“When you say ‘got together,’” I ask, “you mean—”
“Well, almost got together,” Evan says. “They didn’t have sex. But they made out. And they got close.”
“Dude,” Virgo says. “You don’t tell!”
I look at Virgo. “What do you mean, ‘You don’t tell’?”
“I mean, you don’t tell.” He pauses to take a drink. “Even if it’s flirting with someone else. You keep that stuff to yourself.”
“But then you’re lying to your significant other,” I say. “And your whole relationship is a farce!”
Virgo raises his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get you so upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I say, lowering my voice. “I’m just—I just disagree.”
“Wait,” Evan says. “So let me ask you this. She called me last week and said she wants to try again, that she feels terrible about what she did. She wants me to forgive her and give her another chance.”
I’m surprised he’s telling me this, especially after our night in his dorm room.
“You could give her a chance—” Virgo starts to say.
“Nope,” I say, interrupting him. “There are no more chances.”
“So you don’t give her credit for being honest?”
“Hell no.”
“I agree with Viviana,” Sammie says.
“Okay, let me ask you this,” Virgo says. “Would it have been better if she’d kissed the guy and then lied about it to Evan?”
“No! She shouldn’t have done it at all!” I say. “Why? Do you actually think she should have lied?”
“Hell yes,” Virgo says. “What’s it going to fix? She was never going to see that other guy again. It’s like what she did with him happened in another dimension. It doesn’t count.”
“I’d rather know,” I say.
“Are you sure about that?” Virgo says. “Are you really sure you’d rather know?”
I think about everything I do know—I feel for the keys that are burning a hole in my pocket.
I look at Virgo. And I pull out the keys. “Yes,” I say. “Because I already do.”
“What are those?” Sammie asks.
“I found these in my father’s drawer. They’re the keys to his other house.”
“Oh, no,” Sammie says.
Virgo picks up the keys. “What are you talking about?”
“What do you mean, ‘his other house’?” Evan leans over and takes them from Virgo’s hands. He reads the label. “What’s Geneva Terrace?”
Maybe it’s the fact that they’re all staring at me or maybe it’s the thundering sky or maybe it’s what Sammie said about how I need more people in my life who care about me. Or maybe it’s the fact that Evan’s being totally, completely honest with me and I actually do care about him, and so I want to do everything in my power to save him from another broken heart.
So I tell them.
About my father.
His other family. His two kids. His two lives.
I tell them everything.
“That’s insane,” Virgo says.
But Evan says nothing. He just hands me back the keys with a strange look, and I’m not sure if the expression on his face is one of pity or confusion or sudden and complete understanding about why I often act like a complete freak.
“I looked her up on Facebook,” I continue. “She’s in Acapulco on vacation, she and her kids—I mean their kids. She doesn’t have any pictures of him, but a hundred bucks my dad’s there, too. He said he’s back in Singapore on work, but he’s a compulsive liar, so…”
“She took his name?” Virgo says.
“Hyphenated. Paige Griffin-Lowe.”
“That’s bizarre. Do you think she knows about you?”
“I have no idea,” I say. “But I’m thinking about going in.”
“Into his house?” Sammie asks. “You’re going to break in?”
“Is it really his house? Or is it technically mine? I mean, if I’m his daughter, then everything that belongs to him belongs to me, right?”
“I think you have a right to go in,” Virgo says, holding his Coke up in a mock toast. “See what this family’s story is.”
“No,” Sammie says. “She doesn’t! Vivi, I get that you’re upset, but this isn’t going to help.”
“It might help me understand—” I start to say.
“No!” Sammie snaps. “The only thing that will help is talking to him. And your mom. You have to confront this directly, not sneak into his house looking for answers that you know are not there.”
“Sammie, why aren’t you supporting me in this?”
“Because it’s a dumb idea.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I don’t know why you always have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“You make everything more complicated than it needs to be.”
“Excuse me?”
“Forget it,” Sammie says. “I shouldn’t say anything.”
“No,” I say. “Go for it. You’re obviously busting to say something, so say it.”
“Okay, fine. You want to know? You make these impulsive choices, you don’t think things through, and then you come to me and—”
“And then I come to you and you’re sick of me? You’re sick of my drama?”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Then what, exactly, were you going to say?”
“You need to think it through. You need to face your problems directly, for once.”
“Instead of you doing it for me.”