The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Forty-One
Frankie
NOW
I’m mortified. I made a fool of myself at Saylor’s dinner party last night and to make matters worse, to cover my embarrassment I’d accused Andre of flirting with Celeste when I know that’s not true. We hadn’t waited to get home either; we’d gone at each other in Saylor’s backyard. We rarely argue. Sure, we have disagreements but nothing like the verbal bashing last night. The alcohol had made me irrational and his calmness had infuriated me. Then he’d had the audacity to laugh at my “pathetic attempts at flirting with a single guy” and I’d lost it.
So it’s okay for him to smile at every woman in the room and I can’t chat with a man? I know I’m useless at flirting because I never do it, which is why him calling me “pathetic” really rankled. Does that mean he’s an expert because he does it often when I’m not around? Does he flirt at work every chance he gets?
I forced myself to move past this jealousy when we finished therapy because it would have ruined us and we’ve been happy for the most part. But it’s times like this when the vast differences between our personalities are rammed home. Andre will always be the life of the party while I only come alive in front of a camera, perpetuating a giant sham.
“Look at my perfect life. Look how competent I am. Look how I have everything together.” When that’s far from the truth. I’m over it. Over everything at the moment and I have no idea how to extricate myself from this web of self-delusion I’ve spun.
I can’t remember everything I said last night and after our argument I stomped through the kitchen on the way home, and saw Celeste hugging Luna. I hadn’t wanted my daughter to see me in such a state so I’d given Celeste a grateful nod and kept going, barely stopping to thank Saylor and Lloyd for hosting, and bidding farewell to a bemused Ruston. Yeah, I’d made a spectacle of myself and I’m not sure whether to apologize to all involved or hope they forget it.
After a shower that makes my head pound a little less I get dressed and head downstairs. I hear Andre and Luna chatting and I can smell he’s made her favorite buttermilk pancakes. I pause on the fourth step from the bottom, which gives me an angled view into the kitchen, and let the calmness of the domestic scene between daddy and daughter wash over me. Andre is dishing pancakes onto three plates and Luna is perched next to him on a stool, in charge of toppings. The tip of her tongue protrudes from her lips as she focuses on scattering choc chips on her father’s, pouring maple syrup on mine, and sprinkling sugar on hers. I hate that she might have witnessed us fighting last night.
Is that why Celeste had been hugging her? Had she been comforting my daughter? If so, I should thank her. I feel like an idiot for accusing Andre of flirting with her when I’d seen no sign at all. I’d flung it at him because I’d been deflecting from my own behavior. As for the way she’d been watching me make a fool of myself with Ruston, I’m not surprised if she thinks I’m an idiot.
It’s not Celeste’s fault I overreacted. I haven’t been happy for a while now and the pressure of faking it for my adoring audience almost daily is taking a toll. I need some time away and my mind immediately goes to the one place I always felt at peace.
It’s crazy, craving the beach house that belongs to my ex-husband, but the thought of listening to the waves crashing on the beach while I lie in bed, the calming long walks and the fresh air, is infinitely appealing. Though considering Walter hasn’t returned my calls, it’s outlandish to consider saying out of the blue, “Hey, I need some chill time away from my family, mind if I crash at your seaside cottage?”
I traverse the remaining steps, take a deep breath and enter the kitchen. Two sets of eyes, one wary and watchful, one innocent and joyous, meet mine, and rather than feel happy I want to escape even more.
“Mom, Dad made pancakes!” Luna wriggles like an excited puppy. “And they’re ready, so can we eat now?”
“Sure thing, sweetie.” I place a kiss on the top of her head, and touch Andre’s hand with mine. “Hey.”
“Hope you’re hungry,” he says, handing me a plate, knowing full well I won’t be able to stomach more than half a pancake.
“Funny guy.” I take the plate and manage a wan smile, glad his eyes have warmed when they meet mine.
“Want a coffee?” he asks and I’m relieved he’s calmed down since last night.
“Please.” I sit at the dining table and Luna sits next to me, waiting patiently for Andre to join us like we’ve taught her. But she’s practically drooling all over her pancakes so I say, “It’s okay, sweetie, you can start.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Her wide smile makes me want to cradle her close and never let go, but she’s already licking sugar off her fork and I leave her to it.
I stare at my plate, willing myself to have a bit but my stomach is still roiling. When Andre brings me a coffee, he smirks and points to my plate. “You know you won’t be allowed to go outside and play if you don’t eat your breakfast.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Luna says, her mouth full of pancake, and I laugh at my husband’s cheekiness, knowing I’d flip him the finger if Luna wasn’t around.
He sits opposite me, his lopsided smile and flop of hair over his forehead and blue eyes so familiar the tightness in my chest eases. I don’t want to escape my family. I love them. But it’s been a long time since I’ve had a break and taken time for myself, so it’s something I need to consider.
“Feeling okay?”
I hold up my hand and waver it side to side. “Been better.”
“Maybe less of this next time and you’ll feel great.” He grins and mimes drinking from a bottle and this time I do flip him the finger at table level, so only he can see.
He laughs and slices his pancakes in precise quarters like he usually does while I sip my coffee. Soon, Luna’s prattling about her next ballet class and what she wants to watch later and I drift off, content to let her chatter wash over me.
So when she says, “I have a secret with Celeste,” I almost drop the mug in my hands.
Andre shoots me a warning glare, as if he knows I’ll overreact to anything involving Celeste. “Luna, we’ve told you before. It’s not good to keep secrets from us and especially not with another adult.”
Luna’s lower lip wobbles and I lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You know you can tell us anything, sweetie, and we won’t get mad at you.”
She doesn’t deserve our anger; Celeste does, for putting our daughter in this position. What kind of adult would keep a secret with a child when any parent knows we want the opposite?
“Last night when you and Daddy were fighting, she gave me strawberries and cream to make me feel better because I was sad.” She raises tear-filled eyes to mine and I hate I made my daughter feel this way. “It was after nine o’clock, when I know you won’t let me have snacks, but Celeste said it could be our secret and I thought that was pretty cool so I said yes.” She tilts her chin up in defiance. “And I ate the whole bowlful and it tasted yummy.”
I’m at a loss. We shouldn’t have argued in front of her. Our rare disagreements take place behind closed doors because I remember witnessing my parents having some rip-roaring arguments and they always terrified me, even in my early teens. I’d always feared they’d get divorced. In the long run, that wouldn’t have been a bad thing. They could’ve slept with as many people as they liked, without damaging my psyche.
While I’d never paid attention to what was being said back then, deliberately distancing myself by going to my room or slipping headphones on and cranking up the music, I wonder if those arguments had been about their lovers and they’d been jealous, despite embracing that kind of lifestyle.
“Parents sometimes argue, Luna, it’s what grown-ups do,” Andre says, and I shoot him a grateful nod for taking the lead on this. “Doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”
“That’s what Celeste said too.”
Thankfully, Luna’s tears have dried and she’s back to alternating glances between us and her pancakes.
“And we’re sorry you felt sad when you saw us, but it’s not right to keep secrets from us about anything, okay?”
She’s so solemn, her eyes wide, and I want to sweep her into my arms and squeeze her tight. “Okay, Daddy. Can I finish my pancakes now?”
“Sure thing,” Andre says, but I see the deepening frown lines between his brows. He’s not impressed with the whole secret thing either.
When Luna’s forked another piece of pancake into her mouth, he stands on the pretext of clearing his plate and comes around to murmur in my ear. “Do you want me to go next door and talk to Celeste about not encouraging our child to keep secrets?”
I touch his leg. “Thanks, but I’ll handle it.”
“Okay.” He straightens and winks. “Go easy on her.”
“I will.”
It’s time I had a heart-to-heart with Celeste.