Page 17 of Under My Skin

Chapter Seventeen

LUCY

It’s a strange feeling to sit in a place you once called home and hardly recognize it.

Simon wasn’t joking when he said they were packing up the house this weekend.

It’s only Saturday morning and already the walls are completely bare of pictures, and all the knickknacks my mom collected over the years have vanished from the shelves.

To be fair, most of it was junk. But it was always sentimental junk.

It was glazed pottery Simon and I painted in elementary school.

It was the cute animal statues we traditionally bought her for Mother’s Day.

And it was her small brushes in a cup beside her watercolor paints—just in case something outside inspired her.

This house hardly reflects the cozy childhood home I grew up in. It looks more like a clean slate—a fresh start for someone else to make their own.

“I still can’t believe you’re here, Lulu,” my father says as he sets a glass of lemonade on the coffee table in front of me.

Painted strawberries cover the surface of the cup—another one of my mother’s crafts.

I’ve probably sat on this couch and drank lemonade out of this glass more times than I can count, but this time, something is off.

My eyes travel from the cup to my father as he sits in the leather chair across from me.

He gives me a smile, but as much as he looks the same with his lanky frame and round eyeglasses, he’s different.

This isn’t the smile he’s given me for most of my life; this one is strained.

This is the smile trying and failing to cut through the tension, like trying to cut through the frozen ice cream cake we eat on his birthday every year with a butter knife.

“Are you sure we can’t get you something to eat?” my mother asks from the kitchen, but from the looks of things, she’s already working on preparing something for the sake of being busy.

“I’m fine,” I answer even though it’s a lie. Nothing about this is fine.

My father nods as he wipes his hands on his jeans. I wonder if his palms are sweating as much as mine. “And you said your flight was good?”

“Yup.” I realize I’m sitting on my hands and shift to look more natural. “I got in last night.”

Mom abandons the kitchen to sit in the other armchair next to Dad. “Last night? Where did you stay?”

“Simon’s.”

My parents exchange a look, an unspoken message firing between them. They’re probably wondering how much my beloved brother has told me.

In a weak attempt to recover, my mother smiles. “Oh, is that why Everett dropped you off? Simon mentioned he’s staying with him for a little while. He’s been doing so well lately.”

I’m not here to talk about Everett. Even if the mention of his name does bring me the tiniest sense of comfort. With a sigh, I try to put us all out of our misery. I’m not here to play games with them. I’m here so we can lay all the cards on the table. “So, you’re selling the house?”

They stare back at me before briefly glancing at each other. It’s my mother who takes the lead. “We were going to tell you soon. Things have just been so hectic around here lately, and you were busy with your business. ”

My eyebrows pinch. “Mom, we talk on the phone every week. You could have mentioned it.”

She looks at my father again, but he keeps his eyes trained on me. I can’t tell if he’s looking at me with pity, or if it’s just his own guilt shining through, but it’s enough to make me look down and fidget with the sleeve of my sweater in my lap.

“And Simon mentioned you’re getting a divorce?” My voice comes out so much smaller than I was hoping. When my eyes flick upward to catch their reaction, I’m met with the exact same scene: my mom looking at my dad while my dad stares at me with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry, Lulu. We should have told you,” he finally says, his words coming out as more of a realization than an admission of guilt.

“We just didn’t want to upset you, honey.” My mom reaches for my father’s hand, and the fact that they’re still acting like a united front shakes something inside of me awake.

“But you didn’t mind upsetting Simon?” There’s a little more sharpness in my tone this time, and I’m relieved to get my footing. “How can you share something like that with Simon, but not me?”

My dad drops his gaze to the floor, so my mom answers again. “Simon lives here. He would have seen the sign in front of the house. We had to tell him what was going on.”

I frown. “So, you’re saying you would have hidden it from him too if he lived out of state? What were you planning on doing? Having a secret divorce and then sending us two separate invitations for the holidays?”

My dad finally lifts his head, perking up for the first time since he sat across from me. “Actually, we figured we’d still enjoy the holidays together.”

My eyes jump between the two of them, and my mother gives me a smile with a reassuring nod.

“No, that’s weird,” I manage to say. “You can’t just divide our family, get rid of the only home we’ve ever known, and then expect us to act like nothing has changed.”

“But we’ll always be a family,” my mom offers.

She lets go of my dad’s hand so she can lean forward and give me her full attention.

“Even if your dad and I aren’t together, we’re still so proud of you and Simon.

I’d never want you to have to split your time between seeing us.

It’s not like we can’t handle being in the same room.

I have nothing but love and respect for this man. ”

I throw up my arms in exasperation. “Then why the hell are you two getting a divorce?”

My father flinches, and I realize I may have raised my voice a little too loud.

Shaking my head, I backpedal. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense.

” I gesture toward them. “Look at you. You’re practically the poster children for what a healthy marriage should look like.

You taught me the importance of being able to listen just as loudly as I’m able to speak.

You never go to bed angry. If you’re mad, you talk it out.

You two always acted ten times more mature than so many of my friends’ parents. I don’t get it.”

My mother is back to looking at my father again, and this time he has his eyes set on her. They’re having another silent conversation, and it makes me want to scream. I just told them what good communicators they are, and they’re still not being upfront with me.

Finally, my mom sighs and turns her attention back to me. “I know it’s hard to understand right now, but you’ll see that this is better for all of us.”

I raise an unimpressed brow. “Really?” Looking around at the bare living room, I open my mouth to say something about them purging our memories without bothering to ask if I wanted to hold onto any of them, but instead I blurt, “Are you two going through a mid-life crisis or something?”

“No, not a crisis,” my mother quickly answers.

“Are you bored?” I ask .

My father shakes his head before lifting his glasses to run a hand over his face.

“Did someone cheat?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” My mom laughs, and it isn’t fake. She truly finds the idea of either of them cheating comical.

Because that’s not who they are. But I never thought they’d be the ones getting a divorce at the ripe age of fifty-eight either.

“Lulu, we’d love a little support through this. It’s been a difficult choice for us,” my mom adds.

“At least you had a choice in the matter,” I mutter.

My mother gives me a sympathetic smile, but my dad looks almost wounded by my response.

My phone buzzes, but I can’t bring myself to look at it. If it’s a text from Allison asking me how I’m doing, I might fall apart. But I’m too angry to fall apart in front of my parents right now—and too determined to hold onto that anger.

“How long are you staying?” Dad finally asks, breaking the silence that has fallen between us.

“I haven’t bought my return flight yet, but I was thinking Monday. I brought my stuff with me so I can get some work done while I’m here.”

At the mention of my job, my mom lights up. She loves what I do. I get my artistic abilities from her, after all. “How is work going?”

“Good,” I answer on default. I can’t have a normal conversation with them right now.

My father still looks deep in thought, like he’s not ready to have a normal conversation either. “Would you like to go through your room while you’re here? We haven’t touched anything in there yet.”

Something inside me relaxes, but I’m not sure if it’s the relief of not having to pack up my room right away, or if it’s knowing they haven’t dismantled my childhood. “Yeah, but I probably won’t do it today. ”

My dad holds up both hands. “No rush. We’re here when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly before another bout of silence washes over the three of us.

I don’t have anything left to say to them, though.

They’re not being upfront about things, and I don’t have the energy to force the answers out of them.

I want to know why—I want to know what went wrong, but it’s clear I’m not going to get that, and I can’t sit here and fake pleasantries or talk about the weather.

Getting to my feet, I walk the mostly full glass of lemonade to the kitchen counter and set it down by the sink. I don’t want to waste it, but I can’t stomach it either. Maybe one of them will drink it.

“You’re leaving?” Mom asks as she looks over the back of her chair.

“Yeah. I have a few things to do, but I wanted to stop by to clear the air.” It doesn’t feel like the air has cleared, but at least the big reveal is out in the open.

Now I just need a little time for the dust to settle before I start digging through the rubble.

My father is back to looking wounded, and it breaks my heart.

“I’ll be back later. Or tomorrow,” I quickly add.

They get to their feet, and my mom approaches me with open arms. “We’ll be here.

” She wraps her arms around me, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my feelings at bay.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” she whispers as she squeezes me tightly, and I wonder if it’s true. It’s not like I had an invitation.

As soon as she’s done, it’s my father’s turn.

The subtle quirk to his mouth makes his smile hold so much sadness, and I know he’s torn.

I’m not sure what battle he’s waging in his own mind, but the evidence of it is plain as day.

He wraps his arms around me and gives me a tight squeeze.

I know he’s trying to say everything will be okay, but I’m not sure I believe him.

It’s easy for him to think it will all work out, but what happens when one of them moves on?

Will they really be comfortable getting together for holidays when one of them has a new partner?

Just thinking about it feels like a strange alternate reality, and I’m not sure I want it.

They walk me to the front door, but I’m grateful when they don’t follow me outside.

“Who’s picking you up?” my mother asks as we stand in the entryway that once had one of her favorite paintings on the wall.

I’m tempted to ask her where it is now. She painted it while we were on a family vacation at the beach when we were younger.

It showed my brother and me holding hands and splashing in the waves.

My heart deflates a little at the thought of her throwing it away.

“Everett,” I answer without thinking. “He’ll be here any minute.” Simon probably would have been the more believable answer, but I’m sure my parents have more to say to Simon than they do Everett, and the last thing I need is to extend this visit.

We say our goodbyes, and as I head down the driveway. I can still feel their eyes on me from the front window, so I turn and walk up the street, pulling out my phone as soon as I’m out of their view. There’s a text from a number I don’t have saved.

Unknown Number:

Let me know if you need a ride.

It’s Everett. It has to be. But as much as I do need a ride, I don’t text him back.