Chapter 5: What He Called Complicated
Andrew was in the kitchen when I came downstairs.
He had made coffee.
There were two cups on the counter.
He had remembered how I take mine.
That small, automatic thing made something tighten in my chest in a way I did not want to examine.
Nicole had already left for school.
She had left a note on the island.
*Call me if you need me.
I have my phone on.*
I picked up the coffee.
I did not sit down.
"Talk," I said.
Andrew turned from the counter.
"I don't know where to start."
"Start with how it began."
He wrapped both hands around his cup.
"It started at a work conference.
Last October.
It wasn't planned."
"Things like this are never planned.
Keep going."
"We were in the same working group.
We talked a lot over three days.
And then—" He stopped.
"I know how this sounds."
"I don't care how it sounds.
I want to know what happened."
"We stayed in touch after.
Emails at first.
Then calls." He set the cup down.
"I knew it was wrong.
I kept telling myself I would end it."
"But you didn't."
"No."
"You took her to the same resort where you took your family."
"She suggested it.
I should have said no.
I know that."
"She suggested it," I repeated.
"And you said yes."
He didn't answer.
"Did you book rooms near each other?"
A pause.
"Andrew."
"She booked her own room.
I didn't arrange it."
"But you knew she would be there."
"Yes."
I set my cup down on the island.
"So for two weeks I was on a family vacation and you were also on a different kind of vacation.
In the same place.
At the same time."
"It wasn't like that."
"You keep saying that.
You need to stop saying that." My voice was steady.
I was surprised by how steady it was.
"Because from where I'm standing, it was exactly like that."
He looked at the floor.
"Does she know you're married?"
"Yes."
"Does she know Nicole exists?"
"Yes."
"And she commented on that photo anyway."
He said nothing.
"Why did she do that?"
"I don't know."
"Did you end it?
After the trip?"
"I told her it was over.
The night Nicole saw us in the hallway.
I went to Diane's room to end it."
Nicole's voice came from the doorway.
I turned.
She was standing in her coat, backpack over one shoulder.
She had not left yet.
"You told me you went for a walk," she said to Andrew.
He looked at her.
"Nicole—"
"You looked right at me in that hallway and you said you went for a walk." Her voice did not shake.
"I was seventeen years old and you looked me in the eye and lied to my face."
Andrew put his hand up.
"I panicked.
I didn't know what to say to you—"
"You could have said the truth."
"You're my daughter.
I didn't want you to—"
"I've been lying to my mother for two weeks because you lied to me first." She shifted the backpack on her shoulder.
"That's what you did."
She looked at me.
"I'm sorry, Mom.
I should have told you that night."
"Go to school," I said softly.
"We'll talk later."
She left.
The front door closed.
Andrew and I stood in the kitchen in the silence she left behind.
"She's right," he said finally.
"I know she is."
He looked up at me.
"What do you want to do?"
I picked my coffee back up.
It had gone cold.
"I want to know one more thing first."
"Okay."
"Your mother said she'd been telling you for months to tell me yourself." I watched his face.
"How many people knew?"
He was quiet for just a moment too long.
"Andrew.
How many people knew?"
"My mother.
And my brother."
The cup in my hand was very still.
"Daniel knew."
"He found out by accident.
He saw a message on my phone at Christmas."
Christmas.
Six months ago.
Daniel had sat across from me at the holiday table and carved the turkey and asked me about my work and refilled my wine glass.
"He sat at our Christmas table," I said.
"I know."
"He sat there and looked at me and said nothing."
"I asked him not to say anything.
I told him I was handling it."
"You were handling it," I said.
"For eight months."
Andrew reached toward me.
"Rachel—"
I stepped back.
Not dramatically.
Just one step.
"I need you to leave the house today.
I need some time alone here without you in it."
"For how long?"
"I don't know yet."
He nodded slowly.
"I'll go to my mother's."
"Fine."
He moved toward the hallway.
Then he stopped.
"I am sorry.
I know that doesn't fix anything."
I looked at him.
"No," I said.
"It doesn't."
He left.
May you like
I stood in the kitchen until I heard his car back out of the driveway.
Then I picked up my phone and called Carol.
