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Chapter 1
Tina
I immediately know something is wrong when I get home. Mom and Dad are fighting again, but it’s not the normal hushed kind they do behind closed doors when they think I can’t hear them. No, they are full-on shouting at each other, and I rush down the hallway to their open bedroom door, the carpet hiding the clap-clap sounds my sandals normally make. Shock ripples down my spine at what I find. Their bedroom is a mess of destruction, and I drop my heavy shopping bags on the floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask, afraid of the answer. My voice sounds shrill and panicked to my own ears.
“We’re leaving,” Mom practically growls as she roughly brushes back a long lock of frizzy, bleach-blonde hair behind her ear only for it to fall right back in her flushed face. “Start packing your bags, Tina. I’ll pick you up in a few days after we get the keys to the new house.”
“New house? We’re moving?” I look around in confusion at the piles of Mom’s things littered about the room. Empty drawers hang open from the dark-stained wood dresser on my left across from their bed on my right. High-end toiletries and shoes are spilled haphazardly on the rumpled white and blue striped comforter as Mom flits about the modest room, carrying armfuls of clothes from their closet on my far right, and shoving them at random into two suitcases lying open on the bed.
Dad must have just gotten home from work since he is still dressed in his typical gear—long-sleeve, gravel-colored Carhartt button-down shirt tucked into dark blue Wranglers, his massive silver belt buckle that Mom always rolls her eyes at, and steel-toe work boots caked in dried mud.
He hasn’t looked my way since I entered the room, nor does he as I approach him on shaky legs, twisting my hands together as I wait for him to acknowledge my presence. The way he ignores me shouldn’t hurt after so many years, since I should be used to it by now, but it still stings. He simply tugs at his dark brown beard as he does when he’s pissed off or worried about something while staring holes in Mom’s back.
I take a good look at the mess, and there’s a glaringly obvious lack of his things being taken out and packed into her suitcases. There’s also a vile leaking used condom and its wrapper discarded on the floor that I try really hard not to think about.
“Daddy? We’re moving?” Fear and confusion make my heart pound and blood rush in my ears. I rarely call him Daddy anymore since he usually scowls when I say it, but it just slipped out. “Please, Daddy, talk to me,” I beg when he continues to ignore me, and I stamp my foot like a child on the verge of a meltdown instead of my nineteen-year-old self who should be well beyond such immature behavior.
Mom scoffs. “You don’t have to call your stepfather ‘Dad’ or ‘Daddy’ anymore, because we’re leaving”—she motions her hand between the two of us, meaning me and her—“without him. And good fucking riddance.” She slams the first suitcase shut with that last word, then fights to zip it up, resorting to jumping on top of it to get it to close all the way.
My stomach bottoms out, and I think I’m going to be sick as my whole life falls apart around me. Then my head snaps to the door when I hear Mom say, “Oh, good, you’re back. I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”
A man I’ve never met strides into my parents’ bedroom with a smirk on his long, angular face. The man is taller than Dad by about six inches, which is saying something considering Dad tops out at just above six feet. But the stranger is skinny as a string bean—the complete opposite of Dad, who is thick and muscular but heavy around the middle. He also looks to be a few years younger, too, with a clean-shaven, sharp jaw and a head full of light brown hair, at odds with Dad’s dark hair that’s starting to go a little gray at his temples.
The man lifts the suitcases off the bed and asks Mom, “That everything, hon?”
“Who the hell is he and why is he calling you ‘Hon’, Mom?”
Dad finally speaks up, rage and derision lacing his tone. “He’s who your mother has apparently been cheating on me with for the past eight months, isn’t that right, Sara?” I guess that explains the nasty, used condom and rumpled bed sheets. Sarcastically, he tells me, “Say hello to your new Dad, sweetheart.”
I recoil, tears rapidly gathering in the corners of my eyes. No! This can’t be happening. None of this is real. I take a step closer to Dad, moving away from the stranger, and trip over a pile of clothes on the floor. I thankfully right myself before I fall against him, knowing he wouldn’t like that.
The stranger doesn’t introduce himself to me. He simply gives me a creepy wink, and then he’s gone, taking Mom’s suitcases with him.
“Mom?” I question, tears spilling over onto my cheeks. “Is that true? You ch-cheated and we’re leaving Daddy and moving in with that…with him?”
“Yes, and it’s about damn time.” She cups my cheek and almost looks gleeful at the way she’s upending our lives. “Don’t worry, Tina. Tim will take better care of us than Bill ever did. He actually loves me and wants to spend time with me, and I know he’ll be good to you too.” She pats my cheek a little too hard while shooting Dad a scathing look before walking out and slamming the front door behind her.
“Fucking bitch,” Dad mutters under his breath.
In all the times I’ve overheard them fighting, I’ve never once heard him curse at her before, and indignation on her behalf wells up inside me. Emotionally overwhelmed with everything I just heard and witnessed, I lose it.
I round on him, my hand tingling with the urge to slap the beard off his face, and yell, “What the hell did you do to her?”
“Excuse me? You’re seriously blaming me for all this bullshit?” He’s clearly taken aback by my question, but his expression quickly turns menacing. He’s almost always in a bad mood now, but I’ve never seen him this enraged before. He jabs his finger in my direction. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing to her other than give her everything she wanted!”
“No, you haven’t! You’re gone all day and every night, and when you are home, you never want to do anything with us! She said he actually loves her and wants to spend time with her, unlike you, so maybe we are better off with Tim.” I finish off my tirade with the same scathing look Mom gave him, hoping to hurt him a fraction as much as he’s hurt me over the years.
Because it’s true. He’s never around anymore or wants to spend time with her.
Not with me, either.
But I hurt myself in the process when his face loses some of its color, and he drops his hands to his sides. I don’t blame him when he shouts, “That’s because I’m working all the damn time! Who do you think pays for you and your mother’s cars? For your insurance and gas on top of that? Who do you think pays for your phone and clothes and all the other stupid shit you spend my money on? Who do you think paid for all that crap?” He points to my forgotten shopping bags on the floor.
My stomach twists with guilt as I mentally tally every penny I spent today while I was at the mall with my best friend, Brittany. I had no qualms every time I swiped the credit card he gave me when I turned sixteen three years ago. It was only supposed to be used for essentials like gas, food, and maybe a few new clothes when I grew out of my old ones, but I’ve been using it for whatever I want whenever I want.
Mom never had any qualms about using her card, either.
