Page 25 of Sweet as Puck

I gritted my teeth and exhaled slowly, trying to let my frustrations go, but my heart was breaking. I wasn’t even sure if it was for them or me. A few short weeks ago, I’d been begging the universe for a relationship like theirs. I’d wanted nothing more than a man or two who would love me like Dad loved Mum. Now I was listening to them fight about how to pull apart their lives that had been intertwined for longer than I’d even been alive.

Logically, I knew it was over, but the little girl in me didn’t want them to fall apart. I wanted them to get past this and go back to being happy together. I wanted the relationship that I’d based my dreams on to stay intact. If they weren’t each other’s forever person, could I ever find mine? Was there really a man or two who was perfect for me? I was a romantic at heart. I wrote romance novels, for goodness’ sake. I wanted to find my guys and live happily ever after. I wanted cuddles and kisses. I wanted laughter and holding hands. I wanted romantic gestures and public “I love yous.” I wanted my men to shout from the rooftops that they were in love with me and each other. But if Mum and Dad couldn’t make their relationship work… what did that mean for me?

But what I wanted—and all my insecurities—were irrelevant, especially when Dad still wasn’t doing the right thing.

I blinked away the sting in my eyes when the hope withered a little more. “I can’t do this, Mum. I hate him for what he’s done to you, but I can’t listen to you tell me how you want to clean him out.”

Mum sighed, her frustration clear, and my head throbbed, a tight band squeezing around my temples.

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” She paused for a moment and asked in a more cheerful voice, “Are you enjoying your trip so far?”

“I’ve just been double-checking all the bookings and that everything is ready with the Entertainment Centre.” I’d actually done that the moment we’d checked into the hotel. I wanted to get it out of the way so I could write for a couple of hours. My fingers had been itching in reaction to my excitement and anticipation for my date. If I didn’t get the words out, I’d obsess over it, overthinking what I’d say and wear until I was a nervous wreck.

“Who did you get to go with you?”

“Oh, ah…,” I stalled and squeezed the bridge of my nose, trying to stop the pounding behind my forehead.

I was nervous telling her about Monroe, but I wasn’t going to lie about it. “Remember Zali, my friend from uni? Her dad. He’s a mad sports fan, and he offered to take some time off work to come. We’re, um….”

“Cara,” she warned, stretching out my name into two long syllables as if she knew that I was going to tell her we were going on a date.

“Please, Mum,” I begged. “He’s… nice”—understatement of the year—“and he needed something to look forward to as well after everything he’s been through with the podcast.”

“All I’m saying is, be careful. I lost my head with the attention of an older man. He was suave and sophisticated, and look where it landed me. Don’t make my mistakes.”

“I know you’re worried, but I can look after myself. And before you ask, yes, I know what safe sex is, and no, we won’t be doing it.” I didn’t add “even though I really, really want to” to the end of that sentence. There were things that my mum didn’t need to know about me.

“I need to go, Mum,” I explained. It was late afternoon already, and I wanted to get a few more words down before I had to start getting ready. For my date. But now that I’d had it out with bothmy parents, my head was pounding, and I wouldn’t be doing any of it without first having some painkillers and a nap.

“Okay, honey. Promise me you’ll be safe.”

“Always, Mum.”

I hung up and went rifling through my bag for ibuprofen.

Half an hour after taking them, though, my headache was worse. I felt miserable, and even the hot bath I was sitting in was doing nothing to relieve it.

My phone beeped with an incoming message, and I hesitated, tempted to ignore it. But if I was being called upon, I needed to respond.

Unknown:

Your dad is really upset that you’re taking your mum’s side on this. He’s done so much for you. You should be grateful.

I blinked and reread it. What in heavens was this?

I responded.

Who is this?

Danielle. Your father’s girlfriend.

I sat up so fast that water sloshed out the sides of the bath, soaking the floor mat.

You mean the woman my dad is cheating on my mum with? Who do you think you are, telling me whose side to take? You have no business talking to me. Ever. Don’t call. Don’t message me again. And stop sleeping with my dad.

My hands shook as I hit Send. I’d always been taught never to say anything in anger, especially in writing. Write the messageif I had to, but don’t send it. But that wasn’t happening here. I wasn’t going to lie down and take it.

That’s not going to happen. Be nicer to him or I’ll tell him to cut you off. He’ll listen.