Page 132 of A Perfect Fit

She shakes her head. “I’m not sure, sorry. I had to go to the printer, and when I came back, she was gone.”

“No problem.”

Mom probably just went to use the bathroom or something. I can grab the box of doughnuts Clarissa left in the kitchen in the meantime. I bet Mom would love them.

I head to the kitchen, grabbing the doughnuts, and then make my way back down the hallway, bypassing the open-plan desk space and several individual office rooms. Most people haven’t come back from lunch yet, so the floor’s quieter than usual.

“Jackson deserves to know the truth, Suzanne. It’s what Eric would’ve wanted.”

I freeze and stop in my tracks at Andrew’s sharp voice, eyeing the closed door to his office. I can’t make out much through the tinted windows, but it’s clear Mom’s in there.

Know what? What truth?

“You agreed not to tell him, Andrew.” The pleading tone in Mom’s voice hits me square in the chest. The only other time I’ve heard her sound like this was when I inadvertently overheard her in an argument with Dad when they were having marriage issues.

“That was before I got to see the amazing young man he’s grown to be.” Andrew’s voice is strained. “I can’t keep this up. I can’t.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this here.” Frustration coils around Mom’s tone, thick and heavy.

My pulse starts accelerating so fast that I think my heart might leap right out of my chest, and I feel my body temperature abruptly drop, like an anchor sinking to the depths of the ocean.

What the hell are they talking about? What don’t they want me to know?

“Suzanne—”

“I don’t want him to hate me. I already lost Eric. I can’t lose him as well.”

“It’s not just your call!” Andrew snaps. “He’s my son, too.”

The box of doughnuts I’m holding drops to the floor with a thud, its contents spilling out.

A loud ringing torments my ears, and the room spins around me, slowly sucking me into a whirlpool of nausea. My hands shaking, I grip on to the nearest wall for support, my breaths shallow and uneven. I think I’m going to throw up.

No.

This can’t be happening.

I must’ve heard wrong. This has to be some kind of sick, twisted joke. Maybe Mom’s planning to switch careers from accounting to acting, and she was practicing her craft with Andrew just then. Or maybe Andrew’s the one wanting to get into acting. Either it’s that or I’m in some kind of horrible nightmare.

Andrew’s office door swings open, and I come face-to-face with Mom, her face as pale as a sheet. Andrew trails behind her, his eyes wide.

“Oh my God, Jackson,” she breathes. “I … I thought you were in a meeting.”

“Mom, you’re joking, right?” My ears are still pounding. “Please tell me you are.”

Silence.

Mom lets out a sob, and I stare at her, feeling as though the air in my lungs has been completely sucked out.

“You cheated on Dad?” I hear myself say.

A teardrop trickles down my mother’s cheek.

She’s not denying it.

I don’t recognize her anymore. The woman who used to make my lunch every day for school when I was a kid, who used to throw me birthday parties, who was kind and caring, and who poured so much love into my upbringing.

Just a few days ago, we were having dinner together. Laughing and chatting together as a happy family.