I FIND MEREDITH IN HER BED, CLUTCHING a mug of tea. A book lies open across her lap, but she’s staring up at the ceiling, her expression so mournful my breath falters.
“Mer?” I say, stepping through the threshold. This was my dad’s bedroom first, his alone for several years, a space draped in dark textiles with geometric shapes, the air rich with soap and cotton and polished wood. Then it was their bedroom, masculine linens traded for light, delicate fabrics, her perfume mingling with his familiar cologne. Now, the space is wholly Meredith’s. Her clothes lay discarded across the chaise. Her makeup clutters the dresser’s smooth surface. Her romance novels stand in towers on both nightstands. My dad still sleeps at this home of ours, but it’s clear he mentally moved out months ago.
Meredith’s empty stare finds me. “Jill? Are you all right?”
“I’ve been better.”
She pats the mattress, and I climb up. “Did something happen with Max?”
“A lot of things happened with Max, actually, but we’re okay now.”
“New relationships always have their kinks.”
She passes me her tea, and I take a sip. It’s lukewarm and very sweet, comforting. I swallow and inhale a deep breath before saying, “Meredith, there’s something I have to tell you.” I pause, lost for words. How do you tell a woman she’s been betrayed by the person she loves most, her husband, the father of her new baby? I’m going to break her heart, wreck her dreams, shatter this life she knows so well. But … no. It’s Dad who’s ruined everything. I try again. “Mer, my dad … There’s someone else. It’s been going on for a while, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. He asked me not to. He promised it was over. But … it’s not.”
“I know,” she says.
“You do?”
“He called.”
“He did? I mean…” I tuck my legs beneath me, balancing her mug of tea on my knee. “What did he say?”
“He told me about Robin,” she says evenly.
“Mer, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe he’s done this to you.”
“To us,” she corrects, linking her arm through mine. “I’ve felt something wasn’t right for a long time, but I blamed Bill’s stroke and the pregnancy and then Ally herself. I let myself believe our problems would disappear if I spent enough time wishing them away. I didn’t know Robin was involved—I’m not sure that piece of the puzzle has registered, if I can be honest—but I knew your father was unhappy, and I suspected he was seeking happiness elsewhere.”
I think about Max, how he sought happiness with me while he was with Becky. Even though I knew cheating was fundamentally wrong, I still took part. Is what Max and I did behind Becky’s back any different from what Dad and Mrs. Tate did behind Meredith’s? Does genuine emotion pardon unfaithfulness?
“He had no right to do what he did,” I tell Meredith.
“No, he didn’t. And he had no right to involve you. I’m so sorry he put you in such a terrible position.” A tear trails down her cheek, and she dabs it with the cuff of her robe. “It’s best all this came out, though. I’m not interested in being married to a man who strays.”
“But Ally…”
Her face twists. “Ally will be okay. She’s got me. She’s got a big sister who cares.”
“And the worst father ever.” The stark truth leaves a sour taste on my tongue. Any allegiance I felt toward my dad went up in flames with his integrity.
Meredith sighs, a conflicted sound. “This will blow over someday. Don’t hate your dad because of it.” She kisses the top of my head, a motherly gesture that fills me with fondness. “Now, tell me what happened with Max.”
I fill her in on the secret I convinced Max to help me keep, and how I made him feel—inadequate. I tell her about Becky’s harassment, and how even though I hate that girl with a fiery passion, I can’t kick the guilt I feel regarding the demise of her relationship with Max. Meredith listens thoughtfully, without comment, until I say, “I’m just like my dad.”
“No, Jill, you’re not. You made mistakes, but your intentions were admirable.”
“Do you think that matters?”
“In your case, yes. Your regret’s so obvious.”
“I’m not sure regret absolves bad choices.”
“Maybe not, but it helps you grow. And when it’s genuine, it lets the people you wronged know that, deep down, you care.”
She’s not talking about me anymore; she’s talking about Dad, and the hurt saturating her voice makes my chest feel as though it’s splitting open. God, did he express regret when he called earlier? I mean, I’m pretty sure it’d be too little, too late, but I hope he showed Meredith more remorse than he showed me. A thousand apologies won’t make up for what he’s done, but a little contrition might be something.
“I’m so sorry, Mer. I wish there was something I could say that’d fix this.” But there isn’t—all I can offer is my support and my love and, maybe, my treats. I nudge her. “Tomorrow morning, I’m going to bake us something decadent, something buttery, full of chocolate and sugar, and you and I are going to eat every bite of it.”
She gives me a sad smile. “I can’t think of a better way to spend the day.”
* * *
Except the next morning, when I burst into the kitchen ready for a day of cheering Meredith up with my most mouthwatering confections, I find my dad sitting at the breakfast bar. He’s wearing yesterday’s suit—so he didn’t come home last night—and he’s sipping coffee from the World’s Best Dad mug I gave him for Christmas a decade ago.
The irony.
Meredith’s sitting on the stool adjacent to his; I imagine a gulf of tempestuous water between them. She appears bedraggled, like she hasn’t slept a second, and she’s holding the mug we shared last night. I wonder if she’s washed it, or even bothered to refresh her tea. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s nursing the cold dregs she steeped eight hours ago.
“Morning, Jill,” she says, a little too merry, a put-on in an effort to reassure me, I think. At first, it rankles. Like, Oh, hey, Meredith’s her usual chipper self? Maybe this whole broken-home thing won’t be so bad after all. But then I realize her false cheer’s more for her benefit than mine.
Sometimes, faking it’s the only way to survive.
“Jillian,” Dad says, an acknowledgment that’s infuriating in its austerity.
I ignore him in favor of pouring myself a cup of coffee. It’s the good stuff, rich and bold. My mouth is dry as burnt toast, and my hands shake as I add heaps of sugar and a generous splash of milk, then take a timid sip. Incredibly, it helps.
I stand across the counter from where my parents sit. Neither of them has said a word beyond their greetings, but it’s clear they were talking before I came into the room. Dad’s got the shreds of what was once a napkin sitting in front of him. Meredith must’ve used the last of her energy when she said good morning, because she’s leaning against the countertop now, eyes unfocused.
“Where’s Ally?” I ask.
“With Marcy,” Dad says. “She offered to babysit while we … sort things out.”
My sister’s with the Holdens—with Max, Marcy, and Bill, maybe even Brett, Zoe, Oliver, and Ivy. She’s probably snoozing while they feast on french toast, carrying on the way they do. Lucky Ally. I swirl my coffee in its mug, then clear my throat. “So … have you?”
“Have we what?” Mer asks, zombielike.
“Sorted things out?”
“It’s not that easy,” Dad says.
“I never thought it’d be easy. In fact, I imagine it’s going to be really hard. On all of us.”
He expels a mighty sigh. “I know you’re upset.”
“I’m more than upset—I’m crushed.”
He looks away. “You’re seventeen, Jillian. I won’t explain my motives to you.”
“God, please don’t. There’s nothing you can say that’ll make me understand what you’ve done or why you’ve done it. Seventeen or not, I know what love is: hard work and sacrifice, common ground and compromise. I know that love is the same as giving someone your heart, and trusting them to cherish it, to hold it like it’s made of blown sugar. I know about love, Dad. Max showed me.”
He says nothing.
“He and I are together,” I go on. “Without him, last night would’ve been—” There’s a sob climbing my throat, keeping me from finishing my thought.
“Last night would have been unbearable,” Dad finishes, and finally, finally, his voice roughens with penitence. “I’m sorry, Jill. I shouldn’t have let you drive away. I shouldn’t have let you think talking to Meredith was your responsibility. Much as I hate to admit it, I shouldn’t have let you believe you needed to lie about Max. And I shouldn’t be saying these things now, when it seems like I’ve got no other choice, but I mean them.” He stops to survey me, part hopeful, part fearful. When I don’t respond, he goes on. “I’ve got a lot of rebuilding to do in the way of your trust. I hope, one day, I’ll be able to earn it back.”
My eyes well with tears, again, because apparently I’m going to do more crying this weekend than I’ve done all my life. “I hope so, too,” I tell him.
“Your father’s going to leave,” Meredith says, apologetically, like the surprise of this news might be too much for me to bear. “At least for now.”
“There’s an extended-stay hotel not too far from here,” Dad says, “and there’s a place for you there, with me.”
“I—uh…” I can hardly breathe. It never occurred to me that I’d have to go away. Mer and Ally, my bedroom and the kitchen I adore, the Holdens—Max—across the street. I know the extended-stay Dad’s talking about; it’s a few miles down the highway, but it might as well be on Jupiter. I don’t want to leave home.
“Or,” Meredith says stretching to cover my hand with hers, “you can stay here with your sister and me. Your dad and I agreed—this house was yours long before it was mine, and more than that, I’d be happy to have your company. Ally would, too.”
It would’ve been enough for her to offer out of obligation, but to know that she wants me to stay, she values our relationship enough to invite me to live with her sans Dad …
It’ll hurt him if I choose to stay with Meredith. He stuck with me after Beth left, made sacrifices and compromises, showed me a version of the love I went on about a few minutes ago. He cares about me, I know he does, and it’s possible he needs me, too.
I recall what Max said last night, about me trying too hard to right wrongs; it’s not up to me to fix my father. My focus has to be on high school, and my job, and saving money. I’m going to settle on a local culinary school, one that rivals the International Culinary Institute, and then, eventually, I’m going to chase my Grand Diplôme of Professional Pastry Arts. I’m going to be present for Ally, and to do my best to be a kick-ass big sister. I’m going to concentrate on my relationships, all of them, but I’m not going to move to a hotel just to maintain a false sense of peace with my dad.
I meet his gaze. “I’d like to stay with Meredith.”