Heart of the Matter - Emily Giffin [130]
“They aren’t the same thing,” my mother says. “Forgiving and trusting.”
Her message is clear — she might have forgiven my father the first time around, but she never trusted him again, not even for a second. Hence her undercover work and her grim, but unsurprising, Diane discovery.
“I know, Barbie,” he says, nodding. “I’m just trying to say that Tess has a decision to make. And it is her decision. Not Nick’s—or her brother’s, or mine, or yours.”
“Agreed,” my mom says.
“And no matter what, we’re on your side,” my father adds. “Just as we’ve always been.”
“Yes,” my mother says. “Absolutely. One hundred percent.”
“Thank you,” I say, realizing that this might be what hurts more than anything else—the fact that I always thought Nick was that person who would always, no matter what, absolutely, one hundred percent, be on my side. And the fact that I was absolutely, one hundred percent wrong.
And just like that, my anger dissipates, supplanted once again by a thick, murky grief.
***
A short time later, the three of us return home from lunch, and are standing together in the driveway, saying our extended good-byes before my father leaves for the airport. My parents both appear perfectly at ease, and to watch their casual body language, you’d think they were very old friends, not two people who were married for nearly twenty-five years before going through a bitter divorce.
“Thanks for coming to Boston, Dad,” I say, ready to get out of the cold. “I really appreciate it.”
My father gives me another hug—his third since we left the restaurant—yet makes no move toward his rental car, instead commenting that he could take a later flight.
I look at my mom, who shrugs and smiles her permission.
“Would you like to come in for a while?” I say. “The kids will be home soon. Carolyn’s picking Ruby up from school now.”
My father quickly agrees, and minutes later, we have moved inside, congregating in the kitchen, discussing my dad’s recent trip to Vietnam and Thailand. It is the sort of exotic travel my mother craves but doesn’t undertake—either because she’s too busy or doesn’t want to do so alone. Yet she doesn’t appear to begrudge my dad the experience, asking friendly, open questions. My father answers them, avoiding any plural pronouns or mention of Diane, although I know that she was with him—and I’m sure my mom does, too.
“You really should go, Barb. You’d love it,” my dad says, eyeing a corked bottle of red on the counter and suggesting that we have one more glass. Against my better judgment, I shrug and say sure, watching as he pours three generous glasses, handing one to me, the other to my mother. She takes it and matter-of-factly clinks her glass against his, then mine. She offers no toast, just a wink and smile, as if acknowledging how bizarre, yet somehow pleasant, the afternoon has been. I take a long sip just as Ruby and Frank burst through the front door, Carolyn trailing behind.
“Nana and Pappy!” they shout in unison, seemingly unfazed by seeing their grandparents together.
In a surreal, bittersweet moment, I watch the four of them embrace, as I turn to handle more quotidian matters—paying Carolyn, retrieving Nick’s predictably small gift from the front porch, wiping down the table, still covered with crumbs from Frank’s lunch. Then, while my father does magic tricks for the kids and my mother adds her color commentary, I quietly excuse myself, relieved when no one objects or even seems to notice.
Once alone in my room, I down my wine and curl up on my made bed. After a few minutes of staring into space, I close my eyes and listen to the faint sound of my parents and children laughing downstairs, mulling over the strangeness of the afternoon—how surprising and sad and soothing it has been all at once.
As I hover near sleep, I find myself thinking about Dex’s words on Christmas Eve—how he’d never cheat on Rachel—and only cheated with her because he was in love. Then I think of my father’s comments about Diane at lunch today, his implication that she was utterly beside the point, not the catalyst for