September

“Wait repeat that,” my grandmother said over her leftover pancakes, “They set off fireworks in the middle of the desert?”

I nodded and picked at my bacon, or what was left of it at least. I had told my mother and grandmother the whole story, not leaving a thing out, over our massive breakfast at IHOP. They were now telling me their favorite parts.

“They got them from some weirdo in a gas station who said the rangers wouldn’t be around to get us in trouble. It was kind of awesome.”

“I’m sorry,” my mother said, “I can’t believe he found your favorite band and apologized to you onstage. That is just precious. I want to meet him again.”

“I want meet him period,” her grandmother said. I shrugged and sipped at the last bit of my orange juice.

“It was nice of you to help those boys get to their aunt. I’m so happy we raised you the right way,” my mother was saying. I wasn’t really listening. Ice cold adrenaline was running through my veins.

I had woken up late in the morning, gotten dressed and ready to go. In the car on the way to the restaurant I complained about not seeing my father. My mom had agreed it would be nice to surprise him after we ate. She was absolutely sure he would love to see me.

She was wrong.

As my elder generations spoke about the boys in North Carolina I waved at the waitress to get the check. She nodded and came over with the check. If my mom noticed that I was in a hurry, she didn’t say anything about it. We paid and left.

As we got closer and closer to the office building, I felt like I would throw up. My mother had no idea what was about to be unleashed. We parked next to a shiny black Jaguar. My grandma decided to stay in the car and catch up with her friend who had called during breakfast.

In the elevator, my butterflies hit an all time high. What if I was going about this the wrong way? It was too late for second thoughts. The elevator doors opened and we stepped onto the floor.

It had been a long time since I’d been to my father’s office. It looked just how I remembered it, with the high ceiling and the two separate offices across from each other. There were desks in front of each of the heavy oak doors. Donna sat at one of them, an older woman at the other.

As we approached, Donna looked up with a pleasant smile on her face. I was pleased to see that smile diminish and her stand up, dialing the number to my father’s office quickly. She glared at me and then, to my intense displeasure, sized my mother up.

“Who the fuck are you looking at like that slut?” I called, anger coloring my tone and face. My mother gasped at my side and looked at me, shock in her eyes. I shrugged at her and went up to the desk. “Can you get your boyfriend out here?”

She said nothing but she looked afraid. I tapped my foot impatiently before moving around the desk and pounding my fists on the door. Nothing had triggered this rage except for seeing the woman who had single-handedly helped ruin my parents.

“Come on Daddy, why don’t you come out of your office? Are you fucking scared of your own daughter? Are you scared to show your cowardly, cheating scumbag face to your wife?” I screamed.

My mother, the other lawyer’s secretary, and the other lawyer, who had come to his door, all gasped. The oak door opened and my father stood there, his suit jacket was buttoned wrong. I stepped back.

“I think you have something to tell Mom,” I said.

My mother said nothing. She looked at her derelict husband coldly and drew herself up with dignity. My father looked like a shell of a man but also too proud for a man in his position. Donna, as usual, looked like a home wrecking slut.

“Lisa, I’ve been having an affair,” he said quietly. My mother’s eyes flashed with hurt and shame. I knew now that she didn’t even have an inkling of an idea. Or maybe she did and she had chosen to ignore it. I would have.

“With this nasty slut over here,” I added, jerking my thumb back at Donna. She sneered at me with distaste. I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m tired of your remarks. Your father and I have a relationship and I—”

“No, my father and you have sex, that’s it. You think it means something to him? Nothing and no one means anything to him except money and status so you need to learn a fucking lesson and pull your ugly head out of your ass sweetie,” I challenged.

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to bitch,” she snarled and she looked like a bulldog in a business suit. I nearly lunged at her but my mother’s cold words stopped me.

“You do not think that you can have an affair with my husband and then insult my daughter,” she said, her words calm and filled with ice, “Because that is not the fucking case.”

“As far as you,” she said, rounding on my father, “You’re a son of a bitch and a liar and I want you out of my house by tonight. You’re good for absolutely nothing and you’ve never been anything more than a horrible husband and father. I can’t believe you would let that monster in an ugly tweed last season business suit call your daughter a bitch.”

My mother seemed more heated about my father’s lack of emotion toward my wellbeing than she did about the affair. My mother was something alright. That something made me proud to be related to her.

“It’s okay Mom. I’m not his daughter anymore because he’s no longer my father.”

He looked as though he’d been slapped. I didn’t care anymore. He never treated me like a daughter. I never treated him like a father. I didn’t want him in my life anymore. My mom looked like she was on the verge of tears but when she spoke, her voice didn’t shake.

“I’ll be calling my lawyer. Get your things out of the house and stay away from me and my family.”

My dad was still looking at me with a wounded expression on his face. I guess he never thought I would actually tell her. I guess he never thought I would do it like this. I looked at him straight in the eye.

“I’ll pay you back the money I owe you from the trip this summer. You can keep the college fund, I don’t want anything to do with you.”

The old woman across the hall was crying. The lawyer had his arm around her and was watching with concerned eyes. He offered his secretary a handkerchief. As my mother stood waiting, my eyes fell on my father’s secretary, his mistress.

I didn’t feel like being a lady like my mother did.

I stepped around the desk and spit right in her face. At the look of shock and disgust on her face, my anger rose like a wave in my stomach and I punched her as hard as I could.

“You are the scum of the Earth. You’re a gold-digging whore that will end up dying alone in the end. You’ll never amount to anything more. I hope you have the shittiest life conceivable to a human being.”

With that, I turned on my heel, took my mother’s arm, and walked us toward the elevator. We were no longer Harris women but we were Walsh women now, through and through, and we left with our heads held high and dignity in place. My father stood in ruins, his bleeding secretary sobbing in her chair.

My mom looked at my hand after the doors shut. Her mouth was in a straight line as she lightly touched my red, stinging knuckles. I was satisfied. Punching that woman had brought me that much. Hopefully my mother would get her satisfaction too.

One of my knuckles was bleeding a little bit and my grandma noticed in the car. She then looked closer at the grim looks on our faces.

“Jesus Christ, what’s happened to the two of you?” she asked.

My mom filled her in on the car ride home. She gasped and angrily cursed in Gaelic about it. I sat silently in the back of the car like a child that was in trouble. I wasn’t ready for my mother’s questions.

The house seemed too big and silent. The decorations my mother had taken so much time planning and putting up seemed silly. It was kind of like someone had died. Maybe, metaphorically, someone had.

My mother made coffee as my grandmother and I sat at the counter. She bustled around the kitchen and handed me a bag of ice for my knuckles. The stinging was getting worse. I didn’t complain.

“How long have you known?” she asked, setting an empty coffee mug on the counter. Her back was to me and her long, styled blonde hair fell down her Burberry sweater.

It occurred to me now, of all times, that maybe I had missed something growing up. Maybe my mother had been unhappy too. Maybe she was putting on a show for the world, something I’d never bothered doing. Suddenly, I felt bad for her and for all the hatred I’d felt toward her growing up.

“Since the end of May,” I answered. My grandmother seemed a bit surprised but she covered my good hand with her cold, wrinkled one. “I should have told you sooner but then there was graduation and the road trip.”

“And he paid you,” she laughed bitterly, “Son of a bitch tried to pay off his own daughter.”

My mother broke down into sobs over a half full mug of coffee that she never had any intention of drinking. My grandma went over to comfort her but I sat completely still. It scared me to watch my strong, confident mother break right in front of my eyes.

I probably should have cried too. I’d watched my parent’s relationship fail and had my father be an absolute dick to me. I probably should have felt sad or upset but really, all I felt was relieved. I didn’t have to handle all of this on my own anymore.

My grandmother led my mom into the living room, where she sat huddled into the loveseat. I sighed and followed them, dropping into the armchair furthest from them. I watched with cautious, concerned eyes as my mother sobbed.

It scared me and reassured me at the same time. It scared me that love could actually do this to a person. It reassured me that love was real and that my mother was real.

“I thought maybe,” my mother said when she was done crying. Her voice was raw. “I thought there was a slight possibility. He was working so much. But then, then I said to myself ‘No, he would never. He loves me.’ That’s what I get for being a hopeless romantic.”

“Oh hush, you couldn’t have known. He’s always pushed himself in his work and he never let anything on,” my grandma said, rubbing her back. She cast a glance at me, as if I should say something.

“I wouldn’t have known either,” I said hesitantly, “But I walked in on them after school one day.”

My mom sat up and looked at me with a fiery expression. I leaned back I was so surprised by her actions. There was a determined silence in the room.

“Where? Where were they? In my bed? In my bed?”

She looked crazy. Her makeup was smudged and her hair wild. Her clothes were askew and her eyes were wide and fierce. I was taken aback by her appearance.

I said nothing. I just nodded.

She flew off the couch and suddenly her sadness was rage. My grandmother cast me a wary look and as my mother threw couch cushions and candles around the room, the front door slammed open.

“Go upstairs,” my grandma said. When my mother turned to scream at him, my short grandma pushed me. “Upstairs Reagan.”

I listened to her and walked upstairs. My mother and father were screaming at each other now and I slammed my bedroom door shut when I got inside. I threw myself down on my bed.

“Get the fuck out of my house you cheating bastard!” I heard my mother shriek distantly. I sighed and wished we hadn’t come directly home. I heard him trudging up the stairs, assumingly to grab his things.

I considered calling Brendan but it was really a family time. There was silence but it was unsettling and angry. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. I hadn’t imagined my mother would react so strongly.

Then again, I had told her in probably the worst way imaginable.

My bedroom door opened and I glanced up. My father stood in the doorway, one suitcase in his hand and the other on the floor next to him. I let my head hit the pillow and sighed deeply.

“I never thought you’d tell her this way.”

“You should knock before you open a door.”

We were both quiet and I wanted him to leave. He switched his weight to his other foot and I sighed, sitting up.

“What? What do you want from me Dad? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve taken enough,” I said quietly.

“You can keep that money. You don’t have to pay me back. It was a gift,” he said, looking at his feet.

“No, it was hush money and I want absolutely no part of it.”

There was silence again but this time we just stared at each other. I didn’t feel hatred or love or anything really. Looking at my father, I felt nothing. I looked away first.

“I’m sorry Reagan.”

“Yeah, so am I,” I said, bitterness coloring my tone. I looked up at him and offered a weak, thin-lipped smile. I stared at him coldly. “Bye Dad. See you whenever.”

I got up and crossed the room. I stared at him for a second before slamming the door in his face. I could hear my mom start up again, telling him to leave me alone. I lay back down on my bed and curled up.

There was less yelling but I could still hear their raised voices. The front door opened and closed and I heard my father’s car start up and the tires pull back over the gravel. That was it, he was gone.

Five minutes later my bedroom door opened again. I looked over and saw my grandma come in. She stretched herself out on my bed next to me without saying anything. I turned onto my back and we both stared up at the ceiling.

“She fell asleep on my bed. I guess she just tired herself out.”

“Well, that’s good I guess,” I said, unsure of what to say. I turned on my side to look at her. “Nana, do you think I did the right thing?”

She smiled weakly and ran a hand through my hair. “I have a beautiful granddaughter who is smart and clever and truly wonderful. The way you told her was a bit harsh but then, so is reality. It’s good that you told her instead of keeping it from her any longer.”

“Everything’s going to be different now, isn’t it?”

“It’s been different. When you were gone, it became so obvious how often he was missing. I had my own suspicions. It’s terrible that you had to live with it on your own for so long.”

“I told Brendan. He helped me with it, come to terms with the idea, you know?”

“He seems like a sweet boy,” she said. I nodded. He was a sweet boy and suddenly I found myself wanting to see him and hug him. I was tired though and my grandmother closed her eyes. “We need more of those in the world.”

To me, it seemed like there were hardly any nice men in the world. I was lucky to have one of the best.