Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Shit, is that what she’s going to tell us? Does she have an alcohol problem now?
“Mom—” I’m interrupted before I can ask her if she’s about to enroll in a twelve-step program.
“Are you all getting hammered?” Noah says as he appears out of nowhere. It wouldn’t surprise me if we found out one day that Noah is in the CIA. He’s everyone’s friend, but I wonder if anyone really knows him. We exchange a quick hug, he ruffles my hair like I’m a dog, and I push him away.
“Come on, kids,” Mom says. “Let’s all sit.” She pulls off her apron and takes a seat at the small white kitchen table. Today there’s a chair for all of us, since Dad isn’t here. When Dad was home, we’d fight to the death not to have to sit on the stool. The obvious solution would have been a fifth chair, but Dad was home for dinner so infrequently that it never seemed worth crowding the kitchen with an extra seat.
Mom pulls a pizza menu from the drawer and we all sit. Noah grabs a beer from the fridge and comes to join us around the table. “I thought we’d order pizza. A treat. It’s good to have you all home.”
I glance at my brothers to see if they’re finding my mother’s offer of pizza as strange as I do. Not that we don’t eat pizza, but the first night we’re home, she always cooks.
“Good to be home, Mom,” Oliver says from opposite me. “I’ll take a pepperoni.”
Oliver doesn’t seem to think it’s weird that Mom isn’t cooking. Maybe it’s nothing, and I’m just overthinking everything.
I download a delivery app on my phone and place all our orders. Mom insists on proof the order has gone through because the only time she ordered through the app and didn’t call, the pizza didn’t turn up. I hold up the order confirmation and Mom nods her approval.
“I have some news,” Mom says, as if this announcement is the next thing on her agenda after gather her children, have a beer, and order pizza.
I knew it. I knew something was off.
“What’s up?” Oliver asks.
“I’m divorcing your father,” she says matter-of-factly.
As my brain catches up to what she’s saying, Oliver topples backwards off his chair and hits his head on the basket of potatoes stored by the refrigerator. He’s an athletic guy. How did he just take that kind of tumble?
I stand as Mom and Noah both pull him up.
“Shit, are you okay?” I ask.
He rubs the back of his head and nods. We all retake our seats and refocus, staring at Mom. Was she joking?
“You’re not serious?” Oliver asks.
“I am,” Mom says. “It’s time I start treating you like the adults you are now. I’m divorcing your father.”
What does us being adults have to do with Mom divorcing Dad? Like we’re not meant to feel anything because we’re over eighteen?
“How does Dad feel about this?” Oliver asks.
“I haven’t seen him since I told him.”
I let out a strangled yelp. “You told him over the phone?” My mom is always so empathetic. It seems totally out of character for her not to at least tell my dad the devastating news face-to-face. “What did he say?”
She shrugs. “I don’t remember exactly.” She doesn’t remember? How is that possible?
“But he doesn’t want a divorce?” Noah asks in a quiet voice I know means he’s keeping his feelings submerged under the surface. The more upset he is, the quieter he gets.
Mom sighs. “I don’t know. I haven’t known exactly what your father wants for a very long time. I’m not sure I ever did.”
My anxiety is back. My breathing is labored and I’m feeling lightheaded. What is she saying? “Why? After all these years?”
“This is the next phase of life,” she says, tilting her head and looking at me with pity in her eyes. “The next chapter.”
“But there must be a reason,” Noah says.
Mom glances down, picking at the label on her beer bottle. “I wanted you to have the best possible childhood. The best memories. The most loving home. I hope that’s what I was able to give you. Your father too—” She stops speaking and shrugs. “In his own way.”
“And we did,” I say, glancing at my brothers. I silently urge them to agree, like if we’re effusive enough in our positive recollections, she might change her mind and not break our family apart. “I have the best memories of being a kid. There wasn’t anything about it I would change.”
“Really?” Mom asks. “Nothing at all you’d change?”
“Well, it would have been nice if Dad hadn’t had to work so much, so he was around more, but—that’s life, isn’t it?”
“It didn’t stop us from having the best childhood ever,” Oliver says.
I glance at Noah, urging him to agree, to encourage Mom not to give up, but he’s looking at Mom. “Tell us why,” Noah says.