Page 122 of The Love Playbook

“Yeah, I mean, I know my parents’ relationship is unique, and it can be hard to sympathize with my mother sometimes, but it takes a really amazing woman to be so understanding that my father still feels . . .” I pause, allowing the gap of silence to weigh heavily between us, “obligatedto help.”

Barb frowns, her forehead creasing in confusion. “Uh, I’m sorry.” She releases an embarrassed laugh with a shake of her head. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” I say, already regretting the words as they leave my mouth. “I know all about my father’s visit to my mother a few weeks ago. She filled me in, and the check he gave her was more than generous. What’s even more impressive, though, is you.”

“Me?” Barb blinks, her voice flat as the color slowly fades from her cheeks, and it takes everything inside me to forge ahead and continue. I don’t want to hurt Barb. She’s kind and sweet and would make an amazing stepmother, but this is for the best because I know what it feels like to have my father turn his back on you and leave, and I don’t want that for her. This might feel awful now, but I’m doing her a favor. One day, I hope she’ll see that and thank me.

“Yeah. I mean, you guys will be married soon,” I continue. “What’s his is yours, and yet you’re so willing to sacrifice so hecan help my mother out. I mean, she’ll practically be another dependent. I’m sure writing her a monthly check wasn’t exactly what you had in mind as a newlywed, and believe me,” I say, brushing an imaginary crumb from the table like I can brush away my guilt, “I know how draining it is taking care of her, but I can tell you as her daughter, I sure do appreciate it. Just knowing she has the financial means to rest and heal . . .” I bite my lip, fighting the urge to tell her I’m sorry, that this is all a joke when her blue eyes turn watery.

“So, your mother’s job . . .” Barb starts.

A bitter laugh ripples from my chest. “You know how she is. When she found out Dad was engaged, she went into a depression.” I shrug away the pain. “Lost her job. But with my father’s promise to keep her afloat, she can take the time she needs and find a new job when she’s ready. I can’t stress enough how much peace of mind it’ll give me while I get my degree and graduate from college.”

“Graduate,” she murmurs.

“Mm-hmm. I mean, as a full-time student, there’s only so much I can do, and not having to fret over how she’ll pay for therapy and meds and . . . well, it’s more than I can ask for.”

Betrayal and hurt flashes in Barb’s eyes like lightning. Her lips part, nothing but a wordless hiss escaping while I fight to maintain my composure. I will not fall apart and crumble under the weight of guilt that’s eating away at me. Not when my father’s had this coming for so long. Not when he can’t even be honest. As much as I like her, Barb is collateral damage in a war she didn’t start, but one way or the other, she’s bound to get hurt. I’m merely helping things along, before she gets in too deep. Instead of my father leaving her a year from now when things get tough, maybe she can walk away.

With trembling hands, she lifts her wine glass and downs the rest of her Merlot in several swallows before returning it to thetable. “Right, the money. Uh, well, I have to say, I can’t take credit. This was all your father.”

I frown, peering at her closely. “Oh my gosh. He didn’t tell you about the money,” I say, stating what I already knew, my heart plummeting once more as I push the proverbial dagger in deeper. “You had no idea, did you?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She waves me off with a forced laugh that wrenches at my heart. “I just forgot. Silly me. It’s probably just stress from the wedding. With everything else we have going on, it’s bound to make me forgetful.”

The only thing that hurts worse than hurting Barb is the fact that I proved my father right. Iamemotionally manipulative, unable to give love and worthy of receiving it. He expected the worst out of me, and I delivered.

I lean back in my chair, watching her closely while she tries to cover her pain with a smile, and I fill with remorse. Every bone in my body wants to take the words back, to tell her I’m sorry, that it’s not that serious. My mother won’t be a burden, and my father didn’t hide this from her, and he’ll never leave. But I can’t.

Instead, I offer her a sad smile as my gaze drifts over her shoulder to find Chris headed our way with my father several paces behind him. While Chris wears a warm smile, my father carries a frown. I have no idea what Chris said to him, but as my father meets my gaze, there’s an apology in his eyes.

“Hey, baby.” Chris leans down and places a soft kiss on my head, and my stomach pricks at what I’ve done. “You ready to get out of here?”

“I’ve been ready,” I say, feeling like a shitty person.

My father might’ve hurt me but hurting him back didn’t feel nearly as good as I thought it would.

“Mom?” He turns to her and pulls her into a hug. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah.” Barb hugs him tighter as if she needs him for the support. “You’ll call me?”

“Tomorrow,” he promises while he tucks my arm in his.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte.” My father steps in front of us, blocking our exit. He clears his throat and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants, sheepish when he says, “I overreacted.”

I nod, saying nothing, unable to even look him in the eyes. My feelings are all over the place, a pendulum swinging back and forth between an array of emotions. My mother. Chris. My father’s engagement. How insensitive he is to how I’m feeling. And now my own regret at hurting Barb as a way to hurt him. It’sa lot,and he’s hasn’t exactly made things easier.

We exit the restaurant, the click of my heels the only sound in the quiet night as we step out into the brisk autumn air. My mind races, needing to know what Chris said to him. “Dad apologized,” I say. “He never does that.”

I glance over to see him shrug. “I just told him what he needed to hear.”

I stare at him, never stopping until we get to his car and his glacial eyes meet mine, feeling like a fraud for a girlfriend while he’s been nothing but perfect.

Reaching out, I fist his shirt in my hands and tug him to me where I tip my face until my mouth covers his. “What was that for?” he whispers against my lips.

“Nothing, I just . . .” I swallow, my heart running a marathon inside my chest. “I think I love you.”

A crooked smile transforms the lines of his face. “Of course you do.” I groan and smack him playfully in the chest, but he captures my hands. “I love you, too, Lettie girl.”

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