couch and sat down, pulling out my notebook and pen from my purse. Then I leaned back into the cushions, crossed my legs and rested the pad on my knee, flipping to a blank page. I set the point of my pen on the paper and pressed down hard to create a bullet point. “Okay, then. Here’s what we’re going to do. No more secrets or surprises. Everyone sit down, right now, and tell me every single thing I’ve forgotten about in the past four years.”