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“Um…no. You want to shack up on my couch?”
He talks about his agent hooking him up somewhere, and all I can think of is losing Rowan. It shouldn’t be a problem since it’s hardly been any time that we’ve spent together, and we both agreed it wasn’t anything serious. It sucks to lose my one constant since my world shattered, but I can adapt. I always have. I run my thumb over my anchor tattoo.
The number one problem is telling my brother that he’s not coming home to the big happy family he’s used to.
“Hey, Con.” I feel nauseated at having to do what I’ve put off for so long.
“Want to insult me again?”
“No. Um… I have to talk to you about something, and I hate to do it over the phone, but I’m not sure I have a choice.”
His silence is deafening. I’m not sure what he’s even thinking it could be. “Ky, what’s going on?”
“So…I went to one of Mom’s weddings.”
“Mom’s weddings? How many times has she been married?” He laughs.
I want to ask if he’s preparing his dad jokes years in advance, but this isn’t the time.
“You know what I’m talking about.” I lower my head, pissed that I have to be the one to tell him. Damn my mother for putting me in this position. “I stopped in at the shop on my way because I forgot the card to give the couple.”
“So forgetful,” he jokes because he’s usually the forgetful one.
“Can you not sense the seriousness of what I’m about to tell you?” I’m annoyed that he’s still being Mr. Jokester when I’m dying inside and filled to the brim with anger at my mom.
“Okay, sorry. What is it?” That’s the one thing with Conor. I’m not sure if our age difference was a wide enough gap that we just never fought. We did, but rarely.
“I saw Mom in her office with another man.”
There. He knows. I said it. And I really hope if my mom doesn’t tell my dad that Conor will be with me when I do.
Conor is quiet for a few seconds, and his voice sounds strained when he does talk. “Okay, what’s the real news? You knocked up? Get married in Vegas? Finally tell Mom you’re going out on your own?”
“I’m serious, Conor. Mom is cheating on Dad.”
I hear his quick intake of breath, and my gut sours. The thing I hate most in life is upsetting people. I’ve never been able to stomach hurting someone.
“Seriously?” The heartbreak in his tone kills me, and tears spring to my eyes.
“I am,” I nearly whisper.
“Does Dad know? Did she tell him? Did you?”
I couldn’t do it, but I hate telling Conor that. He’s always been such a great big brother, taken a lot off my shoulders. When I didn’t want to go to Mom’s alma mater, Conor stuck up for me and said the School of Fashion Design at Kent State University was just as good. She’s always had a soft spot for Conor, so she didn’t give me a ton of grief except a dig here or there over the years.
“Conor…”
He groans. “He should know.”
“I couldn’t do it.” It makes me physically ill to think about sitting in front of my dad and telling him that his wife of thirty-three years is cheating on him with some mystery man. It’s going to blow up his life.
“Fine. We’ll do it together. I’ll be flying in. What did Mom tell you when you confronted her? I’m assuming you did…”
The doubt in his voice shows how well he knows me. This is where we’re so different. Conor never shies away from conflict, believing everyone should get what they deserve.
“Why aren’t you mad? You sound…resolved.” I grab my dust rag and run it over the furniture. When I’m frustrated, I tend to get obsessive about cleaning.
“What do you mean? Of course I’m pissed.”
