Page 18 of Collateral Damage
“Speaking of which…” I open my text messages, scrolling through the girls I’ve met this year who are up for noncommittal hookups. After this disastrous conversation, I definitely need to bury myself in another woman and fast.
Ten minutes later, we’re walking Sybil to her dorm, I’ve got a date lined up for tonight before we head home tomorrow, and they’re acting like the conversation at the dining hall didn’t even happen. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe to them, Sybil choosing my bed last night means nothing. But I can’t help but wish that none of it had been an accident and that maybe, somewhere deep down, Sybil wants me as much as I want her.
Eight
Sybil
Present - Age 27
It’s bright and early the Sunday after the reception, and somehow that feels wrong, as if it should be raining. Storming. Flooding. The outside world should reflect the turmoil our family feels inside.
Father had an affair with mother’s sister. Arden is our half-sibling. The betrayal runs deeper than anything I could’ve imagined.
How do we deal with something like this when the person to blame is dead?
Grief and anger tangle into one unbearable ball of emotion. This must’ve been how Ethan and Cooper felt after their mom died. It’s hard being mad at someone you miss, hating someone you love, wishing more than anything to talk to them, to hug them, but also wanting to demand answers from them, to cry to them and let them know how much they’ve hurt you.
But you can’t.
I know I’m not the only one who’s feeling this way. I can see it in the eyes of my siblings as we sit on Mom’s couch. We’re in the NYC penthouse. It’s not the main family home, but Mom brought the boys up for the week. We started out with so much excitement about the wedding reception, and now we’re ending it with a conversation none of us ever thought we’d be having.
I blame Conrad King. He could’ve found a better time; I don’t care what his excuses are. And I blame Cooper. He sat back and watched as the pieces fell into place, creating a disaster of a scene instead of the one my cousin and Ethan deserved.
No. Not cousin. Mysister.
Mom is the first to speak. “I want you to know I love you, and none of this is your fault,” she says, taking the time to look us each in the eye. She often does this, like she read some parenting book years ago that told her eye contact was the key to communicating with children.
“It’s Dad’s fault,” Chandler replies, his voice breaking. “I hate him.”
That nearly kills me. Chandler idolized our father. He’s been in the dark for too long. I hate that he knows the truth, but I’m glad I won’t have to lie to him anymore.
Mom’s lower lip trembles. “Don’t say that.” She wraps her arm around Chandler. “Your father made a lot of mistakes, but he wasnota bad person. He loved you very much. You do not need to hate him. It is okay to be angry. It is also okay to love your father and not like the choices he made.”
I have to look away. I can’t sit here without my face revealing exactly how pissed off I am. I turn to Arden, but she’s staring into nowhere, like her mind is somewhere else.
“How can you even say that?” Hayes asks, interrupting the moment between Chandler and our mother. “He was a cheater. He had a child with yoursisterand lied about it. He let her growup in foster care. I’m not sorry to say it, but I hate Dad, too. The person I knew? That person was a fake. He never existed.”
What would my therapist say about this? Doctor Miranda has been with me for years, but she’s been especially helpful since Dad’s death. I wonder what she’s going to say when I see her next week and tell her the update. Probably something about how two things can be true. A person can make good and bad choices, can have good and bad parts to them, can be real and fake—it all depends on the situation. What matters isn’t what they did, it’s what I do. How am I going to internalize this? What do I want to do? Can I forgive him?
As messed up as it might be to my brothers, I already know I have to forgive Dad. Not for him, but for myself and my own sanity. I can’t live the rest of my life hating him.
Mom doesn’t seem to know what to say, and Arden seems to have returned to herself, shifting in her seat. Ethan dropped her off this morning and went for a walk. This is a Laurence family discussion, but knowing him, he’s not walking. He’s in the lobby, waiting for Arden close by, just in case. I love that for her, I really do, but part of me wishes it was me. I miss having somebody like that in my life.
The only one who takes care of me is me. That’s how it goes. Even with Ethan, that’s how it went.
Maybe that’s how Mom feels. Maybe Dad never took care of her the way she needed. And maybe, once she works through the pain of his cheating and death, she will be able to move on and be happier than she’s ever been. God knows she deserves it.
“There’s something you children don’t know about your father and me,” she says, taking Chandler’s hand and squeezing. The two of them are on the loveseat. The other three of us are on the couch. I feel like she’d take all our hands if she could. She’s being so strong, and I hate she’s the one who should be breaking down, but she can’t.
“We told you we met in college, fell in love, got married, and had you all. While most of that is true, it’s not entirely how it happened.”
Her voice is shaking. That unmistakable tingle of warning runs down my spine. More secrets?
“Your father and I had an arranged marriage.”
The air whooshes from my lungs, shock hollowing me to nothing. Of all the things she could’ve said, this wasn’t what I expected. I look at my siblings and each of us are as blindsided as the next. Chandler’s eyes are filling with tears and Hayes’s face is beet-red. An arranged marriage is for daytime soap operas and people in other countries, not our family.
Not our parents.
