“You tell them the good news, Baby,” my dad urges Deb, wrapping an arm around her slender waist.
“OK Honey Bear,” she squeals, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Abby, Emerson. Bob and I...Well. Let’s just say we finally figured out what to get you guys for your birthdays.”
“And what’s...that?” Emerson asks cautiously.
In answer, Deb simply holds her left hand up for us to take a gander at. For a split second, I’m totally at a loss. That is, before I catch the sparkly glimmer shining off her ring finger. There on her hand is a rock the size of Rhode Island. An engagement ring, by the looks of it. The implications of her new accessory wallop me as I sit beside Emerson, staring in horrified silence.
Deb’s wearing an engagement ring.
“We’re going to get you each a brand new sibling! We’ll be one big, happy family at last!” she cries ecstatically.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Emerson says, springing to his feet. Safe to say any lingering evidence of our blissful excitement is long gone.
“Bob and I are going to get married, sweetie!” Deb goes on, her smile wavering. “We didn’t want to upstage your eighteenth birthdays, though, so we’re going to wait until the weekend after.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Emerson snarls, his face turning bright red. “Remind me to make sure and nominate you for Mother of the Year.”
“Stop it,” Deb says, her eyes filling with angry tears. “You don’t get to ruin this moment for me. You’re going to be happy for me, Emerson. For once in your goddamn life.”
“Yeah. I don’t really see that happening,” Emerson scoffs, his walls and defenses springing back into place.
“At least tell your mother that you’re happy for her, Emerson,” my dad says harshly. My eyes go wide at his tone. He never reprimands Emerson for anything.
“Already playing at being my old man, Bob?” Emerson says, with a cold smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hate to break it to you, but that ship sailed a long time ago. Thanks for at least waiting until I’m a legal adult to pull this crap. That way I can bail on this shit show with no strings attached.”
“Emerson, please,” Deb says plaintively, but it’s no use. He’s already turned his back and marched out the door once again. We hear his Chevy start up and peel out of driveway.
I blink back devastated tears, looking longingly after him. He could have at least taken me with him. After everything we shared this evening, everything we did...he said I could trust him. Was that just another lie to get in my pants? No. Of course not. He’s just hurt by our parents’ carelessness. Hurt by what it means for us.
“Are you going to say congratulations at least?” my dad asks me flatly, placing a comforting hand on Deb’s back.
“I...I don’t...” I stammer, looking back and forth between them. “I don’t know what you want from me, Dad.”
“That...is very disappointing,” he replies, looking as hurt as I’ve ever seen him. But how the hell am I supposed to congratulate them on what is clearly nothing more than an impulsive, terrible decision? They barely even know each other. They’re still in the early stages of recovery. What the hell are they thinking?
“So ungrateful, both of them,” Deb mutters, marching up the stairs.
Dad heaves a sigh as she slams their bedroom door. An eerie silence falls over the house, punctuated only by Deb’s muffled sobs from upstairs. My dad and I look at each other across the wide open space. This is as alone as we’ve been in months, ever since Deb showed up on the scene. I wish I could be honest with him right now, tell him how reckless he’s being, tell him how much it hurts me to see him pick up with the first woman he meets without actually giving a shit about her. But I’ve never been able to call my dad out on his bad behavior.
“This is not how I saw tonight ending,” he mutters, shaking his head.
“I just wish you would have asked us if we were OK with this,” I say, frustrated tears stinging my eyes.
“Excuse me,” my dad replies, “Since when do parents ask their children for permission?”
“I just...You hardly know her! She hardly knows you!” I exclaim. “What is it you even love about her, Dad? I mean, you do love her—?”
“Of course I do,” he says gruffly. “I love how she looks. How she carries herself. Her eyes. Her hair.”
“Seriously?” I ask, scoffing, “You like the way she looks? That’s it?”
“You and Emerson will be adults soon,” my dad says firmly. “Before long, you’ll know what it feels like to want something—someone—so badly that you’re willing to do just about anything to be together. I hope you’ll have the courage to make that leap when the time comes.”
I almost laugh as he spews theses words of wisdom. He practically just told me to go ahead and jump my soon-to-be-stepbrother’s bones. But as absurd as this all is, I can’t laugh at about it just yet. The pain is far too raw.
There’s a good chance it always will be.