Chapter 4 | Liz

Chapter 4

Liz

T hings look just as murky in the morning, the truth more glaring in the sunlight streaming into my hotel room. I left my husband. Based on the ten missed calls on my cell phone, he noticed. As has his twin sister and my best friend, Jane. Jane and I met on the same cruise where I met Julian. And like Julian and me, we haven’t looked back since. We were college roommates, sorority sisters, and traveled together after graduation. Our friendship has more than survived my relationship and its breaks. Jane was the one who always put me back together. Except this time, she can’t. Jane was there for all the heartbreak Julian caused, but when he slid that ring on my finger, she made her allegiance clear. If I ever broke her brother’s heart, and not the other way around, she would pick Julian. In the same breath, she told me not to marry him . Julian has no idea about any of this, so it’s not surprising that he would assume the first person I would turn to would be my best friend and that, of course, Jane would give me refuge.

I lift the lid on the room service that I ordered for much too early in the morning. The pancakes look divine, and I’m glad my pitying self won out over sensible me when I ordered last night. The last thing I can stomach right now is egg whites. I barely slept, my mind is reeling, and the tears are flowing. The knowledge that I don’t know where to go is sinking in. My West Dover friends are an option, but too many of them are joint friends—our couple friends—and they don’t know the history, not really. I am not ready to tell my mother, and my older sister, Cecilia, lives halfway across the country. Jane is obviously out of the question, leaving me with one option. I really don’t want that to be my only option.

I scroll through my contacts until I find my father’s number. I haven’t called him in months. Daughter guilt sets in. We’re not particularly close, but we generally keep in touch on a somewhat regular basis. We aren’t at the perfunctory calls on birthdays and holidays stage or anything. But with my younger half sister, Zoey, away at college, the reasons to call have been fewer and far between. And my dad is not good on upkeep either. He probably hasn’t realized it’s been a few months. And even if he has, he won’t hold it against me.

My dad answers on the first ring. “Lizzie?”

I bristle at the name. He is the only one allowed to call me that, and even then, I don’t like it.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Everything okay?” he asks, using that preternatural sense he’s always had. My whole life he would walk into my room the moment I was about to lose it. He’d lean against my door jamb, an innocent look on his face. Everything okay, Lizzie?

“Well,” I say, feeling a bit more confident in my decision, “I need someplace to stay for a few... for a while.”

“Trouble in paradise, honey?” His tone is casual, but there’s an undertone of concern there. There always is when we’re talking about Julian. I’ve often wondered what my dad thinks of him, what he saw when he looked at Julian throughout the years. I’ve always been too afraid to ask.

“ Dad. ”

“You can stay for however long you need. You still have your key?”

T wo hours and a sick day request later, I stand in front of unit 509 in Ardena Gardens. It’s one of those townhouse communities, the ones my mother helped take over Ardena and all the surrounding towns over the last twenty years, making affordable bedroom communities even more affordable. My dad moved to Ardena early in my senior year of high school after it came to light that he had a two-year-old daughter with his TA. Zoey—said illegitimate daughter and my half sister—was left with dear old Dad to his complete and utter shock when her mother decided to join the Peace Corps. For real. Zoey’s arrival threw all our lives into chaos, to say the least. To my mother’s credit, she did try to get past the cheating and the child—Zoey was adorable—but in the end, it was too much. My dad moved into a townhouse thirty minutes east with Zoey, and they’ve been there ever since.

The townhouse is quaint, and while the space never felt like home to me, it’s better than if he lived alone in a dingy apartment on the other side of town. The situation might not have been ideal, but seeing both my parents thrive in their new lives made the transition better. It helped that Julian lived in the next town over. My dad’s place became a sort of haven for us that first year after they separated. My mom didn’t say much about it, which as an adult, makes me wonder exactly what she thought about it. But my sister Cecilia was vocal enough for both of them. She cut our father out of her life after the divorce and thought I should as well. Cecilia refused to get to know our sister, a sad truth that extends through today.

I fish around inside my purse for the Rutgers lanyard I’ve kept the house key on since high school. My dad will be on campus for several more hours. He spends every summer doing research and writing papers, often traveling to other schools in-country and out. Sometimes Zoey goes with him. Other times, she spends the summer with her mother, who returned from the Peace Corps and promptly moved three states away. How Zoey ever forgave her for leaving in the first place is beyond me. But I know she has.

Inside, the townhouse looks like it always does. The living room is fairly clean, considering, but evidence of research papers and stacks of books are littered around the space. Zoey’s running shoes sit by the door. Her keys are in the tray. She isn’t supposed to be here. My dad said something about work orientation, but he must have been wrong. I follow the low tones of Wilderness Weekend—Zoey’s favorite band—to her room. The door is mostly closed, but I use the sliver as an invitation to enter with only a perfunctory knock.

Halfway through the door, I come to a screeching halt. I shield my eyes, but the sight is burned into my retinas. Zoey and her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, last I’d heard—covered by a sheet but clearly entangled and naked. I peek through the space between my fingers. Zoey stares at me with practiced annoyance. Andrew is detached like the asshat he is.

“You remember Andrew?” Zoey asks in a tone much too calm for this situation.

Remember him? Yes, I remember him. I also remember how they broke up because Zoey walked in on him sleeping with one of her best friends—except they weren’t sleeping .

Anger rises in me. Who does this boy think he is? I feel righteously angry for all the teenaged girls who believe in the power of first love, who can’t let the boy go. For the girls like me. Where would I be if I had let Julian go?

I pull myself to my full height—all five feet six inches of me—and give them my best imitation of a stern parent. “I expect you both downstairs in less than five minutes.” I step back toward the door, pausing on the way out. “Do not make me come back here.”