Page 90 of The Truth of Our Secrets

But I’m uncertain how I feel.

Disappointed they didn’t trust me.

Frustrated about their relationship with the truth.

Sad they’re in this situation.

Nervous about where that leaves us.

All the above.

My head and heart have never been so far apart. Realistically, I can’t have a relationship with people I can’t trust. Lying is a hard pass for me, but here I am, looking for any scrap of something to help them.

My heart loves the attention and respect they give me. They’ve included me in every part of their relationship. My heart is positive it’s a three-way relationship. I set boundaries and they don’t question them. They care about me in a way no one else ever has. It’s hard to give up.

I didn’t even have to explain the visits to my mother, and they’re extra touchy-feely when I see them next. As if they know I need comfort. My heart says don’t give up on them, they could be my happy ending.

My brain requires a lobotomy to agree with that. My head told me to get the fuck out before this even started.

This room really has become a junk depository. Empty shipping boxes, old bedding, piles of summer clothes. The last is most likely because the apartment needs more closet space.

I riffle through a box of old tax documents, hoping something proves Peter and Madyson also had a relationship. A receipt that he paid for something for her. Anything.

When I break for lunch, I stare into the fridge. I’ve never in my entire life had access to so much food. They’ve told me to help myself, but the kid in me looks over my shoulder like I’m stealing. They are more than generous and have demanded nothing in return.

The pessimist in me waits for it. The other shoe dropping and all that.

I have to be at work at 3:30 p.m., and Jayce hopes to be home by two. His home, not mine. I have to keep that straight.

After the shock wore off, they both apologized for keeping the truth from me and I accepted it, but I wonder if it’ll be awkward in person. I’m iffy on how I’ll react when I see him. Jayce, ever the protector, told me that Madyson wanted to tell me everything, but he wanted to fix it first.

A divorce can take years. But it’s not realistic to think they want to make a lasting commitment to me. My heart reminds meit’s been about three weeks since our first kiss. No sane person thinks they’ve found their person or people after three weeks.

To shut my brain off, I blast music and go back into the office for a scavenger hunt.

I meticulously sort through every piece of paper, hoping it’s the one I’m looking for. Jayce and Peter never filed their taxes jointly. I wonder if that will make a difference.

Jayce calls from his rideshare on the way home and says Madyson will be here soon too.

Jayce is upbeat and I’m happy his meeting went really well. The GM apologized for the organization because Jayce didn’t feel comfortable letting them know about his marriage.

They crafted a PR statement to have on hand if the press needs a reaction or to be preemptive of any negative press.

The GM also asked how he could make it a safe and supportive place for other queer members of his organization.

Jayce sounds incredulous, and it’s a fantastic step forward for the organization and any queer players or staff. We hang up when he’s several minutes away.

I’m pulling the drawers out of the desk in case something fell behind. I’ve probably watched too many old detective movies.

The absurdity of it causes me to laugh out loud until the bottom drawer sticks and I can’t get it out. On my hands and knees, I see there’s a manilla folder wedged in there.

I temper my excitement because it’s probably more boring lists. Peter left lists of work projects. He’s some sort of computer guy for the city. I tuned out the explanation of his job because fuck that guy.

This is the one time I wish I had small hands because the top layer of skin scrapes off my knuckles. But my fingertips reach the edge.

The folder’s junk. Christmas receipts from before they met Madyson. In my frustration, I yank the drawer all the way out and topple backward. Papers fly everywhere.

Not papers. Photos. Pictures of Madyson with Peter. They’re gold. One picture damns him. Peter is kissing her with his hand on her belly. Probably hoping his child was growing there. Fucking lunatic.

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