Page 2 of From Asher, With Love

This is the first time. The first time he’s acknowledged me. The first time we’re looking at each other.

I give him a smile before my attention is stolen, once again, by the sound of the back door sliding open.

Quietly, I move to the other side of the tree and peek over the side to find my mother still in the same position, kneeling against the soft ground. Her knees and hands are covered in wet dirt, but she doesn’t care.

“Florence,” my father says, slowly walking up behind her.He stops just short of meeting her, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his tweed slacks. “What are you doing out here?”

“I want a divorce, Michael,” she mutters in response. The same words she screamed to him only moments ago.

“We both know you don’t mean that. You should come inside. You’re only embarrassing yourself here.” Three lines crease my father’s forehead as he frowns, knowing my mother won’t follow through on the same threat she’s told him for years.

“I do mean it.” Her voice trembles. She’s staring off in the distance with a resigned expression. A tear slips from her eye, sliding slowly down her cheek.

“No, you don’t.” He doesn’t once move to comfort her as he towers over her, looking over her shoulder with annoyance, as if he’s tired of convincing my mother to stay with him when she has every reason not to. “We both know you won’t divorce me. You won’t leave Charleigh here, and I won’t let you take her from me. I’ll fight you to keep her.”

My stomach roils at the thought of either scenario playing out. A life with only my mother. A life with only my father. Neither bring me happiness. Neither bring me closer to my dream of living in New York City surrounded by flowers.

“You… you don’t want her,” she sputters out on an exhausted breath. “You’ve never wanted her.”

Her confession is a gut punch, making me wish I wasn’t a fly on the wall.

“How dare you?” he seethes.

My mother’s head finally swivels, looking up and over her shoulder to pierce my father with her daggered eyes.

“No, Michael,” she bites back. “How dareyou? How dare you do this to us time and time again?”

This time, my father bends at his knees, resting his arms over them, bringing his eyes in line with my mother’s. He traces her cheek with the back of his hand before tucking her tangledhair behind her ear. She recoils at his touch, but he pulls her back before she can look too far.

“It was one time, and she meant nothing,” he says quietly. “I told you that none of them have ever mattered to me. Not as much as you.”

“Then,whydo you keep doing this to me?”

“Florence.” Her name is all that falls from his mouth, sending her a silent message.

My mother squeezes her eyes shut, blowing out a resolving breath.

He cocks his head to the side in satisfaction. “That’s right, my love.”

Four words can change everything.

My mother’s eyes open, and my father stands. He narrows his eyes and sniffs before shoving his hands back into his pockets.

“Now, dig your wedding ring out from the ground, and clean yourself up,” he orders before spinning around on his heel and making his way back into the house. “We’re hosting the board members tonight, and you need to look absolutely perfect.”

He slams the door shut behind him, and my mother slowly turns her head back around, looking down at the mound of dirt covering her ring. Her tears fall there as she quickly digs through the dirt again, finding the large diamond resting on a thin, gold band. She slips it back onto her finger and pulls herself to a stand. Streaks of dirt coat her cheeks as she swipes her tears away. Then, as if she hasn’t threatened my father with divorce for finding out about his hundredth affair, she walks back into the house with a fake saccharine smile.

I feel her absence as soon as the door slides shut, and it isn’t until I look down at the cold ground that I realize I’m shedding my own tears.

Four words can change everything. But for my parents, they never do.

Their love isn’t love at all.

And I’m convinced I’ll never find true love of my own. At least not here. Not when I’m forced to be an audience to the theater show they put on over and over again while trapped in a dysfunctional, loveless marriage for reasons I don’t understand.

I wipe my tears and try to quickly mend my fractured heart when I remember the boy standing in the middle of the street. I look up, hoping to find his golden eyes still staring at me.

My shoulders deflate in disappointment. He’s gone, though hope remains tethered to my heart at the thought of seeing him again, especially after today.

---