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“Exactly what am I leaving out?” Mom asks.
“How would I know that?” I ask. “All I know is that you clammed up awfully hard when I dropped his name the other night, and now you’re rushing to Bristal’s defense and worried about what her mom will think about us. So I’m curious—what was Dover to you, back in high school?”
“A mistake,” she says, and I’m alarmed to see tears in her eyes.
“Mom?” I ask, the edge gone from my tone. “What happened?”
“Your dad knows none of this,” she says sharply, looking up at me.
“Noted,” I say, taking my own seat.
“Okay, so,” Mom takes a deep breath and swipes tears from her cheeks. “Dover was rough but not unattractive.”
I nod, well aware of the fact.
“Pretty hot, actually,” Mom says, gaining some steam. “And I’d noticed. So had a couple of other girls and we were curious about him. We’d just read The Outsiders, and I got it in my head that he was a roughneck with a heart of gold or something . . . I don’t know.”
She shakes her head, clearly still pissed at the younger version of herself. “Long story short, I went to a party, got drunk, got flirty with Dover, and woke up minus my virginity—and the guy I’d gone into the bedroom with.”
“Mom!” I say, my hand going to my chest. “Did he . . . did he—”
“Rape me? No,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t lay that on him, but we definitely had different ideas about what sex meant. I tried to talk to him about it afterward, and he made it clear he had no interest in me past my underwear.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say, watching her as she bends down to snag Steven from the carpet, cuddling him against her chest.
“How sorry?” Mom asks, eyes sharp as she watches me over Steven’s orange fur. “Because you just interrogated me about one of the most humiliating experiences of my life right after my front window got blown in.”
“Mom, I—”
“And I cheated on your dad,” she adds, and I realize that the bottle of wine sitting on the counter is probably empty. “So now you know. Congratulations, junior reporter.”
“Hey,” I say, my own hackles rising. “I didn’t ask for you to—”
“And I didn’t ask to have my yard set on fire!” Mom suddenly yells, and Steven screeches in her arms, his ears laid back. “You think you’re the only one affected by your dad’s actions? Or that he’s the only person worried about yours? I’ve got shit coming at me from all sides, because of my husband and my daughter. I can’t go buy a goddamn gallon of milk—”
Steven hisses and bats at her face until she releases him. He slides down into her lap, staring up in disbelief at this angel turned demon.
“Nothing happens in this household without one of us paying a price out there,” Mom says, waving a hand toward the broken window. “And I mean that quite literally. I hope you took us seriously when we told you to apply for scholarships because—”
She cuts herself off this time, her hand going to her mouth.
“Because what, Mom?”
She shakes her head, but I’m on my feet, my own anger burning.
“Because what?”
She looks up at the ceiling, her words so small and lost I can hardly hear them.
“Because we’ve been living off your college savings for months.”
“What?” I ask, my voice creeping up an octave. “How?”
“How?” Mom sits up again. “It takes money to live, Lydia, and your father’s been slowly leaking clients for years. When he took on Lytle, a lot more bailed. Now we’ve got a hole in the side of the house, and I don’t know if it’s because my husband doesn’t ask enough questions, or if my daughter won’t stop asking them.”
“Maybe rethink that,” I tell her acidly. “Your daughter asks questions so that she can have a career and make a living. Your daughter asks questions so that she won’t have to rely on a man. Your daughter is asking questions so that she won’t become a washed-up, worn-out Henley housewife.”
That was a lot. That was low. Mom’s stare levels with mine, and I’m about to break down and apologize when Dad’s car turns into the driveway, the sound of the gravel crunching under the wheels startlingly clear with no glass in the front window, and her gaze goes steely.
