Hello Stranger(82)

“Yes, you did. But you didn’t get what you wanted.”

“Neither did you.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Parker looked around the room. “This is so brutal,” she said then. “Your painting sucks, your dress is awful, I’m pretty sure you’re being shunned by the art world, and your nemesis is right here, gloating.”

“Parker?” I said. “Get out.”

“No.”

“Get out before I call security.”

But Parker just smiled. “You won’t do that. You’re already at maximum humiliation.”

“Joke’s on you. I don’t have maximum humiliation.”

But did the universe hear me right then and think, Challenge accepted? Because we were about to redefine maximum humiliation.

“Parker,” I said, “just go.”

“No way. I want to savor every minute.”

“Why are you the worst person in the world?” I asked, like she might try to answer.

“Oh my god. You’re always the victim, aren’t you?”

“Well, whose fault is that?”

“You just have to blame me for everything.”

“I don’t blame you for everything. You actually do everything.”

But she leaned in. “Your persecution complex is unreal.”

“I don’t have a persecution complex!” I said. “I am literally being persecuted.”

“It’s not my fault your mother died,” Parker said then. “It’s not my fault your dad married my mom. It’s not my fault we sold our house, and I gave up my room, and we got thrown together every minute of every day. I didn’t ask for that, and I certainly didn’t ask for you. I was not consulted—about any of it! And yes, I did all those terrible things! I framed you and lied about you and coaxed them both into pushing you away. But your dad not loving you? That’s not my fault, either. He stopped loving you well before we met. You lost him all on your own. And you want to know how you did that? Because you”—and here she seemed to rise up on her dragon haunches—“are the reason that your mother died.”

I guess our voices had accidentally gotten loud.

When she stopped talking, there was not a sound in the gallery.

I could hear the A/C dripping into my bucket.

I could hear a toilet flush.

And I could hear all those people who’d been ignoring me earlier suddenly taking a new kind of interest.

I lowered my voice, in a comical shot at privacy. “What are you talking about right now?”

“I overheard them talking one night—Dad and Lucinda. He told her what happened. That your mom had a messed-up blood vessel in her brain. That he’d begged her to get surgery to fix it. But she refused. She put it off till summer. The two of you had planned a spring break trip, to go visit some artist’s museum, and she wasn’t going to disappoint you. Your dad told her to cancel the trip. He begged her. But she wouldn’t listen. She went anyway. And then one week later, she collapsed.”

What was she saying?

I felt a weird pain in my chest, like the shell of my heart was cracking.

“That’s what he said that night,” Parker went on. “That it was your fault. That try as he might, he couldn’t help but blame you. I heard him say those words out loud. So you can stop thinking I ruined your relationship with your father. It’s not my fault he doesn’t love you. It’s not my fault you lost your family. You did all that to yourself.”

Was something going on with the floor? It felt like the room was shaking.

So much for staying until the end.

I looked up for an escape route, and that’s when I saw my father. I knew it was him at a glance from that navy polka-dot bowtie he’d been wearing to fancy events ever since I was little. And I’d know his stance—not to mention his outline—anywhere. And there he stood, a forgotten bouquet of grocery store flowers in his non-bandaged hand—watching us, his sheer motionlessness telegraphing that he’d just witnessed the whole thing.

And that it was true.

I didn’t even bother to walk closer. There were no secrets with this crowd now.

“Is she lying?” I said to my father. “Or is it true?”

My dad took a half step forward, then paused.

I stood up straighter. “Tell me she’s lying,” I said. Then, yelling: “Tell me she’s lying!”

Where the hell was Joe when I needed him to flip the breaker and save me?

Oh, well.

I guess I’d have to save myself.





Twenty-Six


THAT MOMENT MUST have been so fun for Parker.

She broke me. She really did.

All that effort I’d made to be there and withstand it all and stay until the end?

Annihilated.

I charged past my still-motionless dad, through the still-gaping crowd, and pushed my way toward the exit, feeling weirdly like I was underwater and hoping desperately that there might be more air outside than in.

But nope.

Outside was just as airless.

I felt woozy. I stopped just past the entrance and pressed my palms and forehead against the brick wall, trying to pull it together.

Easier imagined than done.

Before I’d stabilized, I heard a voice. And sure, I wasn’t great at voices, but it didn’t take me long to figure out who it was.