Page 97 of All Our Nevers

We’re nine miles into a ten-mile run and I’m very ready for it to be over, but I also need this last mile to figure out what to say about everything to Andy—Andy who’s not even winded, the little prick.

We’re moving down the Charles River path, picnicking families and angry geese and kayaking tourists everywhere, when he takes out his earbuds and asks, “So, how are things with you and Lia anyway?”

“Hah,” I laugh, mostly a wheeze. “Not great.”

“Really?”

I swallow a few more lungfuls of air before my body is capable of saying, “We’re in a fight.”

“What’d she do?”

I dart a critical look to my left. “Why are you taking my side? She’s your best friend.”

Andy shakes his head but his pace doesn’t falter. “Even if she’s right about the point she’s making, I’m sure she made it in the rudest way possible.”

My hackles rise higher. “She didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one messing things up. I feel like—I keep—”

I can’t quite find the words for it, and what a role reversal this is—Andy asking about my life, me stumbling to express what I mean. He doesn’t pry, just keeps the pace as I take my time.

I can’t share her secrets. I can’t tell him about the ex and the things he did, the things he’s still doing. And I know the lack of context is going to make me sound even crazier—even more like dad.

And shit, Andy doesn’t even know the truth about dad.

There’s no way to begin this conversation without that context. And that much—Lia has helped me realize—is mine to share.

So I ask, “You remember that talk we had last year, when things were going badly with Sophie?”

“The one about how I’m not dad?”

“Yeah. Well, I might need one of those right now.”

“Why?”

We turn right onto an arcing stone bridge, nearing the end of our loop. It feels like if I don’t get this out before we stop moving I’ll never have the courage, so I say, “I don’t like who I become around Lia sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I see myself being a real asshole with her and I can’t stop myself.” My running shoes pound over the crest of the bridge, then down towards the grass on the other side. “But she does all these dangerous things like tagging her location and walking alone at night. And I know I have no right to tell her what to do, but she’s not looking out for herself and I can’t stand by and watch something bad happen to her. She said I’m being controlling and hey, maybe she’s right. Maybe I should just cut out now before things get worse between us.”

“What does this have to do with dad?”

I was wrong. I can’t have this conversation in motion. It’s too exhausting, too dizzying, and I owe it to him to look him in the eyes as I break apart our family history. We’re a half mile short of our goal but I slow to a stop in the grass, Andy at my side as I wrap my arms over my head, sucking in thick gusts of air.

“Owen? You good?”

“Andy, he…” I force myself to look at him. “I don’t know how to say this so I’m just gonna say it. He abused mom. He manipulated and assaulted her. He’s the one who broke her wrist. And I know it’s true because—because I saw it.”

There are two stark lines between his brows—horror and confusion. “What?”

I’m still catching my breath, but I force out, “I know. I know. That’s what led up to him leaving. That’s why I was never sad he was gone, but you were, because you were just a kid and I just—fuck.” I bend forward, hands on my knees. I’m so tired, down to my bones. “I let it come between us. I’m sorry.”

Andy turns inward, gaze unfocused. Eventually he squeezes his eyes shut, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “You knew this whole time.”

And what can I say to that? It wouldn’t be right to blame mom—to explain that she asked me to keep quiet, that she never wanted her younger son to find out. So I just say again, “I’m sorry.”

Andy lowers to the grass, like he can’t bear his own weight anymore. “God, mom…”

I sit next to him, six inches of warm summer air between us. The sun is shining, reflecting off the river in bright white lines and it feels fucked up—to excavate the darkest parts of our history out here in the sunlight.