Page 77 of The Boyfriend List
“I’m not interested in pretending anymore,” London’s dad yells back.
“Funny, because you’ve been lying to the kids and to me for ages. Acting like we’re a happy family out in public, just to go home and complain and argue all the time.”
“Lyingto you and the kids? If that’s how little you think of me, then I’m glad we’re getting a divorce.”
“Getting a divorce?” London’s mom repeats with a scoff. “When’s the last time we were really together? When you weren’t working and I wasn’t busy with the kids? We don’t even sleep in the same bed, for Christ’s sake!”
“And whose fault is that? You’re the one who tells me I snore too loudly!”
“Well maybe you just wanted to put distance between us so you could watch porn at all hours of the night.”
“And you wonder why we’re getting a divorce, with your nonstop nagging.”
The worddivorcedrops like a wrecking ball, shattering whatever semblance of peace was left in this wedding.
We should go in and tell them that they’re still wearing their lapel mics from when they were giving their speeches. Someone should fiddle with the sound system and fix this.
But London is still rooted in place next to me. Moments later, Savannah and Micah storm in through the door behind us, Savannah’s cheeks tear-streaked and Micah white and shell-shocked. The rest of London’s siblings file in shortly after behind them.
Savannah doesn’t even glance at London, just marching up to her parents’ door and shoving it open.
“Mom, Dad?” Despite her hands on her hips and straight spine, her voice is shaky. “Your mics are still on. We heard everything.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight: London
The urge to hit something, or someone, intensifies with each shallow, ragged breath I take.
But whose face meeting my fist would solve the chaos spiralling apart around me?
I’m not a fighter. Never have been.
But something inside me has broken open, and the only thing I can think to staunch this gaping wound is pain of the physical variety.
Divorce.
They’re getting a divorce.
My siblings’ squabbling fills our parents’ hotel room. Brooklyn looks as shocked as I feel, while Perry is angry, and Troy indifferent. Savannah, though… Even though we haven’t been close since she moved out, she’s still my sister. I’ve seen how much effort she put into this day. I can’t imagine a worse way for her to start her new life with her husband than by finding out about our parents’ divorce in such a scandalous way.
I want to go up to her, to put my arm around her, but her new husband is already holding her as she sobs. “How could you do this to me? To us? At mywedding?”
Dad doesn’t wear his usual stoic, defensive wall of anger and indignation. He looks shocked. Unguarded. I guess he was caught red-handed.
Before I know what I’m doing, I sprint. My feet move on their own, taking me back through the door where I came from. I shove at it blindly before realizing I need to pull, not push. Inside the ballroom, still unseeing, I stumble through the crowd of people. I’m sure they’re talking about me—about us—about our family—but I can’t listen. Not right now.
All I can do is look for something to numb the spreading pain in my chest.
I reach the bar and slide two hundred-dollar bills out of my wallet before passing them to the bartender. “A bottle of wine.”
“White or red?” To his credit, he doesn’t ask for my ID or mention the scandal that’s just erupted in my family.
“White.”
He pulls out a bottle of Pinot Grigio after taking my money. I assume the bottle costs much less than that, but I don’t wait to take the change. I just need something to make this hurt go away. To stop devastating me. To stop feeling like a failure with each aching throb of my heart.
The bartender uncorks the bottle for me and hands it to me, along with a glass. I leave the wine glass on the counter and exit the ballroom through a different door, nearly stumbling into the doorjamb as I take a swig that burns my lips.
Not as numb as I’d like to be, but maybe the wine will fix that.
