AS QUIETLY AS I CAN, I creep into the house, slowly closing the door behind me so I don’t slam it. The apartment is silent, like no one is here, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Where the hell have you been all day?”
Yelping, I turn to find my father standing at the mouth of the hallway, right next to their prized possession—the giant Andy Warhol painting hanging on the wall.
I try to smile at him. “What do you mean? I went to the art gallery.”
“That was hours ago.” He squints at me, as if he’s trying to see inside my head. “You were at the gallery all this time?”
I slowly shake my head, but don’t say anything.
“Come with me.” He turns and heads down the hall. I have no choice to follow him, entering the sitting room where my mother waits, dressed impeccably in a sleek black dress, clutching a wineglass in her hand. Her smile is brittle when her gaze meets mine, remaining quiet.
She has never been my ally. I don’t know why I always think she might be. It’s a lost cause.
“How did you get home, young lady?” This is from my father, who has turned to face me, a glower on his face. He’s a handsome man. Slightly balding, gray at the temples. Hazel eyes that are always filled with concern
when they land on me. I wonder if he worries about me constantly. Sometimes it feels like that’s all he ever does.
I think about lying, but in the end, he would most likely get it out of me anyway. Is omitting a few facts also a lie? Maybe not. “I rode home in the car.”
He lifts his brows. “Whose car? Because it wasn’t mine. The driver called me in a panic a couple of hours ago, Wren. Saying you never contacted him for pickup. When he went to the gallery, he realized you were already gone.”
“He went into the gallery?” Guilt swamps me. I’m sure it’s written all over my face.
“He drove all over Tribeca, trying to find you, and just happened to see you exit a restaurant with someone.”
I’m light-headed at his words, and I fall onto the couch behind me. “Who?”
Daddy steps toward me, thrusting his phone out so it’s in my face. On the screen is a photo of me and Crew leaving Two Hands together. I’m smiling.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself look so happy before. “Who is that?” Daddy demands.
“Crew Lancaster.” My voice is surprisingly calm.
He frowns, shoving his phone back into his pants pocket. “Wait—Reggie’s son?”
“Yes,” Mother pipes up, “the youngest one.”
“I go to school with him,” I add. “He’s in my class.”
“Hmm.” He glances over at Mother. “Might be a better prospect for her than the boy tonight.”
She nods in agreement. My mouth drops open.
What are they talking about? Is there something behind tonight’s dinner with the Von Wellers beyond my father wanting to talk to them about business?
“What are you talking about?” I ask when they don’t say anything further. “Crew and I are just—friends.”
“Why was he at the gallery?” Daddy asks. “I…”
His phone rings, and he immediately pulls it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen before he says, “I need to take this.”
And leaves the room.
The moment he’s gone, Mother takes a fortifying drink from her glass. “Next time, you should text your father. He was worried sick.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, hating that I automatically apologize for everything. I never try to explain myself. Or stand up for myself.
“You know how he gets.”
“I do.” I nod, gathering up my courage to ask the question burning in my mind. “Why did Daddy say that to you?”
“Say what?” She’s purposely playing dumb. I can tell. “About Crew being a better—prospect.”
She lifts her chin. “We’re exploring all avenues for your future.”
I’m frowning so hard it hurts my head. “What are you talking about? Like
—marrying me off to Larsen? Is that why we’re having dinner at their house tonight? Is that one of the avenues we’re seriously exploring?”
Why am I bothering to use the word “we”? Seems to me they were exploring my options, without involving me whatsoever.
“It’s not such a terrible prospect to consider. He comes from a good family. They’re very wealthy,” Mother points out.
“And ours isn’t wealthy? Why do I need to worry about money? I don’t want to get married straight out of high school. I’ll only be eighteen.” Just saying the words out loud sounds ridiculous.
“Calm down. You wouldn’t get married after high school, darling. That’s far too soon. But we want to pair you with someone to ensure your future.” She takes another sip of wine, effortlessly cool, as if nothing ever bothers her.
While I feel like my life is imploding right in front of my eyes. “What if I want to go to college?”
The skeptical look that crosses her face is obvious. “Do you really want to do that, Wren? Such a waste of time.”
I flinch at her words. Is she implying she thinks I’m dumb?
“I don’t know.” I shrug, feeling defensive. I applied to a few colleges, listing art history as my major. “I might want to take a gap year first. I could travel around Europe and explore all of the galleries.”
“You won’t be able to buy anything though.”
I frown. “Why not? I just bought a painting today.”
“It’s hard to explain.” She drops her gaze, fiddling with the giant diamond on her finger. It’s not her wedding ring. I don’t know where that one came from, but it’s so large it almost looks fake. “You wouldn’t understand.”
My heart drops. She’s not behaving normally. “Tell me.”
A sigh leaves her and she lifts her head, her misty-eyed gaze meeting mine. “We’re having to put a halt on big purchase spending for the moment. Large art pieces are costly. You know this.”
“But why? I don’t understand. Is business not going well for Daddy?”
A watery laugh escapes her. “Your father’s company is fine. Business is booming. The real estate market is doing better than it ever has.”
“Then what is it?”
“Your father wanted us to tell you this together, but he’s abandoned us as usual.” She sits up straighter, her chin tilting up. “We’re separated.”
I gape at her, the shock of her statement leaving me chilled to the bone. “What? I was just here last week for Thanksgiving and you two acted completely normal. You still live together.”
“We didn’t want to tell you yet, but he no longer lives here. He moved out a few weeks ago.”
“A few weeks ago?” I repeat, my voice weak.
“He wanted to wait until the beginning of the year, to get you through Christmas and your birthday first, but…there’s no point in keeping it from you any longer, darling. You deserve to know the truth. We’re getting a divorce. We’ve already hired attorneys and we’re currently in discussion about all of the assets we’ve acquired during our marriage, including the art.”
Mother waves her hand at a sculpture standing nearby, one that she loves. “Divide it up?”
“He refuses to keep any of the pieces or split them up between us. Says if I want all of it, I have to buy him out.” A bitter laugh escapes her. “I’m not going to give up millions of dollars of my money to pay for art I already own. That’s ridiculous.”
I’m at a complete loss for words. I almost don’t believe her. Why would they get a divorce now? Won’t it be too complicated—and costly? They’ve been together for such a long time. Almost twenty-five years.
“For the settlement, we’ll end up dividing all of the art work and selling it. Every bit of it. I won’t be able to keep any of my pieces,” she continues, her eyes welling up with tears.
“Oh, Mama.” I haven’t called her that in years. Seeing her like this is breaking my heart. “I know how much all of it means to you.”
“Yes, yes, that’s true, but I’ll be fine. It’s all right. There will be an auction.” She sniffs, her fingers dashing away the tears on her face. “Every piece in
the house will go. You probably shouldn’t have your new piece delivered here if you want to keep it.”
“Wait, what about the Colen piece in my bedroom?”
“It’s too valuable, Wren. Anything in the house will be included in the total collection that we acquired during our marriage,” Mother explains.
I blink away the tears forming. “But Daddy gave that to me for my birthday!”
“I’m so sorry, darling. There’s nothing I can do.” She takes another sip of her wine, as if that’s the end of the conversation.
Frustrated, I leave the sitting room and go to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me, not caring who hears it or if it makes someone angry. We’re not a house where yelling and big fights and slamming doors happens. Everything is discussed civilly. Quietly. With dignity.
Sometimes all that quiet dignity is annoying. Like my mother and how calm she was, announcing their impending divorce.
As I change out of my outfit into leggings and an oversized sweater, I can’t stop thinking about what my mother said.
How did I not see it? I know they don’t always get along. Daddy is always working. Traveling a lot. Out until late. I didn’t see him much at all when I was very young. He tried to be there for me as I got older, especially when the whole phone/forum mess happened. He worked less during that time, and he made sure to be there for our nightly family dinners. Sometimes he even helped me with my homework, though that wasn’t often and usually consisted of the two of us sitting in his home office while he worked on his computer. Mother always told him I needed a more solid relationship with him. A positive male role model so I wouldn’t grow up and have Daddy issues.
But then they sent me to Lancaster and I don’t see much of either of them. I’m not home for the day-to-day interactions. During the summer, they always plan lots of family trips. Though last summer we didn’t travel as much. Daddy was working.
Maybe it was fractured even then.
There’s a knock on my door and before I can say come in, it’s swinging open, Daddy standing there with an annoyed look on his face.
“Can I speak with you for a moment?”
I plop down on my bed, folding my legs close to my body and curling my arms around them. “Yes.”
He closes the door behind him and leans against it, watching me. “Your mother said she told you.”
I nod, not sure what to say.
“I wanted to tell you. The two of us together, as a united front,” he starts, but I talk over him.
“You’re really not united anymore though.”
A rough exhale leaves him and he scrubs the side of his face. “This isn’t how I wanted things to go.”
“Why are you forcing her to sell all of the art?” I ask, my voice small. My gaze goes to the piece hanging on the wall. My gift that wasn’t a gift at all. “She told me I can’t keep that.”
He studies it before returning his gaze to mine. “It’s a valuable piece. One that could fetch a lot of money.”
“Is that what this is all about? Money? Is that why you’re selling everything? I’m sure you’ll make a ton off of Mom’s curated collection she’s worked so hard at over the years.” Oh, I’m mad. Mad he would betray her like this. Angry he would so callously force her to give up everything she’s collected over the past twenty years.
“I invested in those pieces. It was my money she used to purchase them. That collection is every bit mine as it is hers,” Daddy says, pushing away from the door. “Don’t fall for her sob story. She’s just angry things aren’t working out in her favor.”
“I don’t blame her. None of it is fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, Pumpkin. That’s a good lesson to learn now, when you’re still young. Bad things will happen to you, and some of the time, it’s completely out of your control. It all comes down to the choices you make.” He paces my room, pausing to stare at the art piece that no longer belongs to me. “I’ve made some bad choices in my life, but the very best choice was marrying your mother and having you. I hope you believe me when I say that.”
“Then why won’t you stay married to her? If she was the best choice you ever made?” I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the tears drip off my face.
“People change. They want different things.” His expression softens. “I don’t want to hurt you. Neither does your mother.”
“Too late,” I whisper, my chest aching from holding back the tears.
